Excerpts from TRICKSTER'S QUEEN

Chapter 1: "Rajmuat"
Chapter 6, 7 & 10 Excerpts: "Darkings"

Rajmuat Harbor
in the Copper Isles
April 23, 463 H.E.

As the ship Gwenna glided through the entrance of Rajmuat harbor, a young woman of seventeen years leaned against the bow rail, taking in her surroundings through green-hazel eyes. Despite her white skin, she was dressed like a native raka in sarong, sash, and wrapped jacket. The sarong displayed her neat, if thin, figure--one with the curves that drew male eyes. The calf-long garment also showed muscled legs and neat ankles protected by leather slippers. Her jacket, worn against the chill of the spring air, covered her muscular upper arms, while the loose areas of her clothes hid an assortment of flat knives designed for her needs. She had a small, delicate nose, inherited from her mother, just as her eyes were her father's. The wide mouth, its lower lip fuller than the upper, was all hers, with smiles tucked into the corners. Her reddish gold hair was cut just below her earlobes to fit her head like a helmet.

Aly looked the soul of repose as she lounged against the rail, but her eyes were busy. She swiftly took in the panorama of Rajmuat as the city came into view. It sprawled over half of the C-shaped harbor, arranged on the harbor's rising sides like offerings laid on green steps. Steam rose from the greenery as the early morning sun heated damp jungle earth. Patches of white and rose-pink stucco marked newer houses, while the older houses, built of wood and stone, sported roofs that were sharply peaked and sloping, like the wings of some strange bird sitting. The higher the ground, the more complex the roof, with lesser roofs sprouting beneath the main one. The roofs of the wealthier houses blazed with gilt paint in the sun. Strewn among the homes were the domed, gilded towers of Rajmuat's temples.

Above them all stood the main palace of the Kyprin rulers. Its walls gleamed white in the early sun--walls twenty feet thick, patrolled by alert guardsmen day and night. The rulers of the Isles were not well-liked. In the air over the great harbor, winged creatures wheeled and soared, light glancing off their metal-feathered wings.

Aly shaded her eyes to look at them. These were Stormwings, harbingers of war and slaughter, creatures with steel feathers and claws whose torsos and heads were made of flesh. They lived on human pain and fear. In the Copper Isles, ruled by the hard-handed Rittevons and their luarin nobles, the Stormwings were assured of daily meals. Aly hummed to herself. There had been plenty of Stormwings when she and the Balitangs had sailed north a year before. Now there were a great many more. From the news she had gathered on their voyage to Rajmuat, she wasn't surprised. The regents, in the name of their four-year-old king, had spent the winter rains executing anyone who might give them trouble. Aly nodded in silent approval. It was so useful when the people in charge helped her plans along.

The Stormwings reminded her that she was not on deck to sightsee. Aly turned her head to the left. Here a fortress guarded the southern side of the harbor entrance. Beyond it, on a short stone pier, stood the posts called "Examples." Each harbor had them, public display areas where those who had vexed the government were executed and left on display. In Rajmuat, the capital of the Isles, the Examples were reserved for the nobility. They were surrounded on land by a stone wall pierced by a single gate. Over the gate, a banner flapped on the dawn breeze: a rearing bat-winged horse in metallic copper cloth, posed on a white field, with a copper border: the flag of the Rittevon kings of the Copper Isles.

Guards streamed through the gate and onto the pier. At the foot of one of the posts men were arguing, waving their arms and pointing their fingers. They wore the red-painted armor of the King's Watch, the men charged with keeping the peace, enforcing the law, and conducting executions. Aly narrowed her eyes to sharpen her magical Sight. The power was her heritage from both parents, and allowed her to read the lips of the men and take note of their insignia. She identified four lieutenants, one captain, and a number of men-at-arms who did their best to pretend they were invisible.

Someone sniffed behind her. "Carrion crows," Sarai Balitang remarked scornfully. "What, are they fighting over who gets the 'honor' of displaying the next wretch? Or just over who does the mopping?" Lady Saraiyu Balitang moved up to stand beside Aly at the rail, her brown eyes blazing with dislike as she watched the men. A year older an inch taller than Aly, Sarai had creamy gold skin tumbles of braided and curled black hair under a sheer black veil. An excellent horsewoman, she held herself proudly straight, catching the eye of anyone who saw her.

"They seem to be missing something." Thirteen-year-old Dovasary Balitang moved in to stand on Aly's free side, and pointed. Where the Exhibit pier joined the mainland stood a large wooden sign painted stark white. On that sign were three names and the words: Executed for treason against the Crown, decreed by his highness Prince Rubinyan Jimajen and her highness Princess Imajane Rittevon Jimajen, in the name of his gracious majesty, King Dunevon Rittevon. The date was that of the previous day.

"What happened to their poor bodies?" whispered Sarai, brown eyes wide. "They should be there for weeks."

"Perhaps Stormwings dropped down and carried them off," Dove suggested quietly. Aly's mistress was different from her beautiful older sister, shorter and small-boned. She had the self-contained air of someone much older. She had a cat-like face and observant black eyes. Like Sarai, her skin was creamy gold, her hair black, and her lips full. She also wore a black gown and head veil in mourning for the father who had been killed six months ago.

Aly knew exactly what had happened to the dead, because she had created a plan for anyone executed and displayed here. The absence of the dead was her declaration, as the rebellion's spymaster, to turn the Rittevon crown and its supporters inside out. The spies she had sent ahead with Ulasim three weeks before the family's departure had been charged with putting her declaration into action.

No one would expect people to swim to the pier in the foul harbor water. Her people had done just that, to remove the bodies, weigh them down with chains, and sink them in the harbor. The plan worked on many levels. The crown officials lost the Examples they made and the Kings' Watch was left with a mystery. Aly knew quite well that mysteries frightened people, particularly those people who were not supposed to allow them to happen. Sooner or later word of the disappearing Examples would leak out. People would start to see that the crown was not as powerful as it claimed to be.

"Last autumn Prince Rubinyan told Winna that there would be no more unnecessary executions," Sarai commented.

"Maybe he thinks these are necessary," said Dove, grim-faced. "Or Imajane does."

"Hunod Ibadun? Dravinna?" The soft woman's voice belonged to Sarai and Dove's stepmother, Duchess Winnamine Balitang. The girls made space for her at the rail. "They wouldn't harm a fly if it were biting them." She was a tall, slender woman, elegant in deep black mourning. "Hunod is--was--Prince Rubinyan's friend!"

"I would guess they are not friends now," remarked Dove, her voice steady.

"Winna, I don't recognize the names," Sarai told her stepmother. "They aren't the same Ibaduns who own those rice plantations on the southern coast of Lombyn, are they?"

"No," replied the duchess, wiping her eyes. "Hunod and Dravinna were cousins to those Ibaduns. They have--had--their own estates on Gempang. They grew orchids. Has that become treasonous?"

"It depends on what they grew along with them, I suppose," Dove said, squeezing her stepmother's free hand. "Or what Topabaw thought they were growing."

Aly twiddled her thumbs, as she often did when thinking. She was not here to protect the family. She was here to gather information and, through exquisite planning, destroy everyone's belief in the Rittevon crown and promote the people's longing for a young, sane, raka queen. Aly looked forward to crossing swords with the Crown's official spymaster, who'd held that post for thirty bloody years. She knew Prince Rubinyan had personal spies, because she had caught them the year before, but Duke Lohearn Mantawu, called Topabaw by the raka and most luarin, was the name that bred fear. The downfall of Topabaw was to be one of her special projects now that they were back in the capital.

She was envisioning her plans for him when she heard a change in the Stormwings' shrieks from normal taunts to rage overhead. Seagulls fled the harbor in silence and the city's myriad of parrots stopped their raucous morning conversations. The clatter of shipping and the shouts of sailors rang over-loud in the air. Aly waited, listening. Goosebumps prickled their way up her arms. Now she heard it more clearly as it got louder, a rough sound, harsh and bawling.

She straightened with a grin. "Crows," she announced.

The crows burst into the air above the heights west of the harbor in a squalling, quarreling, soaring ebony cloud. They turned the sky above Rajmuat's palace black as activity around the harbor came to a halt. The Stormwings grabbed for height with their immense steel-feathered wings, snarling with outrage at the invaders. They darted at the crows, bladed wings sweeping out to hack them to pieces. The crows, smaller and nimbler, scattered. Wheeling, they dropped, then flew up among the Stormwings to peck at the exposed tender human flesh of their enemies. The racket was indescribable.

I wonder how many of these people know that the crows are sacred to Kyprioth the Trickster? Aly wondered. The raka full bloods know, but how many part bloods, and how many full blood luarin? Are they going to take this as an omen? I hope not. We really don't need omens soaring all over the city.

Aly sighed. "I had so wished that our return would be quiet," she said wistfully.

"I don't believe the crows care, Aly," Dove replied.

Sarai added, "I like anything that gives those disgusting Stormwings a hard time."

The duchess took a deep breath. "Come, ladies. We'll be landing soon. Let's make sure we've packed everything." She led her stepdaughters below.

Aly stayed where she was, her eyes on the city. Things would start to move fast now. All the way here, Aly had picked up stories of the unrest in the Isles that had begun over the winter and still continued. Soon actual fighting would begin. That, at least, was not her concern, but that of the rebel leaders who served Balitang House. Her biggest task was to make sure they had the most recent information available. For that she had access to the network of informants built up by the raka, a network that drew from every skin color and every social category. She also had her own pack, the spies she herself had trained intensively over the winter. They had come south with Ulasim three weeks earlier to start training their allies in Rajmuat. They and their own recruits would gather still more information for her. Most importantly, Aly would collect information from inside the palace, to give the raka as much news of possible allies and the regents' movements as she could. Aly would then bring all of the information together, studying it, finding connections, and get the boiled-down information to the people who needed it.

She thought the odds of the rebellion's success were good. She respected the raka leaders in the household. Coming south, she had glimpsed how far their reach extended, and was pleased. They had a strong, beloved candidate for the throne in Sarai. Her attractiveness and charm would win the hearts of the more reluctant citizens of the Isles. A child sat on the Rittevon throne, governed by heavy-handed regents who were despised by many. And the rebels had been whittling away at the luarin confidence all winter. Only this morning they had dealt the King's Watch a hard slap with the disappearances of their Examples. Aly even had a god on her side, if he would ever show up.

Aly's nerves buzzed. As if he had read her mind, Kyprioth the Trickster appeared at her side. It was Kyprioth who had brought Aly to the Isles, though he was not the reason that she had stayed. Three hundred years earlier his brother, the sun and war god Mithros, and his sister, the moon and fertility Great Mother Goddess, had accompanied the luarin to the Isles and ousted Kyprioth from his throne. Now the Trickster hoped to re-take what was his.

"Hello, you rascal," Aly greeted him cheerfully. "Why didn't you ask the crows to behave?"

"If I cared to clack my teeth in a supremely useless exercise, I would have tried to tell them to behave," retorted the god lightly, his black eyes dancing with mischief. "You'll find that not all of your allies are under your control, my dear."

The god was lean and muscled, straight-backed like a dancer. For reasons best known to him he wore a salt-and-pepper beard and hair, both cropped short. He'd once told Aly he thought this style gave him the look of an elder statesman. Today his coat was a bright mass of yellow, pink, lavender, and pale blue squares. He jingled with a multitude of charms and bits of jewelry. His sarong, a skirt-like garment that men kilted up between the legs, was patterned in black and white diagonal stripes. He wore leather sandals studded with copper, as well as toe and finger rings made of copper and gems. For once he wore no copper earring, only a single blue drop.

Aly made a face at him. "Where were you all winter? You left me to yearn. I yearned all winter, but you never so much as sent a messenger pigeon." She kept her voice quiet but teasing. The sailors looked too busy to notice her and her companion, even if they could see the god, but she never liked to be slipshod in her work.

Kyprioth beamed at her. "I was someplace warmer than the highlands of Lombyn," he replied. "Don't complain to me. You were having all kinds of fun, training your little spies. All I could do was wait. I did so in a place where I had plenty to amuse me as I waited." His gaze was fixed on the city. A will of stone showed as the corners of his mouth tightened. "I've waited a long time for this spring to come."

Aly stayed where she was, though her body wanted to flee. It unnerved her to see that depth of emotion in the dethroned god. "Well, you don't need me, then," she joked weakly. "I'll just take the next ship for Corus, get home in time for my mother's birthday."

Kyprioth turned to look at her. "You're just as eager to see this through as any of my raka. Don't even pretend that you aren't. Which reminds me." He reached out and pressed the ball of his thumb against the middle of Aly's forehead. Gold fire swamped her mind, making her sway.

She braced herself against the rail and waited for her normal vision to return. She dug into the folds of her sarong for the bit of mirror she kept there against emergencies. Her forehead looked much as it normally did, pale after the winter and chapped by the sea air and wind. She grimaced and reminded herself to filch Sarai's facial balm, then put the mirror away.

"What was that?" she asked him. "I thought you'd at least leave a beauty mark or something."

"I would not touch your beauty, my dear," said the god with his flashing smile. "And I would be bereft if you choose to commit suicide rather than be tortured or questioned under truth spell. No one will be able to force knowledge from your lips or your hands."

Aly raised an eyebrow at him. "Oh. So they can torture me, they just can't make me tell the truth. An enchanting prospect, sir."

His smile broadened to a grin. "I love it when you call me 'sir.' It makes me feel all," he hesitated, then found the words he wanted, "all god-like. So there's no need to commit suicide. You won't ever surrender what you know."

"Have you granted the others this splendid favor?" she asked, curious. "I wouldn't want them to be jealous."

Kyprioth leaned against the rail, his expression wry. "No one else in the rebellion has put together as much of the complete picture as you have done over this winter, gathering bits and pieces. You simply had to ferret it all out, didn't you? Ulasim can give perhaps a hundred names. Ochobu can give the names of the Chain and the main conspirators among the Balitang servants. And if they die, they will be replaced."

Aly showed him no sign of the chill that crawled down her spine over that matter-of-fact "they will be replaced." He's a god, she told herself. It's different for them.

Kyprioth sighed. "But you, my dear, have learned nearly the entire thing--not the footsoldiers, but those in command and where they are, the members of the Chain . . . You couldn't help it. It's your nature to poke and pry and gather. Even your fellow rebels are ignorant of this, which makes me chuckle."

Aly fanned her hand at him, like a beauty who brushed off a compliment.

"Besides, I've grown attached to you," Kyprioth said, capturing her hand. He kissed the back of her fingers and released her. "I would hate it if you used the suicide spell and left me for the Black God's realm. You know how brothers are--we hate to share."

"You'll have to let me go to him sometime," Aly reminded the god. "I'm not immortal."

"There is 'sometime', and there is this summer," Kyprioth replied. His eyes darkened. "Make sure that you see this through. Once battle is joined in the Divine Realms, we gods draw strength from the battles of our worshippers. If you and I fail, the luarin will exterminate the raka. And I will be unable to help them, because my brother and sister will kick me to the outermost edge of the universe." He brightened. "But there, why be gloomy? We're going to have a wonderful year, I'm sure of it!"

He was gone.

For a moment Aly hoped the god was not placing more trust in her abilities than she deserved. Then she shrugged. There would only be one way to find out if she was as good at her task as she and Kyprioth hoped, and that was to pull off a war. "What's a little thing like revolution between friends?" she wondered, and looked ahead.

Yards of dirty water lay between the moving ship and the dock, where a welcoming party stood. "So we begin," said Fesgao Yibenu as he came to stand with Aly. The raka sergeant-at-arms swept the docks with his narrow eyes. "No royal welcome, despite Elsren being the heir," he remarked, settling a helmet over his prematurely silver hair. With a wave he ordered the men-at-arms who had sailed with the family to flank the rail where the gang plank would meet the dock. "We are definitely the poor country cousins of the royal house." Fesgao was the sergeant in charge of the household men-at-arms and the rebellion's war-leader. He'd spent his life guarding Sarai and Dove, keeping the last descendants of the old raka queens safe from harm. Now he met the gaze of the man who commanded the twenty extra Balitang men-at-arms who waited on the dock, and saluted him with a callused palm. The man saluted in return, a hand signal that all was quiet there.

"They've added check-points where the docks meet the land, do you see?" Fesgao murmured to Aly. "They want to know who comes and who goes."

Aly shrugged. Soldiers could not possibly watch every inch of ground between the fortresses that flanked the harbor mouths. In the dark, a hundred raka swimmers could enter the water and no one would know. "If they're watching the docks, they're worried about something," she murmured. "Let's go and give them something to really worry about."

Duchess Winnamine had returned to the deck, leading the two children she had borne Duke Mequen. Petranne, a five-year-old girl with silky black curls and long-lashed eyes, danced in place, excited to come home to Rajmuat. Four-year-old Elsren was his father's son, brown-haired and stoic. He hid his face shyly in his mother's skirts.

Winnamine shook her head as she looked at the dock. "This is not good," she murmured, frowning.

Ochobu, the old raka who was the household mage and healer, came up beside her. She too was a leader in the rebellion, responsible for a network of mages known as the Chain. They had been the source of the rebels' information all winter. "What is not good?" Ochobu wanted to know. She had a hand against her forehead to shade the upturned crescents of her brown eyes as she inspected the people on the dock. "You are a duchess, and a woman of property. You cannot walk into the city like a commoner. You must have a proper escort."

"We have a proper escort aboard with us," Winnamine said quietly. "Forty men-at-arms looks as if we consider ourselves important. We aren't important until the regents say we are. And half of those men are new. We can't pay more guards," Winnamine said. "I told Ulasim before he left not to hire anyone!"

"Your grace," Aly said politely. Winnamine looked at her. "Ulasim always has good reasons for what he does, you know that. See the check-points? There's been trouble in the city--they didn't have check-points at the docks last year. Maybe Ulasim found a way to pay them. Or maybe they're just rented for the hour, like actors who mourn for pay at funerals. You know, to add to your consequence as you land."

The thought of her consequence made Winnamine chuckle as Sarai and Dove came to join them. Overhead the Stormwings glided, shrieking like gulls.

Once the ship docked, Fesgao and the guards circled the Balitang family and helped them into litters. Servants loaded the family's belongings into a handful of carts. Only when everything was stowed and the litters surrounded by armed men did Fesgao move the party out. The litter-bearers set off into the tangle of streets that ended at the dockside.

Colors, sounds, and smells assaulted Aly, making her shrink against the litter that held Sarai and Dove. She had gotten used to the long silences of winter nights at Tanair. Street vendors shouted news of their wares, bellowing their praises of jackfruit, sweet cakes, and cheap copper and silver bracelets. Bird vendors walked among them, carrying poles laden with dozens of species of loud, unhappy winged creatures. Shophouses lined the streets near the docks where goods were displayed for passersby. Perfumes and spices filled the air with their scents.

The pedestrians came in all races and colors, shrieking at those who got in the way, and bargaining at the tops of their lungs. They were dressed in all kinds of styles, from luarin-style tunics and hose to the tunics and leggings of Scanrans. Many people lined their eyes in kohl as protection against sun glare and the evil eye. Slaves and deep-jungle raka in sarongs or loincloths sported tattoos on arms, backs, and chests.

Aly took it in as she walked beside the litter that held Sarai and Dove. She had picked out a couple of watchers--people who paid close attention to their group. She also recognized a couple of her own trainee spies from Tanair. She smiled, proud as a mother whose child had taken her first steps. She glanced up to see how Winnamine and the two younger children did in the litter ahead of them. Fesgao walked beside them, talking quietly with the duchess. Rihani, the raka mage who looked after Petranne and Elsren, walked on the other side of the litter, pointing out sights of interest. Slowly they moved into the quieter, wider streets of Market Town, the city's merchant district.

There were signs of trouble in Market Town, shuttered stores with crown seals on the doors to show they'd been seized by the law, chipped paint and splintered wood to showing where people had hurled rocks. Aly saw a charred open spot where, if she remembered correctly, a temple to Ushjur, the god of the east wind, had stood. This was most certainly it was a slap at the luarin, who came from the east. Aly made a note to ask about it.

She had no sense of armed watchers, but she could tell that something peculiar was going on. What was it? Aly looked up. In the houses above the shops, people filled each window, their eyes fixed on the open-sided litters. Aly bit the corner of her lip. Ulasim had gotten the word out that people were not supposed to gather in the street for a look at their prophesied queen, but he could not stop them from trying to get a look at her. They were drawing the attention of the watchers who followed their procession. She could see them noting the audience. Topabaw and Rubinyan would have word of this before noon.

"Busy already, Aly?" Fesgao asked. He'd walked back to her. "Your glance darts like dragonflies on the water."

Aly fluttered her lashes at Fesgao. "I never figured you for a poet," she joked.

He smiled. "We can control the common folk only so much," he continued in his softest tones.

"Oh, I know," she replied lightly. "Her grace was excited to see all these new warriors of ours. Did we rent them, or may we keep them? That tall one with the scar on his chin might actually be able to keep up with me for all of a day."

"You are too gracious," Fesgao replied, face straight. "You would break the poor boy by noon, and I would have to keep him in the infirmary for two weeks." He returned to the duchess at the head of the column.

"It's dangerous," Dove remarked softly from inside the litter. "They shouldn't stare so openly, or someone will take notice of their interest."

"Perhaps they've never seen disgraced nobility return to Rajmuat before," suggested Aly. "They could just be looking at Elsren. He is Dunevon's heir."

"Not officially," Dove said, meticulous as always about points of law. "The regents have to make Elsren the official heir by decree. They should--it's customary--but they may choose not to, if they think the nobles will stand for it. Until then, if the people know what's good for them, they won't pay any attention to Elsren at all."

Aly noted more signs of trouble as they entered the wealthier residential neighborhood of Windward: burn marks on stone and hastily whitewashed stucco. Despite the walled houses, people still lined the street on both sides.

"The regents will still hear of this," Dove added quietly. "They won't like it."

Aly patted the younger girl's thin shoulder. "Now, if they got everything they would like, they would be spoiled," she told Dove. "And nobody likes spoiled regents."

"Spoiled regents kill people and leave them at the harbor mouth," Dove said gloomily.

Aly smiled slyly and told her young mistress, "Yes, but they don't seem to be able to keep them there very long."

Dove glanced at Aly sharply, then eyed her sister. Sarai leaned against the side of the litter, watching the street. "She thinks the twice-royal queen is a fairy tale, you know," Dove told Aly. "Made up by Mithros and the Goddess to keep the raka quiet under luarin rule. If there is something going on, she will take a lot of convincing."

"If there was anything for her or you to know, you'd have been told, surely." Aly said, cursing Ulasim's decree that Sarai and Dove remain ignorant of their heritage. "We can worry about prophecies another time, once we've unpacked and had baths, for instance."

Dove sighed. "All right, keep changing the subject," she said as she sank back against the cushions. "But I'm not fooled. You know something. You're harder to work out than Sarai, but I know you too well by now."

Aly was about to reply "Don't ask me, I have brothers," but she caught herself. Over the winter she had nearly told Winnamine, Sarai, and Dove the truth about her own background. Aly wanted to trust them. She would trust them with her life if she had to, as they had trusted her with theirs. But she could not trust them with her past, and her ties to the rival kingdom of Tortall.

She continued to watch the crowd as children tossed bouquets at them, until the air was filled with the scents of flowers.

There were spells written deep within the walls that surrounded the Balitang home. They appeared as a shimmering silver blaze in Aly's Sight. As they passed through the gate, she saw magic sunk deep below the surfaces of the stones, wood, and carvings. They were partially covered by common magical signs for protection and health that any house possessed. They gleamed silver in the carving on the foundation stones and front steps. Unless someone else in Rajmuat had the Sight in the strength that Aly had it, they would not see anything but the everyday spells. The raka mages were very good at keeping their work unseen.

Ornately carved pillars lined the long front porch and framed the front door of Balitang House. The roof was layered, each lesser roof sporting upturned ends. After the summer's heat and rains, and the winter's cold and rains, with no staff to keep the place up, the house should have looked run-down. But this house gleamed. Not one clay tile was missing from the roof. The stucco was the color of fresh milk. Gold and silver leaf glimmered on the eaves and on the carved wood above the posts.

The staff was lined up on either side of the flagstone road. They wore luarin tunics and breeches or hose, raka wrapped jackets and sarongs, or combinations of both in an explosion of colors that made Aly blink. Housemaids wore white headcloths; the men wore round white caps. They looked to be wearing every piece of jewelry they owned.

Aly counted. Nearly sixty people were here, not including the men-at-arms. Balitang House was as fully staffed as it had been last spring.

The duchess could not afford this. When King Oron had exiled them, he had made them show their loyalty with gold, emptying Duke Mequen's coffers. Winnamine had drawn on her dowry to pay household costs. If Rubinyan had not virtually commanded her to return to court, she would have remained at Tanair, which was affordable.

"Fesgao," Aly murmured. The man had come to stand by her elbow. "Who's paying for this?"

"Don't worry," the raka man told her. "It seems our situation has changed. Ulasim will explain." He went to help the duchess out of the litter.

Aly looked at the steps. Ulasim waited there on the ground, smiling. In his forties, he was a hard-muscled man with the brown skin of a full-blood raka. His nose had been mashed against his face on several occasions by someone not kindly disposed toward him. A tightness in Aly's heart loosened at the sight of the head footman. He was the leader of the far-flung raka conspiracy, wise and strong at every trial, drawing Aly from suspicion to respect. Back under Ulasim's wing, the Balitang family seemed much less exposed. Back under Ulasim's eye, Aly could turn to her specialty, and leave him to deal with assassins and alliances.

The big raka bowed to Winnamine. As Aly watched, reading his lips, Ulasim told the duchess that they had not spent money they did not have. He reassured her that all would be explained to her satisfaction, once she'd had a chance to eat and rest. As he soothed her, Aly identified a familiar face at Ulasim's elbow. Quedanga, the housekeeper since Sarai was born, had stayed in Rajmuat when the family left the city. She had now returned to Balitang House.

"How did they afford this?" Dove murmured as Aly handed her down from the litter.

"It will be a lovely tale," Aly replied, her voice sweet. "Some parts may even be true."

Dove looked up at Aly, smiling slightly. "You sound as if you wouldn't put it past them to have raided the royal treasury."

Aly raised an eyebrow at her mistress. "Do you think they wouldn't, my lady?"

Dove sighed. "I hope not. It would complicate things." Dove had understatement down to an art form.

Hands folded in front of her, Aly followed Dove to the house. They did not get far. A tall woman stepped out of the house. She was a silver-haired luarin with perfect posture. Her luarin-style gown was pale blue with a high collar. Instead of the traditional over robe, she wore a stole like the raka wrapped jacket, made of shimmering white lawn.

Sarai and Dove looked at each other. "Aunt Nuritin," they whispered in shock.

Aly had heard of Nuritin Balitang--or as Sarai and Dove called her, "the Dragon." Though Duke Mequen had been technically the head of the family, it was his aunt who ruled it. When he had sunk into mourning for his first duchess, it was Nuritin who had badgered him into making a new marriage and a new life. Among the Balitangs, her word was law. Among the nobles of her generation, her opinion was the first they sought.

It did not bode well that she looked very comfortable in Balitang House.

Winnamine was the first to recover. She approached the old woman with out-stretched hands and an apparently genuine smile on her face. "Aunt Nuritin, it's wonderful to see you. Girls, come greet your great-aunt. Elsren, Petranne, come."

Aly looked at Ulasim and made sure the nobles couldn't see her before she hand-signed: Does she live here?

Ulasim nodded slightly.

Again Aly's fingers flew. Are we safe with her in the house?

Ulasim came over to whisper, "As safe as anywhere in Rajmuat. We're stuck with the old Stormwing, and that's that. She will learn nothing we do not allow her to."

Aly shook her head. "Well, then," she said, "we'll all just be one happy family. What harm could come of that?"

Once inside, the duchess looked at her late husband's aunt. "Lady Nuritin, may we have some time to settle in before we talk? I'm not at my best so early in the morning, and this is quite a surprise."

"Of course you need rest, all of you," the old woman said. "Go. Bathe, change, unpack, take naps if you need to. We shall have our talk after lunch, and I can explain everything then...."

[NOTE: this isn't the entire first chapter--
I didn't want to crater my site with the whole thing!]

Readings from chapters 6, 7 and 10 of TRICKSTER'S QUEEN

2. Darkings

There were more new guests in the courtyard. The most startling had found Dove. The girl sat in a corner between Baron Engan, the astronomer, and Tkaa the basilisk.

Aly didn't think it was an accident that he had come. She gathered up a tray of drinks and circulated, drifting toward Dove and her company. When she reached them, her tray was empty. She placed it on a table and ambled into the house. There she turned down the corridor and out into a separate garden where lovers could talk unseen. She was wondering how often Sarai came here when she heard the click of claws on the flagstones.

Like the rest of the house, the courtyard was spelled to protect it from eavesdroppers. Aly felt no qualms about beaming up at the basilisk and saying, "Of all the people I thought to see here, none of them was you!" She hugged him, careful of his bulging pouch.

"I was fortunate enough to be chosen to bring the monarchs' greetings to the new king and his regents." For so large a creature, Tkaa possessed a soft, whispery voice. "I also bring greetings from your family. The Scanran War is done at last. Your mother has returned to court, and your father resides there with her. Your brother Alan is squire to Raoul of the King's Own, and your brother Thom continues his mage studies. Your grandparents, your Uncle Numair, and your Aunt Daine send their love, as does your immediate family. Prince Roald's bride, Princess Shinkokami, awaits her first. Your Aunt Daine expects a second child. And Daine has also sent you a gift."

Tkaa opened his pouch. A glossy black glob about twice the size of Aly's head dropped to the ground with a plop. There it began to wriggle. A round piece broke off, then another, and a third, until nearly thirty-six small blobs sat before her. Despite their appearance at a glance, many held visible differences inside their bodies: a piece of ribbon or stone, lace and honeycomb patterns, streaks of bright color or light.

One had made its glossy surface resemble Tkaa's beaded hide. It had been first to break away from the main mass. Now it produced a neck and a head. "Hello," it squeaked. "I am Trick."

Aly knelt, staring in wonder. "I'd heard of them, but I never saw one," she whispered, awed. "You're darkings, aren't you?"

The blobs produced their own heads to nod. Aly rocked back on her heels. "But I thought you lived with the dragons." One of her favorite Aunt Daine stories was the one about these creatures, made of blood and magic. Aly had always been disappointed that they had stayed in the Divine Realms rather than live in the mortal world with Daine.

"Dragons are boring," announced a darking with a chunk of clear quartz at its center. "Dragons study and peer and eat and sleep."

"And talk," Trick added. "For days and days and days."

A number of tiny heads nodded agreement and chorused, "Boring."

"Some stay," said Quartz. "Gold-streak stay. Olders stay. We go."

"Aunt Daine said all but one of you was killed in the Battle of Port Legann," Aly murmured, thinking aloud.

Trick shook its head. "More that Daine not meet in Divine Realms," it told her. "And more born as we split in two."

Aly scratched her head and looked up--far up--at Tkaa. "Why bring them to me?" she asked.

"Daine said to tell you, what one darking knows, all will know," Tkaa explained. "And they are very good at getting into places where humans cannot."

To illustrate, the one patterned like lace flattened itself into a thin sheet on the ground.

"I stay with you," Trick squeaked. "They tell me, I tell you. Sometimes show." Spreading itself thin, it showed Aly the view of the garden where they now stood.

"Not boring," added one who had blue ribbon inside itself.

"Fun," chorused the others. "Funfunfun."

For once, Aly had nothing to say. In a moment, she knew, her mind would be whirling with possibilities, places to send these creatures where the discovery of a human would result in a spy's or Aly's death. And unlike her human spies, these creatures had no tasks they were supposed to be about, so they might hide, and listen, day and night.

"But I'll have to train them so they know what to listen for," Aly mused. "So they can tell what's important or not."

"No," peeped the tiniest of the creatures. "Whisper man teach us before we come. We know secret. We know trouble. We know rumor. We know fact."

"And murder," added another darking.

"And poison," said a third.

"We know allies and enemies," a fourth darking said. "Between dragons and Whisper Man, we know plenty."

The one called Trick oozed over to Aly. Producing small limbs or tentacles, it began to crawl up her sarong-covered thigh until it reached her sash. Stretching itself cord-thin, it wriggled until only its head showed above the cloth. "Fun," it reassured Aly. "Mortals are always doing things."

After long thought Aly murmured, "Such a delightful gift. And it isn't even my birthday!"

After more news from home, she said goodbye to Tkaa and went in search of a covered basket for the darkings. Carrying it, and them, into her office, she realized she could tell no one of her new guests. The darkings were simply too odd. Once Ulasim or the other rebel leaders saw them, they would start to ask questions that Aly dared not answer.

The next morning, Aly woke before dawn because her nose tickled. She crossed her eyes to see the cause. It was the darking Trick, who had produced a thin tentacle to tickle her with. Aly groaned, quietly‑‑Dove was still asleep‑‑and retreated to the privy closet. "What is it?" she whispered.

"Look," the darking told her. It leaped to the shelf that lined the wall and stretched until it formed a thin snake nearly thirty inches long. Then it began to change shape until it looked like a long string of black beads. Rising and turning, it made itself into a continuous necklace. Sticking up the bead that seemed to be its head, it told Aly, "Neck more fun than sash."

Aly twiddled her thumbs. Finally she asked, "Where did you get this idea?"

"I snoop," Trick said proudly. "Dove have beads. Sarai have many, many beads. Duchess have beads. Rihani have beads. Chenaol‑‑"

Aly raised a hand for silence. She had the idea that the enterprising creature would have told her the contents of every jewel box in the house if she had asked. Trick stopped talking. Finally Aly inquired, "Do you ever sleep?"

"Sometimes," Trick replied. "After we split to make new darking."

Which could be useful, Aly thought. Spies that seldom need rest. "Have you any information from Lace or Feather?"

"Feather say there weapons under house and barn and stable and dairy and in tunnels under house," Trick replied promptly. "Lace say Ochobu and Ysul magic on workroom and bedroom sting."

"And the others? What do they say?" Aly wanted to know.

"Lord Asembat next door snores in night. Lady Asembat meets young man in room by dock. Balitang House spies from Topabaw and Carthak and Tyra bored. They say nothing happens here. On Joshain Street raka man stabbed soldier and other soldiers kill him. Lady Yendrugi in pink stucco house expects baby. Guards in Kadyet House across the street owe Fesgao fifty silver gigits over dice. They tell Fesgao their master say Duke Nomru must watch step with regents. Daughter in Kadyet House is kissing her maid. In Murtebo House‑‑"

Once more Aly raised a hand to halt the flow of information spilling out of her darking necklace. "I have to get more of you into the palace," she murmured. "If you all learn this in just one night, I'll be deluged with what you can learn where it matters."

"Kissing maid not matter?" asked Trick.

"No," Aly said. "But the stabbing and the news about the duke matter." She nibbled her lip, then said, "Once I'm dressed, you go back in my sash. Dove will want to visit the market‑‑I'll find an excuse to break away, report to Master Grosbeak and leave one of you with him. When I come back, I'll wear you, so everyone will think I bought you at market. While we eat breakfast, get about five of you into that small red pouch I left in my workroom‑‑the place where I put the rest of you. You're all back, aren't you?"

"Yes," replied Trick. Its bead head hung, somewhat forlorn. "No more fun today?"

Aly smiled and stroked the creature's head with a finger. "Don't worry. All of you will be having more fun than you can stand by week's end, I promise."

Aly nodded to Boulaj, and opened Dove's dress box. Casually she drew out her forget-me suit [a suit spelled so that anyone who sees the wearer will forget it immediately] and the pouch of darkings, tucking both into the large cloth bag that held a maid's necessities. When Aly had everything she needed, she went in search of the privy.

The nobles' servants not only had a separate privy at the Gray Palace, but one with stalls, for privacy. Aly entered one and bolted the door. She stripped off her sarong and sash, until she wore only her Trick necklace, a breast band, and a loincloth. On went the suit. This one wasn't waterproofed, but it took her a few moments to get her vision back. She had looked at it with her vision unguarded and Ochobu's forgetting spells blazed with power. She slid the garment on and secured it. Then she donned the gloves and shoes, tucked the darkings' pouch into an opening in the suit, then pulled up and tightened the hood until only her eyes were visible.

Finally she closed her bag, listened to make sure that no one else had come in, then left the privy. Carrying the bag low by the wall, where few might notice it, she returned to the salon. Most of the servants were still at the food tables, loading their plates. Boulaj sat near their ladies' dress boxes, a full plate in her hands. Aly set her bag behind the boxes. Boulaj would not remember seeing her, but she knew what the bag meant. If anyone came looking for Aly, Boulaj would send them in all the wrong directions.

Thanks to the raka conspirators among the palace staff, Aly had memorized the map of the Gray Palace. Thanks to her magical Sight, she saw and avoided the alarm spells. The vision spells that littered the rooms and halls slid uselessly over her suit, not recognizing it as anything more than cloth. Moving quickly and silently, Aly placed two darkings in the small throne room of the inner palace. They chittered their glee and began to explore their new home.

Walking onto an outside terrace, Aly eyed the rough stone of the walls, then began to climb. It was simple enough. The Gray Palace's builders had been in such a hurry to build a defensible stronghold that they had not smoothed the stones, and their approach to mortar had been haphazard. Cracks between the blocks that gave a determined climber a grip and footholds. Once again she had her palace informers to thank. Their masters had no idea that their servants and slaves clambered up and down the walls to spy or to steal.

Moving as quickly as she dared, Aly released darkings in Imajane and Rubinyan's rooms. She placed two darkings in the private audience chamber where the regents discussed delicate matters with their subjects, one in the informal dining room used by the regents, and others in the clerk's office, Rubinyan's study, and a map room. Another darking went to the office next to Rubinyan's study, where his personal spymaster Sevmire worked. She sent four in search of the kitchens and the servants' quarters. She even left a darking in the king's bedroom, just so she could say she had done it. She hardly expected anyone to discuss royal policy with Dunevon, but the regents might say something interesting to the King's Guard in a moment of irritation.

Feeling pleased with herself, she changed back into her normal clothes and returned to her fellow maids. The thinner pouch of darkings stayed with her as she left two more where the servants awaited their masters.

Aly idled along the Golden Road until she entered the gardens at the southwest corner of the palace. Slowly she walked along, listening to other passersby as they speculated about the news from Imahyn, the rebellion on Tongkang, and the boy king's health. When she reached the path that followed the edge of the pond, Aly halted. Taybur Sibigat stood there as if he'd been waiting for her, a broad smile on his boyish face. He stood there casually in his black mail, one hand tucked into his breeches pocket.

"Do you know, I thought I might find you around here," he greeted her, his words pelting her in his usual rush to get them all said. "A wonderful evening for an eclipse, isn't it? How goes the contact-making process? Have you recruited anyone in the Gray Palace yet?"

Aly widened her eyes in fear, though inside she was delighted. She needed a playmate while Nawat was away. She could serve both the rebels and herself if Taybur held that position. "My lord--"

"Oh, please," he interrupted. "Spare me. Pretend that you've said the 'I don't know what you mean' speech and we may both continue our evening with more time for a proper talk. I've been dealing with dolts all day and I have a headache. And they're keeping his majesty up past his bed time, even though they know it makes him cranky." He held out the hand he'd kept in his pocket and opened his fist. It contained a darking: the one named Spot, because it was about half the size of its fellows. The one she had left in the king's bedroom.

Aly took a big step back.

"It's the most curious thing," Taybur said. "I briefly left the king in his room, and I return to find him bouncing on the bed with this little fellow. He's rather sweet, whatever he is. He even said hello. Dunevon said he caught him rolling around the walls. So I asked him what he is, and he said--"

"Darking," interrupted Spot, putting up its head so it could look over its blob-shoulder at Taybur.

"Yes, that was it. So I asked his name, and he said--"

"Spot," the darking told him. "Dunevon like Spot. Spot like Dunevon."

Aly wanted to knock her head slowly and repeatedly against the nearest tree. Approached the right way, the darkings could be fatally friendly. Spot was younger than the rest, which was why she had used it in the king's bedroom. She honestly hadn't thought Spot would learn anything important, but the darking had been so depressed to see Aly collect most of its fellows that she couldn't bear it. This is what I get for being sentimental, she told herself.

"The thing talks," said Aly, playing the timid maid still. "It's not natural."

Taybur ignored this. "And then I asked Spot what he was doing in the king's bedroom. First he said . . ." With a nod, he indicated Spot could fill in.

"Nothing," the darking supplied.

"So I asked again, and this time he said . . ."

"Playing," Spot responded.

"And I asked him why, and he said . . ."

"Secret."

"Secret," agreed Taybur, smiling. "I've known the folk who poke their noses through the palace and the grounds for years. Even the new ones are all the same. They use the same tools, try to corrupt people in the same positions, use the same codes. Then you arrive, Aly Homewood. You are not what I am accustomed to. And then I find another thing I am not accustomed to, and I'm sure it's no accident that you're in the Gray Palace at the same time. I imagine you may have sowed these little creatures--"

"Darkings!" Spot insisted.

"These darkings in the hope they will gather information for you," Taybur said, closing his fist to hide Spot as several parties of nobles passed by on their way to the pavilions. Aly thought it over and mentally shrugged. If he'd meant harm to her, she would be in shackles. When the nobles were gone, she crossed the path to stand closer to Taybur.

As if he'd never gone silent, Taybur opened his fist and continued speaking. "I don't care you've left darkings from the dungeons to the rooftops of the Gray Palace. If you've left one in my office, prepare for disappointment. I discuss nothing important in there, not since I know Topabaw has papered it in listening spells. Eavesdrop on the palace gossip all you like, though if you can afford medicine for migraines, I'd invest in it. It's like eavesdropping on a nest of vipers. But this"--he patted Spot's head with one finger-- "No. Dunevon is a little boy who deserves silence and consideration. And he is my charge. Please don't go into his bedroom again . . . though don't mistake me, I'd love to know just how you did it." He thrust the darking at her.

Aly knew she'd get nowhere if she argued. Instead, keeping an eye on Taybur, she reached out and took Spot. "It's warm," she said with surprise, as if she'd never seen one before. Holding Spot up to her face, she spoke to it as if she might a very small child as she asked, "Now, confess, little fellow. What were you doing in the king's bedroom?"

Spot looked at her, or at least, the position of its head-blob showed that it looked at her. It remembered this part of its instructions, that it was to act as if it had never seen or heard of Aly before. "Secret," it told her.

She looked up at Taybur, still acting the part of an ordinary maid. "Why can't his majesty keep it? It seems harmless enough." She gave him a shy smile.

He grimaced. "Because I work very hard to keep those rooms like a proper child's home, and because he deserves a place where he can be himself with harm or advantage to no one but himself. Because I think someone should be able to cry himself to sleep in privacy."

Aly petted Spot with her finger, thinking about Taybur's approach with her. Many spies could be erratic. All her life she had dealt with her father's agents and with the agents of other countries, and she could testify this was so. Some of them, however, knew the reality of the world. All of her instincts told her that Taybur understood that spies were inevitable. If she did no harm to him, he would do no harm to her. She was under no illusions. If he'd been in Topabaw's place, guarding the kingdom, she would have been on the next ship to someplace nasty--she couldn't see this man having someone killed just for doing their work unless it hurt someone. If he thought she meant harm to Dunevon, she wouldn't be surprised to find herself dropping into a deep stream filled with meat-eating fish some night.

A child's furious "No!" cut through the summer air. Taybur shook his head. "If they let him eat soursop fruit again, I swear, I'll shackle the regents in the dungeon. It always makes him sick." He turned and hurried toward the Lily Water. Aly sat on a bench tucked between hedges to think.