Chains by Laurie Halse Anderson Page A

pushing aside a stack of newspapers to clear off the desk.
    The room was the same size and shape as the parlor, but two of the walls had bookcases built into them. A large painting of horses jumping over a high hedge hung on the third wall. A thin layer of dust lay over everything. The front windows were open, bringing in fresh air and noise from the street; carts rolling over the cobblestones and church bells in the distance mingled with the voices of the four men who sat around the enormous desk.
    One man looked poorer than the others; the cuffs of his coat were frayed and his hands were stained with ink. Next to him sat a man with suspicious gray eyes and a liver-colored coat with a double row of gold buttons fastened over a large pudding-belly. The third man wore something on his head that looked more like a dead possum than a wig, but his coat was crisp and new and the buckles on his shoes gleamed. The fourth was Master Lockton, looking like a cat who had just swallowed the last bite of a juicy mouse.
    Becky set her tray on a sideboard. I held mine as she poured the wine and served the gentlemen. Then she had me hold the food tray so that she could serve the tongue and cheese. Talk halted as the men started in on their meal.
    â€œBecky!” Madam called from across the hall.
    â€œGo see to her,” Lockton told Becky. “The girl can stay here. Does she know where the wine is?”
    â€œYes, sir,” I said.
    Becky and Lockton both stared at me. I had spoken out ofturn. My job was to be silent and follow orders. Ruth had already learned that.
    Shhhhhh …
    â€œKeep the wine flowing and the plates full,” Lockton said. “My friends eat more at my table than their own.”
    As Becky left, Goldbuttons drained his wine, then raised his goblet. I hurried to pour him another, and topped off the drinks of the other men. Lockton gave me a curt nod when I was finished. “Stand over there,” he said, pointing to the corner where the two bookshelves met each other.
    I gave a wordless curtsy and took my place.
    The men dove back into their conversation. “Who has been arrested because of the oath?” demanded Lockton.
    â€œFools unschooled in the art of fence-sitting,” said Goldbuttons.
    â€œPlank-walking, you mean,” said Inkstained.
    Shabbywig leaned forward and pointed his finger at Inkstained. “Don’t you turn the coward on us. Not when we’re this close.”
    â€œClose?” argued Inkstained. “Do you see His Majesty’s ships in the harbor? I don’t. I might argue that England has fled and the rebel traitors have won.”
    â€œLower your voices,” Lockton said with a scowl. He closed the windows with a loud
bang,
then returned to his seat.
    â€œHis Majesty’s ships are very close, closer than you know. This rebellion will be smashed like glass under a heavy boot, and the King will be very grateful for our assistance.”
    The mention of the King caught my ear. I studied the wide boards on the floor and listened with care.
    Goldbuttons popped a piece of cheese into his mouth and talked as he chewed. “I sincerely hope you speak the truth, Elihu. These rebel committees are multiplying faster than rabbits in the spring. They’ve just about ground business to a halt.”
    â€œHave they interfered with you directly?” Lockton asked.
    â€œEvery waking moment,” Goldbuttons said. “The latest bit of nonsense is a Committee to Detect Conspiracies. They’ve sent the hounds after us, old friend.”
    â€œHave you written to Parliament? They need the specifics of our difficulties.”
    â€œParliament is as far away as the moon,” complained Inkstained.
    As the other men argued about Parliament and letters of protest and counterletters and counter-counterletters, Shabbywig stabbed at the last pieces of tongue on his plate and shoved them into his mouth. He turned in his seat to look at me, held