Poor World by Sherwood Smith Page A

right at my side. No chance of escape there.
    He finished by saying he was pleased with my progress. I felt like the world’s worst phony, for there I was faking along — and still no closer to figuring a way to defeat his plans.
    He stacked his papers and tucked them under his arm as he left. I stood at the window and watched him splat up the street, thinking drearily that every broiling hot, boring, tense day I lied my way through brought us closer to the day of attack.
    My only breaks were at night. I’d discovered that I could go climb the wall at the parade ground and perch, for there were no wards on the walls. The geography was enough to keep everyone in — nothing but flat desert land baking in the merciless heat as far as the eye could see. Anyone who went over the fence would die out there in a day. Kessler wouldn’t have to bother sending a search party.
    But at night I could ignore that and look up at the stars, which were peaceful and beautiful as a treasure-trove of jewels. Up on the wall there was even a breeze.
    I sat and brooded, thinking and rethinking everything I knew. No chances of sneaking out. The gates were never opened. All transfers were done by magic, everyone carrying some kind of token with half the transfer magic on it — I still don’t know how Dejain managed this particular trick. And if the tokens were accidentally dropped or left behind, Dejain had a tracer spell on them.
    I returned inside and to my room for another night of bad dreams — interrupted, as often happened, by that flickering candle and Kessler checking on me. I always pretended I was asleep, and he went away again.
    This time I sat up, gulping for air — I’d been dreaming that Shnit was about to assassinate Clair — and I yelled, “Go away!” before I could even think.
    The candle had already vanished.
    I flopped back down, whimpering into the cot. Why did he do that? It was always the same time of night, that I knew instinctively. I did not sleepwalk, nor had I ever left the room, so why check up on me?
    But moments later he was back again, and this time carrying a glass of water.
    â€œDrink that.” He put the glass in my hand.
    â€œIt’s okay,” I said, trying to hand it back.
    â€œDrink it.”
    If I refused would he strangle me again?
    Then I thought: why refuse? If it was some kind of sleep drug, well, maybe I would at least escape the bad dreams, even if he ordered his entire army to tromp through the hallway.
    So I downed the liquid, not even tasting it, and Kessler silently took the glass back. Without speaking he stood there, waiting.
    My vision smeared suddenly, and I dropped face down onto the cot.
    When I woke up — lying in exactly the same position in which I’d fallen — I realized it was barely dawn. In the hallway outside my room came the clatter of heavy boots on the wooden floorboards. Alsaes. Had to be. Kessler’s step was much lighter.
    I whirled up from my cot and yanked the door open, plunging through. The cleanup spell zapped the grime and wrinkles away from me and my clothes, which gave me a sort of minor mental advantage. I mean, it was bad enough to be spied on every night just before midnight by Kessler, but to be woken up by Alsaes? Eugh!
    We almost ran into each other, for that hall was short. I fell back and glared up at the creep, whose smug glee shot pangs of warning through me even before I saw his getup. When my eyes took in his uniform, all gold buttons and sword belts and gold-hilted hardware, I knew he was up to something extraordinarily rotten, and he was going to do it in public.
    â€œAh, the valiant princess has blossomed forth on this promising morn, “ he said jovially.
    The feeling that he had one up on me and that I was about to Get It increased.
    â€œKnock it off, Prince Charming,” I snarled just as nastily as I could, since it was obvious I was already in for trouble. “And