CHAPTER THREE
N o one had been there for Aldney. If there was, he would not have died.
Petra stood before she knew what to say. She laced her fingers together in the required position for speaking to a superior.
I would have been beside you, Aldney.
All working within earshot ceased. By getting to her feet, Petra had added more intrigue for the captive audience.
“Nanny Beulah,” she began. “I sleep one bed over from sister Winfred. She rarely speaks except to whisper prayers. If she complained of dry feet, I would hear.”
“Ha!” Esme shouted. “How could you hear anything when you snore like a man?”
“Louder than you?” Petra shot back. “Nanny Beulah—”
The whip snapped in the air. Winfred’s forehead hit the ground. Hilda had the audacity to genuflect. Petra kept her eyes down.
Punishment had been decided the instant Winfred let on that this accusation terrified her. Better if she could have looked at Hilde with calm indifference. Better if she could have laughed and returned to washing. However, both the guilty and innocent beg for mercy. Perhaps a perpetual liar looks on with composure, their conscience eviscerated by their split tongue.
“Two have stated your wrongdoing! One voice in defense is not enough. But the festival approaches and I warn you all! If you are hoarding cream, let this be a lesson. If you considered hoarding cream gifted by the emperor, who cares for even the least of his servants, then this will be your last thought of it. Maid Winfred, hoist your skirts.” She glared at Petra. “When she has had fifty-four strokes, since you are so bold to speak for a sister you barely know, you may staunch the bleeding and then you will work two consecutive shifts with her.”
Beulah lifted her arm, and the loose fabric of the sleeve tumbled backwards, revealing sinewy muscles under saggy skin. The backs of Winfred’s legs were exposed all the way to her buttocks.
Petra braced herself. She would watch the whip split skin. In all her fantasies about working in the Cloistered City and the justice she believed she would find for Aldney, she must remember this constant grim reality for servants. Illustrious though it was to work within these walls, every body here was replaceable.
The sound of the instrument snapped, and pale flesh opened into a bleeding gash. It seemed like it was the sound of the whip that ripped finger-lengths of skin apart while one of the strange firearms from the Western world ricocheted into the stratosphere.
Winfred wailed and ground her teeth. Frighteningly fast, her legs no longer looked like legs but a cruel mocking of what the human body can withstand.
Petra did not notice she had sunk to her knees. She did not realize she clutched her throat. Not until she stooped to lift and drag an unconscious Winfred did she taste the sour cling of bile between her gums and cheeks.
***
I T WAS CRUEL THAT WINFRED was reminded she was lucky, shivering with fever. Servants who incurred sickness because of punishment were not considered worthy of the Hall of Healing. Winfred mumbled it constantly, too. If Petra was not there to keep watch, she’d be cast to the outskirts by the time she was strong enough to stand without vomiting.
There were nights Winfred’s fever spiked so high she had to hold her down at the ankles to keep her from kicking and tearing fragile scabbing. Petra’s chances to sleep came after she helped her friend drink a tea steeped with kava, ginseng, and valerian root. Her chances to eat happened when Winfred was strong enough to prop herself up on her elbows and spoon watered-down porridge without spilling half of every bite.
No one came to help. In fact, many of the other maids clearly feared offering small kindnesses. Perhaps Hilde would strike at them, too.
She might.
Aldney’s letters had talked of those weak-minded enough to give their trust away like sunshine. She had come to the city prepared to be smarter than that but felt na?ve now. If those with ill intentions turned their gaze was there nothing that could be done? Was that why no one defended her brother’s plight? He had been noble and died. Hilde cast daggers and she would, likely, go far.
Am I like him? Or will I see an opportunity to advance myself and take it? Aldney’s chance was given to him. Mine may not come with such grace. It may have to be pulled forth like nettle roots at the end of the harvesting season.
***
B ECAUSE TIME PRESSED and hands were needed, it was Nanny Beulah who came one late afternoon with a salve for Winfred’s legs.
“Do you know nothing of remedies?” She accused. “Other patients would die from your care . This is from the Hall of Healing. She must drink watermint tea first. Then apply.” Beulah looked at Winfred. “The legs will be numb, but the welts will heal overnight.”
Winfred was allowed to rest for the duration of the day, but Petra was put back to work.
After all, there was so much hullabaloo, so much clatter and commotion, she barely finished one robe before she was handed another. Along with it, all the rumors that were flying about this year’s festival.
Throughout the network of palaces that were collectively known as the Mansion of Delicate Petals, talk from the servants closest to the ladies-in-waiting had not been held close. Furthermore, it was suspected that the information had been purposely released. Whether this was an idea of the emperor’s or a power move among the women was difficult to say.
Preparations for this festival were especially elaborate because the emperor had at last decided who he would take as empress. In turn, this meant concubines could now be selected. In Vale courtesans were not permitted the emperor until a woman sat slightly behind him on her throne. The new empress was to be a mother to the women of the Cloistered City and an example of the ideal woman. In turn, it was the responsibility of the concubines to bear children.
So, not only would the entire country celebrate a new empress, but they might look with joyful expectation at the increase in the emperor’s bloodline.
Within the city, whichever palace the new empress came from would be elevated in status. Servants of that mansion would now be servants of Vale’s empress, from the woman who dressed her hair each morning, noon, and night, to the sweeper of the courtyard.
Gossiped conversations said maids from the Palace of Embroidery were cross-eyed and suffering urinary infections because demands for gowns and headdresses arrived every other minute.
All the most elaborate requests came from Lady Ethelfelde. Did she know something or was she trying to sway the emperor’s attention in the final moments? Lady Guinevere knew his majesty doted on the color blue and blue thread was guarded like gold. There was a mad hunt for ermine because Lady Estelle wanted the thick, smooth fur to trim all her gowns. Pink was a color for spring, yet Lady Bisgu set the Coloring House on its ear, racing to create the exact shade she wanted for all seven new gowns. Lotus flowers covered the robes of Lady Theophania and there could not be enough lace for Lady Claennis.
Everyone worked.
At home, she worked long hours in the fields planting and tending or caring for the animals in the barn. Of course, at the end of the day her body hummed with soreness, but she worked for herself and her mother. It was not working. It was life.
Here blood flow was staunched from how she sat, and her legs grew numb after only an hour. She swore her knuckles already looked like an old woman’s while her grip strength would never be able to heft anything heavier than an elk-hair brush.
When she was allowed rest, it was stunted by pain. Often Petra spent the intended resting time letting her fingers uncurl, or the bones in her back crack.
It was difficult.
At the same time, how could she stand before the memory of her brother and complain? He suffered death. If she wanted to be worthy of learning his truth, then she mustn’t weep into her mattress every night like so many of the others.
Sometimes there were moments to smile. Often stories that came with the robes were funny. Ladies-in-Waiting pitched tantrums and fought for fabric amongst each other. Apparently, there had been a call to build fourscore excrement pots in the wake of all the rich festival food. And nothing but tea and oiled beans could soothe the emperor’s irritated throat. One of his eunuchs misread the measurement of his shoes and brought his master slippers one size too big. This caused the emperor to trip in the sight of his council and practically yell the ears of the servant off his head.
Sometimes smiling and hiding a giggle in the folds of her sleeves was more revitalizing than slumber.
One night, instead of rolling and folding herself into all sorts of positions to find comfort, Petra got up. Perhaps she could find a nook, ignored in all the constant commotion, where she could sit upright and enjoy the coolness in the air. It was against the rules for her to leave the sleeping hall; however, the only rule right now was to work in these final days before the festival.
Pulling her outer cloak from under the bed, she drew the wool around her shoulders and fastened it under her chin. Without glancing to see if anyone was watching, she moved with purpose and walked outside.
She knew where she wanted to go. The Palace of Embroidery boasted detailed gardens and fountains for the inspiration and edification of the seamstresses. Changed seasonally, this would be her last look at the cosmos, spider lilies, and chrysanthemums. Perhaps the last chance to ponder them with the silver, rippling sound of water in the background for the fountains were turned off in the winter, except in the emperor’s palace.
The gardens were mostly uninhabited at night. And Petra was not going into the orchard. She intended to look on from behind the low, elegantly constructed fence that had been carved to look like wind-blown clouds.
She kept to the backs of buildings. Fine gravel crunched under her feet and the lonely sound of nocturnal singing bugs fell on her ears. They were birds of the ground reminding all of the cold nights ahead with a sun high, and far, and pale.
When she was a child and Aldney an adolescent, there were nights she snuck into his narrow bed and asked to know what the crickets and singing insects said to one another. He always told her that it was not to one another that they spoke, but for anyone with ears to hear their song.
His words and the trill of the warbling bugs spoke differently to her now. This was the end of autumn. Soon the creatures would burrow in the dirt. Seasons replace one another with unique beauties. Night brings a new day. In the world, there is constant change.
And settled against the wall of a shed where old buckets were kept to be repurposed, she intended to do just that when there was a clatter from behind the rickety door. A young woman with a scroll clutched tight to her half-undone gown scrambled out and collided into Petra.
From behind her and out of the shed, a man raced, hoisting up his pants. The young woman watched him run for a scant moment before she focused on Petra like she had never seen another human being before.
“I’m ruined!”
Sexual liaisons between servants were forbidden. Maids who served in palaces and halls might have the good fortune to catch the eye of a guard or soldier but if they were caught engaging in brazen intimacy, death was a reasonable punishment.
“I am no one to catch you,” Petra answered, getting to her feet.
“Catch me?”
“I’m nobody, too,” she offered. “I won’t say anything.”
“No! You don’t understand!” The woman thrust the scroll under Petra’s nose. “I was supposed to have delivered this hours ago. We fell asleep!” She looked up at the sky. “It is past midnight. If I go now, I’ll be flayed until my skin is gone. This letter is from the prime minister to Lady Elswyth!”
Under the clear sky, stars dotting the ink blue dome, Petra looked at the woman more closely and understanding fired through her. Though her clothing was disheveled, she wore the brown cloak, trimmed in black scalloping Aldney had so often described.
She was a courier!
The woman lamented more about what would happen if she went now to fulfill her duty. The man she had slept with promised to wake her, but his betrayal was nothing compared to the punishment that awaited her. A letter from the prime minister to his niece was paramount and she had believed she had so much time. She must escape. She must hide herself and escape at dawn. She was ruined. They might already be looking for her.
Petra’s thoughts raced. Behind her was the long route to advancing within the halls until she might, possibly, on the whim of a star, be noticed and brought to the status she needed.
Often, Aldney wrote about those who stole opportunities not intended for them. Often, he wrote how others advanced themselves on the backs of their contemporaries.
Like Hilde.
There would be no chance to tell Winfred. It might be weeks before she could safely get word to her. If this failed, her own punishment for masquerading as a courier was ugly and she would be lucky to end up scrubbing urine stains from wood basins.
But if ever there was a time, this was it! It was selfish but she harmed no one. She took advantage of this woman’s plight but saved her the shame of delivering a late letter.
“Give it to me!”
She tried to snatch the rolled message, but the woman pulled back.
“Don’t be foolish! Give it to me and I’ll deliver it. I do not know my way around the city, yet. It will take me a long time to find Lady Elswyth’s residence. Once I deliver the letter, they will know you have failed but this gives you time.”
And then there will be a position free in the Hall of Couriers. These days are madness and surely messages abound. I will be right there. They must take me. I harm no one. I do it for my brother!
“Give me the letter and flee!”
This time the young woman did not flinch. Panic still tore at her face, but she shoved the prized message into Petra’s hands.
“You’re right. You must not wander ‘til dawn, though. Go in the direction of the Grand Palace. There are signs at the gates along the main road. Here.” She flung the brown cloak from herself and cinched it over Petra. “No one will look twice at you. Lady Elswyth may still strike you, but she knows how the city relies on couriers. You will not be greatly harmed.” She bowed. “Thank you. When they ask—”
“I’ll say you were struck down with diarrhea.”
She nodded and dashed away. Petra looked at the thick paper, rolled and tied with yellow yarn, stamped in place by the prime minister’s seal, as this moment stamped how she would clear Aldney’s name.