quietly.
‘There is a chamber across the hall for your farewells,’ Wyldon told Piers. ‘Salma will come for Keladry and guide her to her assigned room. No doubt her baggage already is there.’ He looked at Kel. ‘Unpack your things neatly. When the supper bell rings, stand in the hall with the new boys. Sponsors – older pages who show the new ones how things are done – must be chosen before we go down to the mess.’
After Kel said goodbye to her father, she found Salma waiting for her in the hall. The woman was short and thin, with frizzy brown hair and large, dark eyes. She wore the palace uniform for women servants, a dark skirt and a white blouse. A large ring laden with keys hung from her belt. As she took Kel to her new room, Salma asked if Kel had brought a personal servant.
When the girl replied that she hadn’t, Salma told her, ‘In that case, I’ll assign a servant to you. We bring you hot water for washup and get your fire going in the morning. We also do your laundry and mending, make beds, sweep, and so on. And if you play any tricks on the servants, you’ll do your laundry and bed-making for the rest of the year. It’s not our job to look after weapons, equipment, or armour, mind. That’s what you’re here to learn.’
She briskly led the way through one long hall as she talked. Now they passed a row of doors. Each bore a piece of slate with a name written in chalk. ‘That’s my room,’ Salma explained, pointing. ‘The ground floor here is the pages’ wing. Squires are the next floor up. If you need supplies, or special cleaning and sewing, or if you are ill, come to me.’
Kel looked at her curiously. ‘My brothers didn’t mention you.’
‘Timon Greendale, our headman, reorganized service here six years ago,’ Salma replied. ‘I was brought in five years back – just in time to meet your brother Conal. Don’t worry. I won’t hold it against you.’
Kel smiled wryly. Conal had that effect on people.
Salma halted in front of the last door in the hall. There was no name written on the slate. ‘This is your room,’ she remarked. ‘I told the men to put your things here.’ She brushed the slate with her fingertips. ‘Your name has been washed off. I have to get my chalk. You may as well unpack.’
‘Thank you,’ Kel said.
‘No need to thank me,’ was Salma’s calm reply. ‘I do what they pay me to.’ She hesitated, then added, ‘If you need anything, even if it’s just a sympathetic ear, tell me.’ She rested a warm hand on Kel’s shoulder for a moment, then walked away.
Entering her room, Kel shut the door. When she turned, a gasp escaped before she locked her lips.
She surveyed the damage. The narrow bed was overturned. Mattress, sheets, and blankets were strewn everywhere. The drapes lay on the floor and the shutters hung open. Two chairs, a bookcase, a pair of night tables, and an oak clothespress were also upended. The desk must have been too heavy for such treatment, but its drawers had been dumped onto the floor. Her packs were opened and their contents tumbled out. Someone had used her practice glaive to slash and pull down the wall hangings. On the plaster wall she saw written: No Girls! Go Home! You Won’t Last!
Kel took deep breaths until the storm of hurt and anger that filled her was under control. Once that was done, she began to clean up. The first thing she checked was the small wooden box containing her collection of Yamani porcelain lucky cats. She had a dozen or so, each a different size and colour, each sitting with one paw upraised. The box itself was dented on one corner, but its contents were safe. Her mother had packed each cat in a handkerchief to keep it from breaking.
That’s something, at least, Kel thought. But what about next time? Maybe she ought to ship them home.
As she gathered up her clothes, she heard a knock. She opened her door a crack. It was Salma. The minute the woman saw her face, she knew something was wrong. ‘Open,’ she commanded.
Kel let her in and shut the door.
‘You were warned this kind of thing might happen?’ Salma asked finally.
Kel nodded. ‘I’m cleaning up.’
‘I told you, it’s your job to perform a warrior’s tasks. We do this kind of work,’ Salma replied. ‘Leave this to me. By the time you come back from supper it will be as good as new. Are you going to change clothes?’
Kel nodded.
‘Why don’t you do that? It’s nearly time for you to wait outside. I’ll need your key once you’re done in here.’
Kel scooped up the things she needed and walked into the next room. Small and bare, it served as a dressing room and bathroom. The privy was behind a door set in the wall. There was little in here to destroy, but the mirror and the privy seat were soaped.
Kel shut the door. Before she had seen her room, she had planned to wear tunic and breeches as she had for the journey. She’d thought that if she was to train as a boy, she ought to dress like one. They were also more comfortable. Now she felt differently. She was a girl; she had nothing to be ashamed of, and they had better learn that first thing. The best way to remind them was to dress at least part of the time as a girl.
Stripping off her travel-stained clothes, she pulled on a yellow linen shift and topped it with her second-best dress, a fawn-brown cotton that looked well against the yellow. She removed her boots and put on white stockings and brown leather slippers.
Cleaning the mirror, she looked at herself. The gown was creased from being packed, but that could not be helped. She still had a black eye. There was nothing she could do with her mouse-brown hair: she’d had it cropped to her earlobes before she’d left home. Next trip to market, maybe I’ll get some ribbons, she thought grimly, running a comb through her hair. Some nice, bright ribbons.
She grinned at her own folly. Hadn’t she learned by now that the first thing a boy grabbed in a fight was hair? She’d lose chunks of it or get half choked if she wore ornaments and ribbons.
Overhead a bell clanged three times. She winced: the sound was loud.
‘Time,’ Salma called.
If she thought anything of the change in Kel’s appearance, she kept it to herself. Instead she pointed to yet another piece of writing: Girls Can’t Fight! Salma’s mouth twisted wryly. ‘What do they think their mothers do, when the lords are at war and a raiding party strikes? Stay in their solars and tat lace?’
That made Kel smile. ‘My aunt lit barrels of lard and had them catapulted onto Scanran ships this summer.’
‘As would any delicately reared noblewoman.’ Salma opened the door. Once they had walked into the hall, she took the key from Kel and went about her business, nodding to the boys as they emerged from their rooms.
Kel stood in front of her door and clasped her hands so no one could see they shook. Suddenly she wanted to turn tail and run until she reached home.
Wyldon was coming down the hall. Boys joined him as he passed, talking quietly. One of them was a boy with white-blond hair and blue eyes, set in a face as rosy-cheeked as a girl’s. Kel, seeing the crispness of his movements and a stubbornness around his mouth, guessed that anybody silly enough to mistake that one for a girl would be quickly taught his mistake. A big, cheerful-looking red-headed boy walked on Wyldon’s left, joking with a very tall, lanky youth.
A
