Chapter 4

Jane’s POV

That night I was sent to tend the lanterns along the west wall, carry water, and put the racks in order. The stewardess had kept me on my feet all day. I was glad to be out of the laundry, though carrying full buckets hurt almost as much as wringing clothes.

The cracks across my knuckles had dried dark and hard. A bucket handle had rubbed a raw line between my thumb and forefinger, and I kept changing hands as I crossed the yard.

I counted what still needed doing. Six lanterns along the wall, two of them out. Eleven crocks on the lower rack, with a space where a twelfth had stood when the lamps were lit. Beyond them, the gate guard was waiting for his relief. The corner beside the storehouse was empty, though I’d seen a guard there earlier.

I was turning toward the racks when they fell.

Crockery smashed on the stones. A coil of rope dropped from a hook, and a lantern tipped into loose straw under the eaves. The straw began to burn.

A young wolf stood among the broken crocks, its ears flat and one shoulder held low. It was thin enough for its ribs to show. Blood had soaked the fur around the shoulder. Behind it, a broken section of wall left a gap into the yard.

It turned toward the shouting, then back toward the gap. It looked frightened, but I wasn’t going near its teeth to find out.

The guards drew their blades and spread out. Several shouted at once.

"Stay back!" the sergeant called. "Everyone stay where you are!"

I stopped with the bucket in my hand. The captain was coming around the water butt. Beyond him, beside the storehouse, I saw the boy.

He was one of the under-servants, twelve or thirteen. He’d been carrying straw when the racks came down. Now he was pressed against the wall, with fallen wood between him and the yard. The storehouse door was close enough for him to reach, but he was staring at the wolf and hadn’t moved.

The guards were facing the animal. No one called to him.

I put my bucket down. There was room behind the sergeant to reach the door without stepping between the guards and the wolf. I looked once more, then went.

The boy didn’t turn when I reached him. I caught his wrist, pulled him past the edge of the rack, and pushed him through the storehouse door. I followed and pulled it shut.

Something struck the other side hard enough to knock me against him. He caught at my sleeve. I braced my shoulder against the wood, listening for another blow, but heard only shouting and the wolf’s rough breathing.

"Stay here," I told the boy.

I waited until the noise moved away from the door before opening it a little.

A tall man in a plain coat was standing near the storehouse corner. Rain still clung to his shoulders. I hadn’t seen him arrive. He looked along the guards, checked the wall, then turned toward our door. His eyes paused on the boy behind me before moving back to the wolf.

"Back away from the wall," he said. "To the west, not toward the gate. Block that gap with the hurdle and two planks."

One of the guards started forward with his sword.

"Put the blades away. Get the rope. Use the boards to move it into the open."

This time the men stopped shouting over each other. Two went for the hurdle while the others moved around the wolf with boards held in front of them. It backed away from one, then lunged when another came too close. I drew the boy farther behind the door.

They got the rope around it. When they pulled it tight, the wolf fell onto its injured side and cried out. It struggled briefly, then lay panting on the stones.

The tall man crouched beside it, keeping his hand clear of its mouth. He leaned toward the wound without touching it.

"Have you counted everyone?" he asked.

"Only the one wolf, my lord," the sergeant said.

"The people."

The sergeant turned. He counted the guards, then looked toward me.

"There’s a boy here too," I said, opening the door farther.

The boy came out beside me. He was still holding my sleeve.

Someone had thrown water over the burning straw. Wet ash covered the stones beneath the eaves, and smoke drifted past the broken rack. With the wolf on the ground, everyone began talking again. The captain’s voice carried over the others.

"The night girl left her place. She went straight through the guards after she was told to stay back." He pointed at me. "Have her held until we’ve questioned her. I want to know what she was doing there when it came in."

I’d been assigned to that wall. He could ask the stewardess. But I looked at the drawn blades and the men gathered around him, and for a moment I couldn’t get the words out.

The tall man stood.

"Who pulled the child clear?"

The captain stopped speaking. No one answered. I raised my hand, though he was already looking at me.

"I did. I heard the order. I didn’t wait."

"There, Lord Darian," the captain began. "She admits—"

"She disobeyed the order to stay back. That doesn’t mean she brought the wolf into the yard." Darian looked toward the broken wall. "Find out how long that gap has been there."

Then he turned back to me.

"You’ll wash the bloodied linen from the guardroom. All of it. Report for it in the morning."

I nodded. More washing. My fingers were already sore where the boy gripped them through my sleeve.

"She isn’t to be locked up," he told the captain.

I’d expected more questions, or a lecture with everyone standing there to hear it. Instead, he sent the men back to work. I loosened the boy’s hand from my sleeve, and a woman came over from the kitchens to take him.

Darian was still looking at my arm.

"Were you bitten?"

"No."

"May I see?"

I turned my forearm over. There was an old kitchen burn and redness from the washing water, but no bite. The cracks across my knuckles showed when I straightened my hand.

He checked my arm, then stepped back. He didn’t ask about my hands. I pulled my sleeve down. I didn’t want another person telling me how to wash, but I was annoyed that he’d looked so closely and said nothing about what was actually hurting.

I went to fetch my bucket.

"You were quick," he said behind me. "You reached him before the guards."

He came alongside as I walked toward the porch. I was still thinking about the boy standing there while everyone watched the wolf.

"You saw him at the door," I said. "Then you went to look at the wolf’s shoulder. You didn’t ask whether he was hurt."

Darian slowed. I kept walking.

"And you asked me last," I added.

"I should have checked you both sooner."

I stopped at the corner and looked back. I’d expected him to tell me the wolf had been dangerous, as though I hadn’t noticed.

He glanced toward the guards working with the rope.

"That wound isn’t fresh. It’s a cut, and it’s begun to close badly. It may have been running for some time." He looked at me again. "People will talk about where it came from. If anyone asks you, tell them what you saw. Don’t guess."

"I don’t know where it came from."

"Neither do I yet."

I picked up my bucket. The woman was taking the boy toward the kitchens. He went without looking back, and I watched until they were through the door.

The guards moved the wolf into an empty stall behind the smithy and fixed a hurdle across the entrance. For a while I could still hear it making small, strained sounds. Then it quieted. Men began clearing the broken crocks while someone set the rack upright.

I still had water to carry. In the morning, there would be the guardroom linen as well.

I filled my bucket and left my hands in the cold water for a moment. Darian had agreed with me without making me argue for it. I was glad he had, though it hadn’t helped me decide what to make of him. He’d kept me out of a locked room and given me more work in the same conversation.

My thumb stung when I lifted the handle. I changed hands and carried the water back to the west wall.