The Essence
Page 35
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“Florence, Your Majesty.”
“Florence?” Zafir’s eyes narrowed. “You expect us to believe that’s your name?”
The man staggered to his feet, using the nearest chair—one that hadn’t shattered—to prop himself up. “My mother thought it had a certain . . . flare. Friends just call me Floss, though.” His flashed his rotted teeth at me. “You can call me Floss, Your Majesty.” He turned to Zafir, his eyes narrowing, becoming tiny, black pellets. “You, call me Florence.”
Zafir shook his head. “So you think Queen Charlaina is in danger?”
There was a meaningful pause, and even Jeremiah looked up to see if something important was about to happen. “I didn’t say she was in danger. I said she was goin’ to be murdered. Big difference.” It sounded like “mardeered” when he said it.
Zafir took a threatening step closer and Florence’s hands went up again, fending off Zafir as he cowered. “Explain.”
“I already tried, back in town, but you didn’t want to listen to me then, did you?”
Zafir scowled. “You didn’t say anything about someone wanting to harm—”
“Murder,” Florence interrupted, and Zafir’s jaw clenched.
“Murder her,” he corrected himself. “I believe your exact words were: ‘We need to get the queen back to my place where we can keep her safe.’ That’s not the same thing. You sounded like a lunatic.”
Florence cackled, making Zafir’s point for him. “Lunatic? Could a lunatic knock out a royal guard and save the queen from certain death?”
Zafir stiffened. “I think only a lunatic would try such a feat,” he ground out. “Now tell us what you know before”—his eyes narrowed to slits—“before I sit on you again.”
“A’right. A’right. Settle down.” Florence blustered, holding his hands up as if to ward Zafir away. “But you should be thankin’ us, Jeremiah and me. We did, after all, save Her Majesty’s life.”
I thought of the way he’d abducted me back at the tavern and forced me to stay hidden in the back of the wagon. “How exactly did you save me?”
His grin grew, and this time Jeremiah joined in, whether he understood why he was grinning or not. His smile, though, was infectious, his vast mouth stretching interminably. He was nodding, in the same way Florence was.
“If it hadn’t been for us, you’d’a been on that train, and your throat’d been cut before the next stop. That was the plan, sure enough.”
Zafir reached for my arm and dropped his voice, glancing suspiciously toward Florence. “Your Majesty, you’re not actually listening to this, are you? He’s exactly what I thought he was, a lunatic.”
I raised my head, pinpricks of curiosity niggling at me. “How could you possibly know that? What makes you think something was going to happen on the train?”
Florence grinned again, and I grimaced inwardly. “As I said, Your Highness, we’re not imbeciles out here. We know things. Word travels.”
“Your Majesty,” Zafir corrected pointedly.
“What?” Florence asked, his brows pinched together.
“It’s not Your Highness. The proper way to address your queen is Your Majesty. Maybe you don’t know as much as you think you do.” The corner of his mouth turned up, and I nudged him with my elbow.
“It’s fine,” I said, playing arbiter. “Go ahead. You were saying . . . ?”
“I was saying . . .” Florence huffed, turning away from Zafir and addressing only me now. His expression softened. “I was saying that Jeremiah and I were in the next town over when we overheard a girl callin’ herself a scout braggin’ about how she was part of a new rebellion. She got real loose-lipped the more she drank, and by the time she left the pub, she was telling folks not to get too used to the new queen ’cause she—meaning you, Your Majesty,” he said, his voice punctuating the Your Majesty for Zafir’s benefit. “’Cause you wouldn’t be around long. Said there was a price on your head and
she aimed to collect it.”
“So why did you think Her Majesty was in danger on the train? Wasn’t that the safest place for her to be?” This time it was Zafir asking.
“Look here.” He reached into the back of his waistband and pulled out a scroll of worn parchment. He bent down on the floor and rolled it out, smoothing it with his gnarled hands. “She left this behind. Wasn’t hard to figure out it was a map.”
Zafir and I leaned down, and my eyes widened. He was right, of course; it was most definitely a map. And despite the fact that it wasn’t written in Englaise, or any of the other Ludanian languages, it also wasn’t hard to tell what it was a map of: the train line. More specifically, the train line I had been on.
“See?” Florence said, tracing one filthy finger along the tracks, stopping to tap the spot where two jagged red slash marks crisscrossed them, marking an X. It was just past the train depot where Florence had intercepted us. “This is where it would’a happened, I figure.”
I turned to Zafir. Maybe Florence was right. Maybe someone had been sent to kill me.
Zafir continued to glare at the map. “And did she say who’d set the price on the queen’s head?”
“Didn’t have’ta. After news of the bombings in the city, everyone knew that Jonas Meyers or Mayer, or whatever his name is . . .” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a dirty blade, setting it in the center of the map. “Everyone knows he’s out to get the queen. You’re just lucky Jeremiah and I convinced that conductor to move along without you, Your Majesty. Otherwise you’d’a lost your head.”
“Florence?” Zafir’s eyes narrowed. “You expect us to believe that’s your name?”
The man staggered to his feet, using the nearest chair—one that hadn’t shattered—to prop himself up. “My mother thought it had a certain . . . flare. Friends just call me Floss, though.” His flashed his rotted teeth at me. “You can call me Floss, Your Majesty.” He turned to Zafir, his eyes narrowing, becoming tiny, black pellets. “You, call me Florence.”
Zafir shook his head. “So you think Queen Charlaina is in danger?”
There was a meaningful pause, and even Jeremiah looked up to see if something important was about to happen. “I didn’t say she was in danger. I said she was goin’ to be murdered. Big difference.” It sounded like “mardeered” when he said it.
Zafir took a threatening step closer and Florence’s hands went up again, fending off Zafir as he cowered. “Explain.”
“I already tried, back in town, but you didn’t want to listen to me then, did you?”
Zafir scowled. “You didn’t say anything about someone wanting to harm—”
“Murder,” Florence interrupted, and Zafir’s jaw clenched.
“Murder her,” he corrected himself. “I believe your exact words were: ‘We need to get the queen back to my place where we can keep her safe.’ That’s not the same thing. You sounded like a lunatic.”
Florence cackled, making Zafir’s point for him. “Lunatic? Could a lunatic knock out a royal guard and save the queen from certain death?”
Zafir stiffened. “I think only a lunatic would try such a feat,” he ground out. “Now tell us what you know before”—his eyes narrowed to slits—“before I sit on you again.”
“A’right. A’right. Settle down.” Florence blustered, holding his hands up as if to ward Zafir away. “But you should be thankin’ us, Jeremiah and me. We did, after all, save Her Majesty’s life.”
I thought of the way he’d abducted me back at the tavern and forced me to stay hidden in the back of the wagon. “How exactly did you save me?”
His grin grew, and this time Jeremiah joined in, whether he understood why he was grinning or not. His smile, though, was infectious, his vast mouth stretching interminably. He was nodding, in the same way Florence was.
“If it hadn’t been for us, you’d’a been on that train, and your throat’d been cut before the next stop. That was the plan, sure enough.”
Zafir reached for my arm and dropped his voice, glancing suspiciously toward Florence. “Your Majesty, you’re not actually listening to this, are you? He’s exactly what I thought he was, a lunatic.”
I raised my head, pinpricks of curiosity niggling at me. “How could you possibly know that? What makes you think something was going to happen on the train?”
Florence grinned again, and I grimaced inwardly. “As I said, Your Highness, we’re not imbeciles out here. We know things. Word travels.”
“Your Majesty,” Zafir corrected pointedly.
“What?” Florence asked, his brows pinched together.
“It’s not Your Highness. The proper way to address your queen is Your Majesty. Maybe you don’t know as much as you think you do.” The corner of his mouth turned up, and I nudged him with my elbow.
“It’s fine,” I said, playing arbiter. “Go ahead. You were saying . . . ?”
“I was saying . . .” Florence huffed, turning away from Zafir and addressing only me now. His expression softened. “I was saying that Jeremiah and I were in the next town over when we overheard a girl callin’ herself a scout braggin’ about how she was part of a new rebellion. She got real loose-lipped the more she drank, and by the time she left the pub, she was telling folks not to get too used to the new queen ’cause she—meaning you, Your Majesty,” he said, his voice punctuating the Your Majesty for Zafir’s benefit. “’Cause you wouldn’t be around long. Said there was a price on your head and
she aimed to collect it.”
“So why did you think Her Majesty was in danger on the train? Wasn’t that the safest place for her to be?” This time it was Zafir asking.
“Look here.” He reached into the back of his waistband and pulled out a scroll of worn parchment. He bent down on the floor and rolled it out, smoothing it with his gnarled hands. “She left this behind. Wasn’t hard to figure out it was a map.”
Zafir and I leaned down, and my eyes widened. He was right, of course; it was most definitely a map. And despite the fact that it wasn’t written in Englaise, or any of the other Ludanian languages, it also wasn’t hard to tell what it was a map of: the train line. More specifically, the train line I had been on.
“See?” Florence said, tracing one filthy finger along the tracks, stopping to tap the spot where two jagged red slash marks crisscrossed them, marking an X. It was just past the train depot where Florence had intercepted us. “This is where it would’a happened, I figure.”
I turned to Zafir. Maybe Florence was right. Maybe someone had been sent to kill me.
Zafir continued to glare at the map. “And did she say who’d set the price on the queen’s head?”
“Didn’t have’ta. After news of the bombings in the city, everyone knew that Jonas Meyers or Mayer, or whatever his name is . . .” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a dirty blade, setting it in the center of the map. “Everyone knows he’s out to get the queen. You’re just lucky Jeremiah and I convinced that conductor to move along without you, Your Majesty. Otherwise you’d’a lost your head.”
