Page 56 of Traitor Son

“Master Guisse,” she began hesitantly. “How much longer does the wall get each day?”

He looked delighted to be asked.

“An average of two hundred feet per day on the south wall, my lady,” he said, puffing out his chest. “The north wall averages only a little less. There are certain techniques we are pioneering that have been most effective, you see the pulley system we have devised—”

Ophele nodded politely as he rattled off a quantity of information about pulleys and levers and slides, but for once she wasn’t interested in the details; there seemed to be a more immediate problem. The blacksmiths needed water, too; they were rolling it back and forth by the barrel. Two hundred feet per day? But surely someone else must have spotted the issue, there were masons and builders from all over the Empire here, but maybe just in case…

“Sir Miche,” she began as they walked back to town at the end of the day, “are there any horses that might be spared?”

“Not without a da—very good reason,” he said, looking at her curiously. “And you can call me Miche, my lady. Why?”

“Nothing.” It was presumptuous to think she knew anything.

“Well, now I’m curious,” he said, offering an encouraging smile. “Go on, I won’t tell another soul.”

“Well, I just thought maybe there might be a problem with fetching water soon,” she said hesitantly. “It’s not that I don’t want to, but I asked Master Guisse how much longer the wall gets every day, and I was doing some sums, and I think I refilled all the buckets nine times yesterday and ten times today. And I kept track, I averaged seven minutes per bucket, going to the well and back, at about thirty seconds per hundred feet of wall, so if we keep adding two hundred feet per day, then in a few days …”

He was looking at her very oddly.

“I don’t think it will be mathematically possible,” she finished, small.

“No,” he said slowly. “No, you’re right. On the north wall they’ve got a stream handy, so water’s not an issue. I wonder if in all his pioneering Guisse has got a plan for hydrating his work crew.”

“The blacksmiths were complaining, too,” she said, encouraged. “That’s why I wondered, I could do it if I had a horse to pull the wagon.”

“You can’t lead these horses, my lady,” Sir Miche replied seriously. “War horses are dangerous. Trained to bite and kick if anyone but theirhandler gets close. That’s why Rem wouldn’t let you near that black monster of his. But I’ll look into it tonight. Could be I could scrounge up a donkey.”

“Oh, a donkey!” Ophele forgot all about being sore, filthy, sweaty, and so tired she could have laid down in the grass on the side of the road and gone to sleep. She whirled toward him, clapping her hands together with excitement. “Really? We have donkeys?”

“I think I saw a couple in the stable.” Sir Miche looked amused. “Most people don’t think much of the creatures.”

“They look like a rabbit and a horse had a baby,” she said, bouncing beside him. “And I’m really not trying to get out of working, you know, it’s just that if you do the math…”

“No, no, I can’t argue with your reckoning.” He laughed, shaking his head, though Ophele didn’t see what was funny. “Could you manage a donkey by yourself?”

“I think so.” Though now that it looked like a real possibility, she wasn’t entirely sure. “I had a friend back at Aldeburke who had the sweetest donkey…”

She told him about Rou and Anzel as they walked up the lane into town, and how Rou had always saved some new books or some small surprise for her whenever he visited. Usually, they walked together all the way from the manor to the gates, and once she was old enough, he let her lead Anzel a few times. Of course, that was a well-trained donkey over a paved road, but still…

“We didn’t get to see much of you in Aldeburke, when we were there,” Sir Miche remarked. “I suppose you must miss it.”

Ophele looked away, searching for an answer that was both truthful and innocuous. The fact that it took some time to produce one spoke volumes.

“I—I miss the library,” she said finally. “And Azelma.”

“I…see,” he replied, and was quiet until they reached her cottage. “I’ll come collect you for supper at full dark,” he said at the door. “Don’t go anywhere else, and if anything frightens you, run to the cookhouse. Wen is always there. But you’re safe here,” he added, meeting her gaze with unusual seriousness. “If anyone looks at you crossways, you tell me, and I’ll set them right.”

“All right…” she said dubiously. She had no doubt Master Wen would be there, but it seemed to her that she could stagger through the doorway with a knife in her back and he’d yell at her for bleeding on his kitchen.

Supper came with the news that there was indeed an elderly donkey that might be fit to haul water, and inside Ophele hugged herself with delight. She had always loved animals; they were easier to talk to than people.

“We’ll go see him in the morning,” Sir Miche promised. “Tounot, will we be getting any more human assistance on the south? We’re having to recruit donkeys now.”

Sir Tounot sat down on the other side of the table and reached for a platter of roasted meat.

“Maybe next week,” he said. Ophele hadn’t had much opportunity to exchange words with him, but Sir Tounot looked friendly enough, ruddy and curly-haired, with a cleft in his chin. “Your Grace,” he added, with a nod of his head for her. “I hope you’re well. A lovely lady at table makes even the humblest meal a feast.”

“Y-yes,” she stammered, reddening. Such extravagant compliments were considered an art among knights, but having never received one, she hadn’t the least idea how she was supposed to reply.

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