than parsnip soup.
She rounded the last corner and slid to a stop, surprised to see the door to the library open and light flooding out into the dimly lit corridor. She pressed into the wall and sidled as close to the door as she dared. Watch’s voice drifted out. The words were mushy, as though struggling to find room in a mouth doing double duty.
‘—mighty kind of you, Toby-boy. You know how fond I be of Maria’s meat pies. Ain’t no one conjure up pastry like that woman.’ There was a pause filled with chewing sounds.
‘…just have a look…’ Tobias’s voice was fainter.
‘Look all you want, Toby. I’m too busy to notice if a book or two goes missing. Now, about Maria. You promised to write out that letter for me. You ain’t forgot?’
‘…haven’t forgotten, Watch. But I don’t…’
‘Leave the thinking to me, boy. Women likes love letters and such rubbish. Sweet talking will get you almost anything, and Maria’s worth sweet talking more’n most. Not many women can cook like that one. And there ain’t a female yet didn’t want to get hitched. She’s a rare one, but she ain’t no spring chicken. Boy?’
Tobias’s reply was muffled.
‘Well, hurry up about them dang books. Then I’ll tell you what I want in this here letter. You do this for me, son, and you got free range all over the Castle. My word on it.’
Charlie eased back the way she had come. Her research would have to wait. A thief! That’s all Tobias Petch was. Just like his stepfather. A thief and a swindler and not to be trusted. How dare he bribe Watch in order to steal her books! She only wished Maria knew the company her precious Toby kept, and what he got up to with the food she gave him.
Early next morning, Charlie visited her father again. She knelt on the floor of his chamber and watched as he demolished his castle. The King climbed his scaffolding until he was just above the highest tower. Dangling from his knees, he plucked the topmost layer of cards, harvesting them neatly, sending them fluttering to the ground. Her job was to creep about the floor, gathering the cards and sorting them into decks. They worked without speaking, the silence broken only by the whirr of falling cards.
Charlie loved watching the cards float down, spiralling like strange, rectangular leaves. But today… She knew she must choose her time, make him listen. And pray that they would not be disturbed again by the O’Dair. She watched and waited, her fingers gathering in the steady drizzle of playing cards.
The crenellations of the first tower took over three hours to demolish. Charlie’s hands were stiff from sorting cards into packs, her knees sore from kneeling. The King drifted to the ground with the last of the cards. He counted the packs and stacked them in neat piles against the wall. ‘One hundred and two. Excellent! I needn’t remind you not to bend them, Charlotte. A bent card is a wasted card.’
‘Yes, Father.’
The King turned to gaze up at the remaining thirty-seven towers. This was it: in a moment he would be up the scaffold,and it would be another three hours. Shereached out, caught the hem of his trouser leg, gave it a gentle tug. ‘Father!’ she whispered. ‘I need to talk to you.’
‘What?’ He turned and stared at Charlie’s left ear distractedly. ‘Whatever for?’
‘Have you heard of someone called Bettina?’
‘Bettina?’ He shook his head. ‘I don’t think so, my dear. It isn’t a Qualian name, you know. Sounds Durch to me.’
Charlie sighed. Another dead end. Her father turned away, and she caught his trouser leg again. ‘Wait, Father. There’s something else. Something important.’
He sighed. ‘Please, Charlie. Be brief. I am busy.’
‘Something’s wrong.’
‘Wrong?’ Her father looked both puzzled and irritated. ‘Of course nothing’s wrong. What could possibly be wrong?’ His eyes widened in fear, and his hands wrung themselves in a flutter of anxiety. ‘It’s not
She rounded the last corner and slid to a stop, surprised to see the door to the library open and light flooding out into the dimly lit corridor. She pressed into the wall and sidled as close to the door as she dared. Watch’s voice drifted out. The words were mushy, as though struggling to find room in a mouth doing double duty.
‘—mighty kind of you, Toby-boy. You know how fond I be of Maria’s meat pies. Ain’t no one conjure up pastry like that woman.’ There was a pause filled with chewing sounds.
‘…just have a look…’ Tobias’s voice was fainter.
‘Look all you want, Toby. I’m too busy to notice if a book or two goes missing. Now, about Maria. You promised to write out that letter for me. You ain’t forgot?’
‘…haven’t forgotten, Watch. But I don’t…’
‘Leave the thinking to me, boy. Women likes love letters and such rubbish. Sweet talking will get you almost anything, and Maria’s worth sweet talking more’n most. Not many women can cook like that one. And there ain’t a female yet didn’t want to get hitched. She’s a rare one, but she ain’t no spring chicken. Boy?’
Tobias’s reply was muffled.
‘Well, hurry up about them dang books. Then I’ll tell you what I want in this here letter. You do this for me, son, and you got free range all over the Castle. My word on it.’
Charlie eased back the way she had come. Her research would have to wait. A thief! That’s all Tobias Petch was. Just like his stepfather. A thief and a swindler and not to be trusted. How dare he bribe Watch in order to steal her books! She only wished Maria knew the company her precious Toby kept, and what he got up to with the food she gave him.
Early next morning, Charlie visited her father again. She knelt on the floor of his chamber and watched as he demolished his castle. The King climbed his scaffolding until he was just above the highest tower. Dangling from his knees, he plucked the topmost layer of cards, harvesting them neatly, sending them fluttering to the ground. Her job was to creep about the floor, gathering the cards and sorting them into decks. They worked without speaking, the silence broken only by the whirr of falling cards.
Charlie loved watching the cards float down, spiralling like strange, rectangular leaves. But today… She knew she must choose her time, make him listen. And pray that they would not be disturbed again by the O’Dair. She watched and waited, her fingers gathering in the steady drizzle of playing cards.
The crenellations of the first tower took over three hours to demolish. Charlie’s hands were stiff from sorting cards into packs, her knees sore from kneeling. The King drifted to the ground with the last of the cards. He counted the packs and stacked them in neat piles against the wall. ‘One hundred and two. Excellent! I needn’t remind you not to bend them, Charlotte. A bent card is a wasted card.’
‘Yes, Father.’
The King turned to gaze up at the remaining thirty-seven towers. This was it: in a moment he would be up the scaffold,and it would be another three hours. Shereached out, caught the hem of his trouser leg, gave it a gentle tug. ‘Father!’ she whispered. ‘I need to talk to you.’
‘What?’ He turned and stared at Charlie’s left ear distractedly. ‘Whatever for?’
‘Have you heard of someone called Bettina?’
‘Bettina?’ He shook his head. ‘I don’t think so, my dear. It isn’t a Qualian name, you know. Sounds Durch to me.’
Charlie sighed. Another dead end. Her father turned away, and she caught his trouser leg again. ‘Wait, Father. There’s something else. Something important.’
He sighed. ‘Please, Charlie. Be brief. I am busy.’
‘Something’s wrong.’
‘Wrong?’ Her father looked both puzzled and irritated. ‘Of course nothing’s wrong. What could possibly be wrong?’ His eyes widened in fear, and his hands wrung themselves in a flutter of anxiety. ‘It’s not
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