Midnight Jewel
Page 41
I opened the attic door without a sound. Moonlight shone from above, illuminating the stairs like a magic pathway. I made my way up and forced open the window’s latch to get a better look at the trellis. Old, but definitely sturdy enough to get me down. No guards in the backyard. This was my chance. I took off the robe and put my foot on the window’s ledge, ready to take the plunge. A cold wind made me shiver, reminding me spring wasn’t here yet. In my haste, I hadn’t grabbed any outerwear.
Luckily, I had stacks and stacks of extra clothing and accessories behind me. I recalled Mistress Culpepper ordering some of our seafaring attire put into storage. Had those heavy cloaks ended up here? One by one, I opened each box, finding hair combs and shoes and bracelets—but no cloaks. I was nearly at the end when I came across a box of wigs. I started to close it as well and then found myself thinking of Grant dressed up as a stooped and grizzled laborer.
What risks did I face by sneaking out? Being caught, obviously. Either by the Glittering Court’s people or some brigand on the road to Cape Triumph. Even if I made it without being detained, I might still be recognized. I’d have a lot of explaining to do and could jeopardize my position.
I looked down and saw only fantastic pieces. Purple wigs. Orange wigs. Pink wigs. Hardly what I’d want to remain inconspicuous. But then, among the showy wigs, I spotted a long blonde one, a very realistic one—and one very different from my own hair. I seized it and went on to the other boxes.
At last, I found the one holding cloaks and other outwear. These might be “everyday” to us, but they were probably richer than what most Cape Triumph citizens owned. Nice clothes could make you a target alone on the road, but I had to hope the fur-trimmed black wool cloak I grabbed would be better than silk. Leather gloves and a cold-weather mask of black velvet completed the set. These masks covered the upper half of the face and were common on both sides of the ocean. Some people treated them as a fashion item. Mistress Culpepper disliked them because they could smear eye makeup, but she also said they were occasionally a necessary evil against icy winds that might chap a young girl’s skin.
By the time I’d scaled down the trellis and stood in the yard below, I was no longer Mira Viana. I was a masked blonde woman, clothed in black, ready to plunge forward into the night.
CHAPTER 12
I MOVED SLOWLY OVER THE GROUNDS, KEEPING TO THE shadows and patiently waiting for times when the watchmen weren’t looking in my direction. Although their job was to scan everything, their biggest priority was to stop any rampaging man from busting through the door and taking advantage of the delicate women within. The dirt road to Cape Triumph lay right in front of the house, easy to follow to town. Easy for anyone to follow—that was the problem. Masked or not, I was alone at night and armed only with my battered knife. And although it was the preferred road for those traveling from remote parts of Denham, it wasn’t actually a direct route to Cape Triumph. It was as direct as man’s engineering could manage, however. I’d heard the hired guards grumbling about it. All around us in this part of Denham, the land lay like a patchwork quilt. Some areas were cleared, either for future or past plantings. Larger tracts of forest surrounded those, comprised of all sorts of vegetation. One such wooded region stood between Wisteria Hollow and the outskirts of Cape Triumph. Cutting directly across it, the men said, would chop off a third of the travel time. But the land was overgrown and, worse, parts were marshy. Even if anyone managed to clear some of it, it’d be too risky to bring wagons and carriages through.
But someone on foot might be able to navigate it just fine. And if that someone happened to run into another traveler, it would be easier to hide among the trees than on an open road.
I plunged into the woods, immediately snagging my cloak and skirt on brambles. The vines had dried up in winter, but their thorns had stayed sharp. They didn’t hurt so much as slow me down—as did stepping over falling branches and other forest debris. It made stealth impossible.
When I reached the section near the marsh, I found the mud frozen solid. That was one benefit of the cold, I supposed, but the ground was still rough and uneven. A rudimentary trail finally offered some relief, though it was so narrow that I couldn’t place my feet side by side on it.
I emerged onto another road about half an hour after my trek had begun, torn and dirty, my ankle aching. To the north, less than a mile away, the city’s lights offered a faint glow, and renewed energy surged through me. Packed earth and wheel tracks confirmed this was a busy road, and two men on horseback thundered by me without a second glance. I followed eagerly, almost as excited about going into the city as I was to deliver my news. A wagon passed me too, and soon, my road joined into an even wider one with more foot traffic. By then, Cape Triumph’s great fort loomed over us, and I realized I’d come to the city’s main entrance. Only two soldiers stood watch atop the barracks. One looked like he was busy cleaning his gun. Or maybe whittling.
I had to force myself to keep moving once I stepped through the gates. I wanted to stand there and memorize every detail around me. I’d been in cities before—old cities like Santa Luz and Osfro. Cities steeped in history, whose very stones had pedigrees and whose districts were neatly portioned off between the rich and the poor. Here, the lines were more blurred. I knew the history of Cape Triumph’s layout, and I could see it all as I walked the streets and hoped I didn’t look too much like an outsider. The oldest areas of the city bore the signs of early colonization, where settlers had put up whatever buildings and businesses they could defend, with little regard to any cohesive plan. Farther out, the streets had been constructed with greater thought and apportioned into residential and commercial areas. But even among these, the old rules had been broken. A jeweler’s shop next to a tanner’s. An elegant millinery store beside a tavern.
I suspected the city’s residential areas would have stronger divides between rich and poor, but here, in the heart of commerce, everything was a delightful jumble. Its people were too, showing the same range of class and wardrobe I’d observed at the docks. Most were out for entertainment at this hour, and most were men. I made a point to walk with purpose, as I’d long discovered that attracted the least amount of attention.
Luckily, I had stacks and stacks of extra clothing and accessories behind me. I recalled Mistress Culpepper ordering some of our seafaring attire put into storage. Had those heavy cloaks ended up here? One by one, I opened each box, finding hair combs and shoes and bracelets—but no cloaks. I was nearly at the end when I came across a box of wigs. I started to close it as well and then found myself thinking of Grant dressed up as a stooped and grizzled laborer.
What risks did I face by sneaking out? Being caught, obviously. Either by the Glittering Court’s people or some brigand on the road to Cape Triumph. Even if I made it without being detained, I might still be recognized. I’d have a lot of explaining to do and could jeopardize my position.
I looked down and saw only fantastic pieces. Purple wigs. Orange wigs. Pink wigs. Hardly what I’d want to remain inconspicuous. But then, among the showy wigs, I spotted a long blonde one, a very realistic one—and one very different from my own hair. I seized it and went on to the other boxes.
At last, I found the one holding cloaks and other outwear. These might be “everyday” to us, but they were probably richer than what most Cape Triumph citizens owned. Nice clothes could make you a target alone on the road, but I had to hope the fur-trimmed black wool cloak I grabbed would be better than silk. Leather gloves and a cold-weather mask of black velvet completed the set. These masks covered the upper half of the face and were common on both sides of the ocean. Some people treated them as a fashion item. Mistress Culpepper disliked them because they could smear eye makeup, but she also said they were occasionally a necessary evil against icy winds that might chap a young girl’s skin.
By the time I’d scaled down the trellis and stood in the yard below, I was no longer Mira Viana. I was a masked blonde woman, clothed in black, ready to plunge forward into the night.
CHAPTER 12
I MOVED SLOWLY OVER THE GROUNDS, KEEPING TO THE shadows and patiently waiting for times when the watchmen weren’t looking in my direction. Although their job was to scan everything, their biggest priority was to stop any rampaging man from busting through the door and taking advantage of the delicate women within. The dirt road to Cape Triumph lay right in front of the house, easy to follow to town. Easy for anyone to follow—that was the problem. Masked or not, I was alone at night and armed only with my battered knife. And although it was the preferred road for those traveling from remote parts of Denham, it wasn’t actually a direct route to Cape Triumph. It was as direct as man’s engineering could manage, however. I’d heard the hired guards grumbling about it. All around us in this part of Denham, the land lay like a patchwork quilt. Some areas were cleared, either for future or past plantings. Larger tracts of forest surrounded those, comprised of all sorts of vegetation. One such wooded region stood between Wisteria Hollow and the outskirts of Cape Triumph. Cutting directly across it, the men said, would chop off a third of the travel time. But the land was overgrown and, worse, parts were marshy. Even if anyone managed to clear some of it, it’d be too risky to bring wagons and carriages through.
But someone on foot might be able to navigate it just fine. And if that someone happened to run into another traveler, it would be easier to hide among the trees than on an open road.
I plunged into the woods, immediately snagging my cloak and skirt on brambles. The vines had dried up in winter, but their thorns had stayed sharp. They didn’t hurt so much as slow me down—as did stepping over falling branches and other forest debris. It made stealth impossible.
When I reached the section near the marsh, I found the mud frozen solid. That was one benefit of the cold, I supposed, but the ground was still rough and uneven. A rudimentary trail finally offered some relief, though it was so narrow that I couldn’t place my feet side by side on it.
I emerged onto another road about half an hour after my trek had begun, torn and dirty, my ankle aching. To the north, less than a mile away, the city’s lights offered a faint glow, and renewed energy surged through me. Packed earth and wheel tracks confirmed this was a busy road, and two men on horseback thundered by me without a second glance. I followed eagerly, almost as excited about going into the city as I was to deliver my news. A wagon passed me too, and soon, my road joined into an even wider one with more foot traffic. By then, Cape Triumph’s great fort loomed over us, and I realized I’d come to the city’s main entrance. Only two soldiers stood watch atop the barracks. One looked like he was busy cleaning his gun. Or maybe whittling.
I had to force myself to keep moving once I stepped through the gates. I wanted to stand there and memorize every detail around me. I’d been in cities before—old cities like Santa Luz and Osfro. Cities steeped in history, whose very stones had pedigrees and whose districts were neatly portioned off between the rich and the poor. Here, the lines were more blurred. I knew the history of Cape Triumph’s layout, and I could see it all as I walked the streets and hoped I didn’t look too much like an outsider. The oldest areas of the city bore the signs of early colonization, where settlers had put up whatever buildings and businesses they could defend, with little regard to any cohesive plan. Farther out, the streets had been constructed with greater thought and apportioned into residential and commercial areas. But even among these, the old rules had been broken. A jeweler’s shop next to a tanner’s. An elegant millinery store beside a tavern.
I suspected the city’s residential areas would have stronger divides between rich and poor, but here, in the heart of commerce, everything was a delightful jumble. Its people were too, showing the same range of class and wardrobe I’d observed at the docks. Most were out for entertainment at this hour, and most were men. I made a point to walk with purpose, as I’d long discovered that attracted the least amount of attention.
