CHAPTER ELEVEN

“WHERE is it?” the burly man shouted, with his hand still in my left boot, as he searched it for some valuable that hadn’t fallen out when he’d turned it upside down.

“Where’s what?” asked the magus, mightily confused. The robbers had already stolen away our purses, and neither the magus nor I had any guess what more they could want.

We both had been asleep. There had been no sign of Hanaktos’s men, and we’d taken no precautions except to check that the road behind and ahead of us was empty before we retreated into the woods to camp each night. We’d been taken by surprise when we were tossed from our blankets like seed scattered on the ground and found ourselves on our backs with daggers at our throats. The robbers had searched our bags, throwing our spare clothes every which way, checking the seams, and pulling the bags themselves to pieces as the horses we had purchased only the day before stood by whickering anxiously at all the fuss. The magus and I watched bemused.

Their leader had tipped the contents of the magus’s purse into his hand and thrown the little leather pocket contemptuously to the ground.

“Whatever it is that you are carrying so carefully, with an eye on every man you meet. We’ve watched you these last two days. What are you carrying? Gold? Silver? Where is it?”

I almost waved a hand and said, “Here. Me.” But I didn’t. The man was too frustrated, and I was very afraid that when he found his careful hunt had yielded nothing, he would spit us both. I looked over at the magus. He looked back, bone dry of ideas.

“It was gemstones,” I said, “matched garnets the size of your thumb, but they’re gone already. We handed them off.”

“Handed them off?”

“At the inn, last night. The, uh, man was there. He was the merchant we were bringing the gems for.” I racked my brains to remember some specific man from the roomful we’d eaten with the night before.

“The man in the booth,” suggested the magus.

“Near the door?” snarled the man.

“Ye–es,” said the magus, as if reluctant, trying hard not to sound like someone scrambling for a safe lie. His hand waved in a vague gesture.

The bandit looked thoughtful. “The second booth? Blond, with rings in his ears?”

“That’s him,” I piped. “He was to take the garnets on to the baron.”

“What baron?”

Suddenly I couldn’t remember the name of a single Attolian baron and couldn’t guess, even if I’d been able to come up with one, who might be a plausible recipient of a matched set of large garnets. What a time to have my mind go all to pear. Only by a god’s will did I remember a crossroads we had passed the day before. “He was taking the road for Pirrhea,” I said. Gen had stolen us chickens in Pirrhea, which was why the sign at the crossroads had caught my eye.

Without another word, the robbers left us, taking our spare clothes and our horses with them and heading through the woods toward the road, back to the crossroads and Pirrhea. We watched them without saying anything until they were long gone. Even then we didn’t speak, only stuffed our feet into our boots, which they hadn’t taken, and legged it ourselves in the opposite direction, as fast as we could go. We cut back toward the road to reach it some ways ahead of where we had been traveling. When we did, we ran, not sure if someone had followed. We jogged steadily until we were in sight of the next town. By then the sky was light, and the sun was near rising. The gates in front of us were open, and the merchants would soon be doing business.

“Garnets,” said the magus.

“The size of your thumb,” I assured him.

Both of us silently hoped the blond man was on his way anywhere but on the road to Pirrhea.

CHAPTER TWELVE

WE were in the city of Attolia three days later, after catching a ride in the back of a wagon from a farmer delivering olive oil to the capital. We were starving. The magus had spent our last lone coin, found stuck in the seam of his purse, on bread. In the city we tried to bluster our way into an inn but were turned away on the first two tries when the landlord, spooked by our lack of traveling bags, asked to see our coin before he showed us a room. Finally we found a shabbier hostel, where the magus’s easy confidence carried the day. We got a room and some food and considered our strategy. The magus was afraid to approach the palace. There was every chance that the Mede agents whom we had escaped so far would be lurking, waiting to catch us as we approached.

“It’s what I would do,” said the magus, “were I the Mede. They know by now that you are not with your father.”

“We could send a message,” I said. “If we promised payment on delivery, we could send it by messenger, but would any message sent by a common carrier and delivered to the gates be carried to the king?”

What a quandary!

We tried approaching Baron Susa, but we were turned away, even from his back door. We thought we might contact a merchant who would pass our message to a patronoi, who might deliver it to the palace, but that failed as well. I picked up a job unloading a cart and earned us enough coins to buy food, but not enough to make a bribe of any significance, and without a bribe we could not seem to contact anyone of any importance in the city. The public day in the royal courts wasn’t to be held for weeks. While there were people the magus could contact outside the city, that would mean more traveling. We didn’t have the time.

The magus was growing more concerned each day that Mede spies would locate us, two Sounisians in the city, behaving oddly. We were sure to draw attention, and after our experience in the woods, neither of us was too sure we would see the Mede agents before they saw us. Equally worrisome, the landlord of the filthy, flea-ridden inn where we were staying was becoming suspicious.

The magus went out the door first. When it was my turn, I nearly landed on top of him. He dodged and I rolled, and we ended up facing each other, sitting on the hard stones of the road with our legs splayed out in front of us.

“Thank your gods, I don’t call the city guard,” shouted the landlord, and slammed the courtyard door. He opened it a minute later to throw the magus’s overshirt out after us.

Rubbing my bruised elbow ruefully, I asked the magus, “If he called the guard, do you think we could tell them who we are?”

The magus shook his head. “Attolia is pressing every prisoner they arrest onto their ships in order to fortify the islands she has taken from Sounis. We’re far more likely to end up on a galley, revealing our true identities to the passing sharks.”

I got up first and helped the magus to his feet. Sighing, he picked up his overshirt and threw it over his shoulder. We walked up the street.

It was later that day, when we were selling off our clothes in exchange for grubbier ones and the cash to buy food, that we heard a rumor in the marketplace that the king and queen would be riding to the harbor to greet arriving ambassadors. We put together the peashooter and snagged the dried peas out of a market stall. The magus wanted to spit the pea, but I demonstrated my knack for accuracy, and he agreed that I should be the one. I did think of the changes to my face, but I was sure that Eugenides, if he looked, would know me, and I was more distressed than I can say when he passed by without any sign of recognition.