Spark startled when I uttered a short, foul word. Only yesterday, the Fool had read aloud from Bee’s book to me. A slip on his part, or had he hoped I would notice? Had he found it humorous? I ground my teeth.
With a whoosh of air and slash of feather against my cheek, Motley landed on my shoulder. I flinched and then told her, ‘Go back to the ship. We can’t attract attention.’
She pecked my cheek, a sharp jab. ‘No. No, no, no!’
People were turning to see the talking bird. I tried to pretend that it was nothing out of the ordinary. I flapped a hand at her and she hopped to Per’s shoulder.
‘Don’t talk to her,’ I suggested in a low voice. A crow riding on a boy’s shoulder was noteworthy enough. We did not need to be having an argument with her as we strolled along.
Motley chuckled and settled herself for her ride.
We followed a well-travelled road that fronted the harbour, past tidy houses and small shops. The road wound along the built-out docks of the harbour and then the rocky shores of the bay. I saw little fishing boats pulled up on the shore, and healthy children sorting fish they pulled from their parents’ nets. The fortune-seekers who walked alongside me were plentiful, and by their garb they had come from many and varied places. Some seemed cheerful, almost merry, as they strolled along. Young couples hoping for augers of good fortune, perhaps. Others were sombre or full of anxiety, snapping and scolding their companions as they hurried past us to try to be the first to the crossing. All of us made a procession of hopes and fears as we promenaded down the well-kept boulevard toward the prediction of our futures.
‘Where do you think she is?’ Spark asked me.
‘There was a low tide early this morning. I suspect that’s why she came ashore late last night. She would have had time to sell the bracelet and pay for a pass to cross. She may already be inside the castle.’
‘Where should we look for her?’ Lant asked quietly. ‘After we cross.’
‘We don’t look for Amber,’ I told him. ‘We stay to her plan as she proposed it, for that is what she will expect us to do. So we will enter Clerres, find a way to conceal ourselves, and then search the rooftop cells. If we don’t find Bee there, we will gather in the washing courts, hoping that Amber will meet us there and Bee will be with her.’
The silence that followed my words was ample evidence of how little any of us liked that plan.
‘I don’t understand why Amber went without us,’ Per said.
‘She believes she has the best chance of finding Bee.’
‘No.’ Spark’s hand on my arm tightened. ‘I think I know why. I think it’s because it is the most unlikely thing. The least practical plan.’
I knew we needed to hurry but her words slowed my steps. ‘And?’ I prompted her.
‘It’s the most foolish. You said they knew we were here. Amber has spoken of how they can steer the world’s course because they know the likely futures. So she has chosen to pursue the most unlikely one in the hope that they won’t have seen it.’
I stopped. ‘But all the plans. All our talking, your sewing …’
‘All to make it more likely we would do it?’ She shook her head and smiled up at me, a fond daughter to her father. ‘I don’t know. I only guess at these things, from all she has told us about the Servants and her dreams.’
‘If you are correct,’ I said as I resumed walking, ‘then they will be watching for us. Our purpose may be to distract them.’ To be captured? Held, possibly tortured? Would the Fool have sent all of us into such danger? No.
Perhaps.
How often had he plunged me into mortally dangerous situations for the sake of shifting the fates? He might do it again. To me. But surely not to Spark and Lant and Per. ‘You should all go back to the ship,’ I said.
‘Unlikely to happen,’ Lant said quietly.
‘Unlikely!’ Motley confirmed.
‘We can’t,’ Per reasoned slowly. ‘We have to try this. To make it the most likely thing we would do. To keep them watching for us.’
We had followed the half-moon curve of the shore along the harbour. Now the road widened out into a cobblestoned circle of merchant stalls and shops. The stall fronts were decked with drapery in bright colours and I suspected that, on most days, it was a bustling centre of commerce. But some of the stalls were shuttered today and this seemed to both puzzle and vex the local folk. Some buyers were patiently waiting at a closed booth. The restive crowd milled in the market, asking one another questions. We waded through the maelstrom of people. The shops that were open were offering food or drink or trinkets, broad-brimmed hats and perfumes and tiny dolls of Whites. I saw two money-changers where I hoped to sell our firebrick. A woman had a wheeled cart that held a cabinet with many drawers. She was hawking tiny fortune-scrolls from it. Some of the folk working in the stalls were pale-skinned and blonde, but nowhere did I see any sign of a real White.
‘They just closed the stall. A guard came and told them to stop selling passes.’
‘They had better let me cross today! I can’t stay more than a day here!’
‘I paid good coin for this pass!’
Across the teeming market circle, two wooden-faced guards stood before a formidable gate across the causeway to the castle. The water was almost at full ebb. Hopeful people had already formed a thick queue and waited in the bright afternoon sun. They shifted and muttered, reminding me of cattle herded into a slaughter pen. I pitied most the gate guards in their leather armour and plumed helms. They were well-muscled youngsters, and the jagged scar down the woman’s cheek said she had seen fighting. Perspiration made shiny trickles down the sides of their impassive faces. They were not responding to any of the folk pelting them with questions.
A shout of relief went up when a skinny old woman pushed open the shutters of her booth. The queue surged forward but she held up both her hands and shouted over the mob’s noise, ‘I don’t know any more than what I already told you!’ Her voice was screechy, between anger and fear. ‘They sent me a message bird. Told me to stop selling passes. No more folk allowed in today. Maybe tomorrow, but I don’t know! Now you know all I do, and it’s not my fault, none of it!’