Tristan sat across from Raja at the table, the chessboard between them. She had finished her tea and the two of them were in her room. Raja sighed, unable to fully concentrate on the game. And she was sleepy.
“I’m sorry Trissy; I’m not a good opponent today.”
“It’s all right,” he said.
She only shook her head as if she did not understand him or herself. Raja rubbed her eyes and slumped in the chair. She gazed out the window, her stare becoming more distant by the second, falling into that dark place within her. Tristan wanted to say something, pull her back, but he could only rise from his chair and lift Raja from hers and lay her down on her bed. She was aware of him, a good sign. She got under the covers and Tristan pulled up a chair next to the bed. Muriel crawled out from underneath one of the pillows and settled herself under the bridge of Raja’s hands.
“Lucille is nice,” she said quietly.
Tristan made one of his throaty sounds that few could interpret as a response, but to Raja was filled with meaning.
“She’s a relative of Beauty’s.”
His sharp golden eyes met hers, wide and full of wonder. And hope. Raja had been devastated over the loss of Beauty, and now she had found another chicken. Or, in Raja’s words, Lucille had found her. Deep down, Tristan figured Raja knew that Lucille wasn’t truly a relative of the late Beauty’s. It wasn’t a delusion, but her imagination, and her heart that concocted the idea. The idea that even after death, the ties of family still went on.
“I think I’ll pick some flowers tomorrow,” she went on, her voice becoming drowsy. “Will you come with me?”
Tristan pursed his lips in mock distaste and Raja giggled, a yawn quickly following on its heels.
It was a few hours later when Raja woke up. Tristan was gone and the sun was just going down, and she could hear a light rain splattering against the window panes. She rubbed her sleep-puffed eyes, got out of bed, put her shoes on, and straightened her tunic. Raja undid her braid, which was askew and loose from sleeping, brushed it, and tucked it behind her ears, letting her locks fall down her back. She didn’t see Muriel, probably off to visit friends Raja surmised. So, she straightened out the bed covers and left her room to go see her uncle. She had not seen him since that morning, though he had probably come to check on her whilst she had napped.
Raja first checked his room, which was unoccupied. She found him in his study with Uncle Memnon.
“Look who is awake,” Ardeth said.
Raja smiled and went to sit on his lap, she said hello to her other uncle and rested her head against Ardeth.
“Did you have a pleasant rest?” Memnon asked.
“Mmm-hmm.” She nodded. “Tristan sat with me until I fell asleep.”
“How considerate of him,” Memnon said, only Ardeth catching the faint note of disapproval.
“Are you hungry little one? I gather you have not eaten since the morning.”
“I am a bit hungry,” she said. “Can we eat together? And Uncle Memnon? Oh! I have to use the facilities first.”
Not long after, the three of them had dinner together. Irisi had already taken a light meal with her ladies, and would likely be waiting for Ardeth in her quarters once he was free. Raja chatted between bites of her stew, and sips of cherry juice, even getting Memnon to chuckle a time or two. Afterwards, Ardeth took Raja to the stables so she could say a goodnight to Odin and Horus, and then it was time for bed. By then, the rain was coming down by the bucket full, and Raja was disappointed that she and Tristan probably would not be able to pick flowers tomorrow.
“Once the rain stops I am sure Tristan will go with you,” Ardeth assured her, tucking the blankets snugly around her.
“Uncle Ardeth?”
“Hmm?”
“I met a relative of Beauty’s today.”
Ardeth met her eyes with the slightest rise of his brow. “Did you?” He figured this would turn into a conversation so he sat down on the bed to face her, ever ready to listen.
“Her name is Lucille,” Raja said with a smile. “But she was in a cage. And the man who was selling chickens shooed me away. But Lottie came and took me with him. Lucille doesn’t want to be in the cage, Uncle Ardeth.” She shook her head, the back of her head rustling against the pillow and mussing her hair. “The man said I couldn’t take her with me.”
Ardeth chose his words carefully. “Do you know why he would not let you take Lucille?”
Raja pursed her lips. “But she doesn’t belong to him.”
He smiled in understanding. “You did not answer my question, Raja.”
“Because...” he prompted.
He knew she was fighting between the reality of it and what she perceived it to be. Her belief that an animal could not ultimately belong to another and the fact that in another’s mind, the chicken – or Lucille – was the man’s property by law.
“I think you know why, little one,” he said, but not without sympathy.
A moue of displeasure creased her face, her mind still trying to find a loophole in the matter but coming up blank. She sighed heavily. “I suppose.”
He chuckled.
“But I don’t like it,” she added.
The topic waned and soon Raja’s eyes began to droop in fatigue. When he knew she was lost in slumber, Ardeth kissed her on the forehead, turned down the lamp, made sure the fire was fully aflame, and left the room. Irisi was in her bedroom, waiting for him. They came together, once again, without words in voracious love making that left them veiled in perspiration and each others’ scents.
After collecting her breath, Irisi turned on her side, propping her head up with her hand, looking like a live statue of seduction. Ardeth turned his head and smirked at her, his obsidian eyes running down her nude body from breasts to feet, her golden-brown skin shiny in the candle light. Irisi stroked his chest, now close enough that he could feel her bosom against his side. He watched her hand run down his body, causing his body to come alive again.
“You, my dear, are insatiable,” he said.
Irisi laughed, the sound like warm honey. She continued to caress him in silence. Ardeth’s eyes drooped in pleasure, letting Irisi a chance to take him in as she did each time he drowsed. Her Egyptian god. Ardeth. Hair as dark as night, eyes filled with wisdom, intelligence, kindness and also sorrow. He had a strong neck that spanned to broad shoulders, muscular arms, firm pectorals; his abdomen rippled and trim; strong thighs and calves and big feet. And his hands, calloused and tough, long fingers that could ignite fire under her flesh with the slightest touch. His mere gaze could do so.
Her reverie was broken by a clap of lightning and the vicious boom of thunder. Ardeth’s eyes opened and she knew his thoughts went instantly to his niece, wondering if she had awakened by the violent sounds.
“I’m sure she’s fine, Ardeth,” she said soothingly, hoping to keep him abed with her.
Outside, the sky quieted back to its incessant rain, and Ardeth let the tension go out of his body, relaxing back onto the bed; though half of his attention was directed to the other side of the door and down the halls.
“Raja often goes to Tristan’s room when it rains,” he said.
Irisi stopped her caressing, staring nonplussed at her love. “And you allow that?”
He turned his head to her. “She finds comfort in him.”
“Yes...but...he is a man. How...?”
“It is not men she fears. But the darkness, the abyss of pain and horror. The solitude.”
“Do you not think she will have troubles with men as she grows older, when she is of courting age? Even now she is a young beauty, and in time...Well, you know how men are, Ardeth.”
He smirked. “That is a long ways away.”
“Not so long, Ardeth,” she informed him softly. “Change comes so quickly.”
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It continued to rain for the next few days, but activities went on as usual. Tameri and Dagonet spent time together – becoming more attached with each passing day - when he was not occupied with his duties. Saira and Lancelot enjoyed the others’ nightly company...and daytime company. Raja tried to keep her mind off of Lucille, even though staying apart from her friend, - and even a friend of the late Beauty’s! – went against every grain of her heart. The man, Daniel, said something about making money off of Lucille, was there a way Raja could pay him for Lucille? She had not much coin of her own, and she did not think Uncle Ardeth would give her any. She had an allowance, which she usually spent on materials to knit socks and repair clothing.
Memnon spent most of his time with his brother, going over business or simply catching up with one another. He would spend time in his niece’s company, coming to find that she was an adequate opponent in Chess. He quizzed her on history and her numbers and literature, and languages, pleased to find that she was retaining and understanding quite a good portion of all she was being taught. And he was surprised to find out that she helped Arthur take inventory in the armory. He had only been going into the stables to see to his horse, Imhotep, when Horus keened loudly.
Memnon heard some mumbling coming from the armory, so with silent footsteps he approached, only to see his young niece with a clay tablet cradled in one arm and a stylus in her hands counting some arrows. Raja didn’t notice him.
“Oh, this is not good Muriel,” she said quietly to the mouse on her shoulder. She shook her head. “Not good at all.” She made a note on the clay tablet with deliberate strokes, the tip of her tongue sticking out of the corner of her mouth in concentration.
Raja moved along to the next batch of implements, counting under her breath. She made a tsking noise with her tongue. “Not good again, Muriel.”
“What is not good, Raja?” Memnon spoke, walking further into the room, and Raja snapped her head in his direction.
“Some things are missing,” Raja said with slight umbrage. “I will have to speak with Arthur about this,” she told him seriously.
His lips curved upwards into a small grin. “You take your duties very seriously. I did not know you took inventory.”
The little girl stood up straighter, obviously proud of herself. “I do. And I practice my numbers. I write them here,” –she pointed to her clay tablet– “and then Arthur translates them onto parchment for his records.”
Memnon nodded.
“I also clean and shine their armor. But Uncle Ardeth does not allow me to sharpen the weapons.” She shook her head. “He does not.”
“I see you are doing a fine job, niece. What else do you do?”
Raja was silent for a mere moment, taken aback at her uncle’s interest in her work. “I also make socks for them, and mend their clothes.” She was satisfied with herself at her usefulness. “When I first came here, their socks were most de-por-able.”
“Deplorable,” he corrected.
“Deplorable,” she repeated.
“I am sure they appreciate it greatly. I shall leave you to your duties now.” He left, but not before he saw the surprised, but pleased, expression on her face.
Raja was left alone in the armory, save for Muriel. She was shocked at her Uncle Memnon’s compliment. “He thinks I do a good job, Muriel,” she whispered. With that, she turned back to her duties, determined to continue doing a good job.
When she was finished she went straight to Arthur’s study where he was hovering over a map and other papers. He smiled at her when she entered the room. Raja stood on the other side of the desk that reached the middle of her chest. Raja had a serious look on her face, as she always did when presenting the results of her endeavor to him.
“I am most vexed, Artie,” she began, always using every word she could remember from her studies to sound professional.
“Of what, Raja?” he asked.
“See here?” She had put the clay tablet before him, and pointed. “There are items missing. And that is not good.” Before he could say anything, she went on. “Someone is not returning the weapons to their proper places. Or, someone is stealing. Or, they were taken away to be mended. But I should have been notified if that is the case, so I could make a note of it.” She nodded her head studiously. “So no errors are made.”
Arthur contemplated her information seriously, as he always did. She always took meticulous notes of anything out of the ordinary, and even double-checked her work, which was more than he could have said for the individuals whose job it truly was to take inventory.
“Well, I am not aware of any weapons taken away to be mended,” he said after a moment.
“Do you think I made a mistake?” Raja’s brow furrowed and she looked most distressed at the prospect. “I can count again.”
“No. No, Raja,” he assured her. “I am certain that is not the case.” But she still looked worried.
“Do you want me to make in-kwer-ies?”
Arthur hid his grin at the slight mispronunciation of ‘inquiries.’ “No, thank you, Raja. You have done a fine job. I will see to this.”
Raja pursed her lips. “Will you tell me what you find, Artie? I think I should know, too.”
“I will be certain to tell you, Raja.”
“Okay.” She sighed. “This is most vexing.”
“It is, indeed. But we will get to the bottom of it.”
“Indeed,” she echoed.
Minutes later she was gone, and Arthur was quiet in his study, staring out the window. He thought how much he had come to love the little girl like a sister. She was refreshing to have around, a light during his darker days when blood was crusted in his hair and fingernails. When he had the scent of death lingering in his pores. Arthur was certain she had the same effect on the other knights. And he wondered what would happen to all of them if she were to leave.
----------------------------------
“Why the secret smile, brother?” Ardeth asked as he and Memnon sat in front of the fire in his study drinking wine.
The fire glittered in Memnon’s dark eyes. “Why did you never tell me that Raja worked in the armory?”
“I have,” Ardeth said. “In much detail.”
“Hmm. I suppose it is different actually seeing it then.” He noted the tip of his brother’s head, a silent question. “I went to the stables to see Imhotep, and heard Raja in the armory, counting weapons. She was doing a grand job of it.”
Ardeth nodded. “She does.”
They were silent again. “I am proud of her,” Memnon said quietly. Before Ardeth could say anything Memnon continued. “I was only here for a mere few days last time. But these past few weeks have allotted me the time to see Raja’s true place here.” He put down his mug. “As you have said, she has truly blossomed here.”
Memnon meant every word he said. Raja really did have a place here, and a deep connection with all the knights. He hadn’t seen it before, but now that he had, he questioned his eagerness to have Ardeth return to Egypt with their niece. He was beginning to think that Raja would lose much of what she had grown here in Britannia. In Egypt, she had had her chores, but never the duties she did for her friends. And not really duties or even favors; she did them out of love for them. Not obligation.
And her interactions with them. He could tell they loved her and cherished her presence. How such hardened warriors could eschew their calloused shells when they were with her. Despite the fact that Lancelot still looked around when spending time with her, pushing her on the swing in the corral. But then he would get caught up in joy of it, and forget that he cared if there were witnesses to the displays of his heart. And Tristan. Though the scout may grumble, there was an inherent softness towards Raja. He protected her like an iron shield and was most susceptible to her charms. Reserved Arthur, a young commander with many burdens that showed in the lines of his face and his jade eyes, looking older than he really was. Even he brightened with Raja’s presence. Bors was gruff, yet tender, and Dagonet was openly affectionate with her, treating her like a daughter or sister. Memnon still felt that she was a bit too cosseted for a girl her age, but he supposed it was better than neglect.
Ardeth watched circumspectly as his brother’s thoughts flickered through his mind.
“Aisha and Lancelot would be very proud of her,” Memnon said. “So proud.”
Ardeth echoed the sentiment with as much reverence. “Yes, they would.”
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The next few days were sunny and bright, and Raja finally got to go on her flower-picking expedition. She kept Tristan with her for hours, filling up three baskets (with one more empty) of various colored flora and fauna, which he had to hold.
“You think you have enough?” he asked.
“Don’t snivel, Trissy! How can you snivel at a time like this!” She gestured at the surrounding areas, brimming floriferously. Raja pranced off like a fairy and with a final grumble and disdainful look at the flowers he followed her.
“Let’s rest now,” Raja said. They found a small copse alongside a creek. Tristan set down the baskets without ceremony, some of the flowers falling out. He received a scathing glance from Raja, which he ignored. Odin and Dyne joined them, drinking their fill from the creek. They were fed apples and set free to graze. Raja took off her satchel – filled with her usual implements – and another valise she had taken off of Odin’s person. She set out a small blanket and arranged her and Tristan’s picnic on it.
Ale for Tristan and juice for her. Bread, cheese, meat, honeyballs, raisins, and apples.
“Honeyballs?” Tristan arched a single brow.
“Sally snuck them for me,” Raja said quietly, as if her uncle would be around to hear. Ardeth had restricted her to few candies, but the kitchen ladies liked her and often aided her in sneaking the tasty confections.
Tristan hmmphed, but opted not to say anything. If Ardeth had cut down the sweets for Raja, it was for her health. He would just have to eat the lot of them before she could have too many. If she came back to the fortress with a hyper disposition which had nothing to do with the successful flower exodus, Ardeth would surely notice. They ate in silence for a time, enjoying the food and one another’s company. Dyne came around and nudged Tristan’s head, getting a nudge in return because the steed had already had an apple.
Tristan judged that at least an hour had passed by the position of the sun and suggested they head back to the fortress. They cleaned everything up, then arranged the baskets of flowers on Odin. They rode carefully so the flowers weren’t damaged.
“Thank you for coming with me, Trissy,” Raja said.
The corner of his mouth quirked in lieu of a “you’re welcome.”
“I always have fun with you,” she added, not expecting a response.
Jols was in the stables, lecturing one of the stableboys about not mucking out the stalls properly. Both turned when Tristan and Raja entered. The stableboy muttered something under his breath when he saw all the flowers. Jols said, “Hit gold, did ya, Raja?”
She smiled wide. “I sure did!” Raja was helped down from Odin, she took off the baskets and set them aside, but first selected two nice ones and gave one to Jols and one to the stableboy. The young boy stared at the flower, not knowing what to do with it.
“Thank you, Raja. I’ll cherish this,” Jols said.
Raja blushed. She didn’t see Jols slap the boy on the back of the head.
“Erm...yeah, thank you,” he said.
Tristan and Raja left their horses to Jols, and he helped carry the baskets into the keep. He left to check in with Arthur, leaving Raja to sort out her wares. Muriel scurried out from underneath her bed, up Raja’s leg, traveling upwards to sit on Raja’s shoulder.
“We have to make our rounds, Muriel,” she said. With one basket in hand, she left her room and traveled to each of the knights’ rooms to replace the old flowers with new ones.
When she got to Dagonet’s room, her small fist halted just as she was about to knock on the door.
A woman giggled. “Dagonet!”
Raja heard a muffled response of sorts. She wasn’t sure if she should interrupt. There was more giggling and Dagonet said Tameri’s name in a husky manner – he must have a cold, Raja surmised – and laughed himself. Finally, she opted not to disturb them. Raja and Muriel went to Arthur’s study.
“Hello, Raja,” he said, smiling. He saw the mouse on her shoulder. “Hello to you, too, Muriel.”
“I have new flowers,” Raja said, lifting the basket. She took the small vase from Arthur’s desk, replacing the flowers with fresher ones. “I replaced the other ones, too. Except for Dagonet. He was in there with Tameri. I think he told a funny joke because they were giggling a lot.”
Arthur’s brow raised a fraction. Dagonet spent a lot of time with the Egyptian lady, and Arthur could see that the knight was very besotted with her. It would be a sad parting when the time came.
“I also think he has a cold, Artie,” Raja said. “I heard him. It was the way it sounds when you have a sore throat.”
He was successful in schooling his features into complacency.
“Should I bring him tea?”
“Oh...I’m sure he’s fine, Raja,” he told her.
She still looked dubious, but to his relief, she let it go. “There!” The flowers were arranged just so in the vase to her satisfaction.
“It certainly brightens up the room.”
Minutes later she said goodbye leaving Arthur to his work. She still had many flowers left over.
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It was a short time later that Raja finally left the keep, all flowers distributed. Late afternoon and the sun was bright, sky blue, she breathed in the clean air, feeling the breeze ruffled the loose tendrils of her hair that had escaped her braid. It was a ruckus over by the tavern that caught her attention. There was a crowd that was cheering or jeering, depending on one’s perspective. It was really the clucks of disturbed chickens that compelled her to see what the clamor was about. Of course, once she reached the throng of people it was near impossible for her to see passed them.
“Get ‘em! Get ‘em!” a man shouted.
Raja hopped up and down futilely. The sounds of the animals – she heard two – were angry and violent. She knew the different sorts of clucks, and these were not happy ones.
“First blood!” someone yelled.
Blood? Raja was even more determined to get through. She went on hands and knees, dirtying her hose, and fairly pushed her way through the melee of legs on all fours. It was an advantage to be small at times.
----------------------------------------
“Oh hell,” Lancelot swore under his breath.
Saira glanced at him, eyes wide. “What? What is the problem?”
Lancelot saw his little cousin drop to the ground and scuttle her way through the mass of people that were betting on a cockfight. It wasn’t good. Once she saw what was happening, all hell would break loose.
“My cousin,” Lancelot said, already hurrying over to her. Saira followed quickly at his heels. It was too late though.
“LUCILLE!!!!” Raja screamed.
People, men and women alike, were perturbed at the disruption of their fun. They saw a little girl interrupt the chicken fight, ruining the outcome of all bets.
“Move the hell aside!” Lancelot sneered, elbowing his way through. He was making way, realizing that Tristan was only a step or two behind him, his glare of menace more than enough to at least get the crowd to part with less asperity.
“LUCILLE!” Raja wailed.
At the front of the fracas now, Lancelot and Tristan saw Daniel holding Raja back from jumping into the pen that held the two chickens. Tears streamed down her red face, and her eyes looked crazed. She screamed Lucille’s name again.
“Get her out of there!” someone demanded. “I want my coin back!”
“Hands off my cousin!” Lancelot yanked her from Daniel’s grip. She struggled though, still trying to get to Lucille.
“She ruined the bet, Lancelot,” Daniel growled. “Can’t you keep an eye on her or something? My chicken was winning!”
“She’s hurt!” Raja cried.
“Ah, bloody hell,” Daniel hissed under his breath.
Tristan steadied her with a firm grip. Her knees were shaking, and she could hardly speak for crying.
“Murray, get the chicken out!” Daniel ordered a young lad, his helper.
“Lucille!” Raja began to babble in a mix of Sarmatian and Arabic.
Then, the crowd parted, like the Red Sea for Moses and his people. Ardeth sauntered forward, imperious and stern, dark eyes immediately clapping onto his niece. Tristan surrendered her to her uncle’s embrace. The Egyptian picked her up, her limbs struggling for freedom, trying to get to Lucille who was putting up a fuss for Murray. Memnon, who was standing on the outskirts of the crowd, assessed the situation. The people were complaining, demanding their coin back, cursing the interruption of their wholesome fun.
Lancelot couldn’t tell whether he was displeased or apathetic. He shared a look with Tristan, trying to glean a modicum of understanding, but the scout had none to offer him. Besides, there wasn’t much to understand. Raja’s chicken friend had just been in a battle in her grief-stricken eyes.
“I ran to Ardeth and Memnon as fast as I could,” Saira said to him. He hadn’t even noticed her at his side. “Will she be alright?”
Lancelot looked grim, but also settled, as if he were used to his cousin being upset over such things. He hid it under a bemused expression and benign exasperation – oh, that silly cousin of mine, she kicks up a fuss over everything – yet he knew that wasn’t the case. He learned long ago that such sorrow of hers was genuine. No matter how big or small the animal.
Tristan walked by without a word, his own feelings cloaked by an aura of detachment.
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It took some time to calm his niece down, but with soothing words and a gentle rocking of her in his arms, her sobs waned into sniffles, then quiet whimpers. Ardeth got a damp washcloth and wiped her face. Her nose was red from crying, eyes were bloodshot and her face was puffy. She hadn’t uttered Lucille’s name since he had carried her into her bedroom, but the chicken’s name was written all over her face, every teardrop. He stayed with her until she fell into a fatigued slumber. Ardeth took off her shoes and jerkin, then tucked her body snugly under the covers. Muriel flittered by his boots, requesting a hand up to the bed. He picked up the mouse and laid her by Raja’s hands. Muriel’s whiskers whispered across her skin and her palms opened like the wings of a dove, cradling Muriel the Mouse in the soft feathers of her hands.
Ardeth closed her bedroom; Memnon was standing to the side. The elder brother’s eyebrow twitched in question.
“She will be fine,” Ardeth said. “Though, she is very upset.”
“Quite,” Memnon replied. “Irisi asked for you.”
Ardeth merely nodded and walked passed him to his lover’s room. Her door was partially open. She was sitting in front of the fire, drinking a glass of wine. Having heard him, she looked at him, smiling sweetly. “How is she?” Irisi poured him a goblet of wine as he sat in the unoccupied chair.
“She cried herself to sleep.” Ardeth rubbed his eyes with his fore and middle fingers.
Irisi shook her head in sympathy. He accepted the drink gratefully.
“How are you, Ardeth? You look so weary, my dear.”
He gave her a small smile, and she responded by getting up, holding out her hand; she guided him to the bed and sat him down, took off his boots, socks, belt, jerkin, and tunic, and then made him recline on the cushions. His head rested on the pillows, body straight in the center. All he wore was his breeches.
“Relax,” she said softly.
He sighed, a long, low exhalation of relief. The bed dipped as Irisi straddled him, her warm, silky hands, unknown to any manual labor, massaged his neck and shoulders, smoothing out the knots of tension. He closed his eyes, letting her ease him. Irisi was perfectly quiet. She observed his face, muscles loosening bit by bit. There were small wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. She knew if he were to shave his beard, there would be evidence of laugh lines around his mouth.
The tips of her fingers dug into his pectorals, moving lower to his abdomen. She made him turn over so she could tend to his back. There were scars from battles, some more prominent than others. Ah, and she knew he had scars on the inside as well. The cuts that had resulted from his late wife’s, Inara’s, passing had likely cut the deepest. Then that of his sister’s and brother-in-law’s deaths as well. And his niece, Raja.
Irisi could not fathom how Ardeth dealt with her pain day after day. How he did not drown from the young girl’s tears. But he was a beautiful man when comforting Raja. How he rocked her like a baby, strong arms linked around her like a halo of protection. Maybe, Irisi thought, if Ardeth held Raja long enough, he would be able to squeeze every tear from her body along with the demons and sorrow. How long would that take?
“Does Raja ever feel like a...burden to you, Ardeth?” Her question was soft, and held nothing but honest curiosity. He remained quiet; she did not stop massaging his back.
Then he answered, his voice sonorous and sure. “Never.”
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Raja woke up just as the sun was setting. She felt lethargic, her face stiff, her head bloated. Then she remembers Lucille, fighting for her life, fighting against one of her own kind – for others’ amusement. Her throat ached and she was glad to see a cup of water on the bedside table. She sat up and reached for it, holding the cup with both hands, big gulps. Raja stuck her finger in the water, holding the tip of her index finger out to Muriel – who was on her lap – for her to suckle.
Raja swung her legs out of bed and looked out the window. Somehow, she knew, she had to rescue Lucille. She remembered the time she was taken by the natives, and her uncle Ardeth, Trissy and Lottie and the rest of the knights had come to save her. Raja had to do the same for Lucille. So, she got up on shaky legs, splashed water on her face, undid her braid, combed her hair, re-braided it, and straightened her clothes, put on her boots and cloak. She got her slingshot from the chest at the end of her bed, just in case she needed a distraction. And her secret weapon: her darts and blow-gun. She could not ask Tristan or anyone else for their help, because if she was caught, the consequences would be direr for them.
“What else, Muriel?” she asked.
A basket, that’s what she needed. Raja took Beauty’s basket, the one where the top opened like a treasure chest and had a hole in it so Beauty could stick her head and neck out of it. Lucille would fit in it just fine.
“What’s that, Muriel?” Raja listened to her friend. “That’s a good idea!”
Raja grabbed two items from another, smaller chest and wrapped them in brown paper. She got a tiny vase and some of the flowers she’d picked earlier that day, too. She was ready.
“You stay here, Muriel. This might be dangerous.” She petted the mouse on her head and set out on her mission.
The knights were probably in the tavern at this time of evening. Where her uncles were, she didn’t know. But she was glad for the vacant halls. She crept out of back stairs of the servants’ quarters and into the night. She knew where Daniel’s workshop was, and could only hope that that was where he kept Lucille, because she didn’t know where he lived. Raja moved like a wraith through the dark passages of the fortress, the only weapons at her disposable her dagger, slingshot and darts. She acted as casual as possible heading towards Daniel’s small workshop. Nobody paid any attention to her. Or so she thought.
A light was on in the workshop, Raja immediately hid to the side near the back door.
“Don’t forget to close the door behind, ya. I’m going to the tavern.” She watched Daniel from behind a corner as he walked away.
It was the sound of Murray swearing and Lucille’s cluck that averted her attention. She peeked in the window which was blessedly not too high. Murray was trying to get Lucille into her cage.
“Wretched beast,” he grumbled.
Raja got out her blow-gun and dart, creeping quietly into the back door. Lucille was making such a racket that Murray was completely unaware that she was behind him, close enough to aim the blow-gun and shoot a dart directly into his rear end.
He was about to call out, but collapsed in a heap. Raja hoped no one heard his body fall.
“Shh, Lucille,” she said. “It’s me. I’m here to save you.”
Quickly, she set down her basket, took out the package and vase of flowers, and set them like an offering next to Murray’s prone body. Lucille made no fuss when Raja reached out to her and gently put her in the basket, closing the top. The chicken’s head poked out instantly like a turtle’s head from its shell. Raja plucked the dart from Murray’s rear end and placed it safely back into the blow gun.
“We have to be extra quiet, Lucille. Put your head back inside.”
Raja looked out the window, left and right. Clear. She went back the way she had come, a little girl carrying a basket. Harmless.