Thorn Chronicles Part Four: Kidnappers!

When Miles had been eight or nine, he had every once in a while snuck out of his and Edric’s cottage before the old gardener awoke and slipped into the palce. Once there, he would spend the entire day observing Rosamelia from a distance. He could still recall (with a great degree of shame) her daily routine. She awoke at six, took a short walk through the palace grounds, returned for breakfast with her parents, and then spent several hours in the library with her tutors. After lunch, she would take another stroll and then devote the hours before dinner to either practicing the flute, riding her palomino mare Candace, or reading. Then after dinner, she usually spent time with her mother or father, the former instructing her in etiquette and manners, and the latter in diplomacy and politics. She would spend an hour reading or writing in her journal, and then retired to bed. Some of these activities Miles had witnessed himself, and some areas had to be learned from the palace servants, but once had it figured out, he thought it the best life a person could lead. It was trim, orderly, and allowed ample room for personal pursuits. At the time, he had never thought his curiosity about the princess’ life was at all wrong; now, however, he did his best to never recall those certain occasions.
However, he could not help but think almost wistfully of his past reconnaissance, as he dutifully trailed Brianette from one corner of the palace to the next and back again. Rosamelia’s littler sister had no concept of order whatsoever. She would sit in some prominent place and practice her violin with horrendous veracity, always watching to be sure passing servants paused to admire her skill (in fact, their admiration was a skill in itself; one each learned was invaluable; Brianette had been known to follow un-admiring servants through the halls, scraping away at her instrument and their eardrums until they finally caught on and atoned their insensitivity to the musical arts through flattering apologies.) However, scarcely ten mintues would pass and Brianette would toss the violin aside, ignoring the jarring twang which erupted from its hollow body to skip blithely away. Miles, grimacing, would sigh and follow distantly, to find her sampling the cook’s desert tray in the kitchens, an act which the poor cook endured with tight lips and bulging eyes. After she had sampled each pastry in sight, the princess ran to the stables to pet her mare Coriander. As Miles loitered inconspicuously in the stable doorway, he caught sight of Wedly the ostler’s boy cowering in a haystack near Coriander’s stall.
“Oh, Wedleeey!” sang Brianette, skipping around the barn and peering behind stalls. “Wedleeeyyyyy! Where are yoouuu?” When she failed to discover him, she thrust out her lower lip angrily and flounced away to the gardens. Miles was hiding behind a maple, watching with eyes wide with horror as Brianette savagely wrenched his favoritee foxgloves out of the ground, when he caught sight of Edric several yards away. He gave his master a pleading look, but Edric only smiled, winked, and returned to the pear tree he was pruning. With a sigh, Miles looked back to Brianette – but she was gone.
Off he went at a run, his head swiveling on his shoulders like a pennant being flapped in a wild breeze. She was nowhere to be found. Miles was so absorbed in his search that he nearly ran right through the cabbages he had planted days before. He froze in mid-run, tried to catch his balance, but fell headlong into the cabbage patch. With a groan, he pushed himself onto his knees, wincing when he saw the flattened plants. He hurriedly tried to fluff them up with his hands, but they slumped over dejectedly. Miles gave up and started running again, now smeared from head to foot in damp dirt. He leaped over hedges, slid under fences, and ran along the edges of fountains, but to no avail. Finally, quite bespattered with mud and water, he paused to catch his breath. Then he heard her. He straightened and ducked behind a bench just in time. Brianette same around the corner, half-singing and half-humming. She was absentmindedly yanking foxglove blossoms off their stems and tossing them aside. Trying to ignore his lovingly tended flowers as they rained down upon the path, Miles clenched his teeth and started after her again. He was seriously considering ignoring Edric’s order altogether when he rounded a corner and walked right into Brianette. She pitched forward, as did Miles, but he landed in a thorned rose bush while she was caught by two arms. Miles painfully pushed away the rose branch which had fallen across his face and looked up at the person who had caught the princess. It was a tall, thickset man with a full black moustache and eyes which bulged out of his skull. He was wearing a coat of deep gray fur.
The stranger wrapped one arm around Brianette’s throat, his hand across her mouth, and reached with the other hand toward Miles. Dumb with shock, Miles tried vainly to back away, but the thorns of the roses were digging into his body, and he could taste blood on his lips from where the one branch had slapped across his face. The man’s hand closed around Miles’ collar and hauled him roughly to his feet. Miles kicked the man’s shin, and the stranger gave a soft growl before pinning the boy as he had Brianette. Despite Miles’ furious struggling, the man held tightly onto him and gave a low whistle. In seconds, three men dressed similarly as the stranger appeared. One took Brianette, who was limp with fright, and the other two grabbed Miles. He kicked and bit, but one kept a hand across mouth while the other lifted his legs off the ground and held them tight. Unable to move, Miles was thus carried through the gardens and to the wall which separated the palace grounds from the city outside. He could hear the rumbling of carts and cacophany of voices from over the tall brick wall.
Suddenly Miles’ captors dropped him to the ground roughly. He landed on his stomach and rolled onto his side. The four fur coats were standing over him, and Brianette was curled into a trembling ball beside him. Miles’ face was stinging where the rose thorns had gouged him, and he felt weak with fear and confusion.
“Don’t make a noise,” hissed the moustached stranger, pulling a long dagger from his coat. Brianette made a pitiful noise between a squeal and a gasp, and Miles shifted closer to her. She shrank against him, turning her wide brown eyes from the strangers to meet his gaze. It’s all right, he tried to say with his eyes. They’re on palace grounds. They can’t harm you. She seemed to understand something in his look, for he felt her relax a little against him.
Looking back up at the fur-clad men, Miles tried to convert his fear into a look of cold confidence. If it weren’t for the dagger, he would have spat at them or some other heroic thing, like Cadfan would have done. But as it was, the steel was too close for comfort and he knew his attempt at courage was not very convincing.
The strangers weren’t paying much attention anyway. They had their heads together and were conversing rapidly. Their speech had a strange accent to it, making their t’s slur like s’ and their th’s like f’s.
“You’ve got the right one, are you sure?” said one.
“Yes, yes. She’s a princess, no?”
“Well, there are two.”
“One’s as good as the other, Beetle.”
The one called Beetle – a small, hairless man with three black stars tattooed on his temple – glanced down at Miles. “What about the boy?”
“He’s extra baggage.”
“Yeah, slit his throat.”
Brianette screamed, but her cry was cut short by the blade which suddenly pressed against her neck. She stared, her eyes awash with tears, at the moustached stranger as he stroked her skin with the dagger.
His own voice quavering, Miles whispered, “Leave her alone. What do you want with her?”
“Oh, I would say anything, if I were you,” said the moustache. “You’re close enough to getting this,” he waved the dagger, “as it is.”
“Just gut him and let’s go, Bronz,” said Beetle impatiently, stroking his tattooed temple as if he had a headache. “I’m sick of this hot sun. I want to go home.”
“Shut up,” snapped Bronz, but he let go of Brianette and grabbed Miles’ shirtfront, pulling him off the ground. Panic swelled in Miles’ throat, but he found himself immobilized with terror.
“Wait!”
Everyone turned to look at Brianette. She was pale as parchment, but she whispered the word again: “Wait. If it’s me you want, then fine. I’ll come. But don’t hurt him. I’ll come and I won’t struggle, just let him alone. If you – if you don’t, I’ll scream and fight and whatever it takes to get away.”
Bronz dropped Miles like a sack of meal into the dirt. “There’s a sensible girl now. Alright, then, Princess. Quietly and nicely.”
She nodded, but he still hauled her up and held her tightly. She looked down at Miles, her whole frame quivering, and gave a short nod. He read her motion easily. You must tell them who took me! Help me, Miles!
“Come on, then!” hissed one of the men. “Tie him and gag him, and let’s go. We’ve wasted enough time with the brat.”
In minutes, the men had produced a thin but strong cord and securely fastened Miles to a nearby tree. A handkerchief was shoved into his mouth. Then they tossed some other cords with hooks at their ends over the wall and began to haul themselves up the brick. Brianette was handed over while Beetle watched for guards, and Bronz was the last to go. He sneered down at Miles once before he grabbed two ropes in his big hands and clambered up and over the wall and dropped out of sight.
On the other side of this part of the wall there would be empty alleys, and no doubt there were other fur-clad men waiting to meet this group. Miles had been hoping all the while that a sentry would walk by, but there were very few on guard during the day, and they usually only walked the wall every few hours. Even then, they often walked on the city side, so Miles would likely be stuck for a while.
He realized that he was completely taut with tension, and forced himself to breathe deeply and relax. Feeling his muscles go limp, he closed his eyes and leaned his head against the tree. The cloth in his mouth tasted sour, but it was tied securely and no amount of chewing would persuade it to come free. Tears trailed down Miles’ cheeks, stinging the cuts on his face.
Where had they come from? Who were they? And why had they taken the princess? Ransom, he supposed. King Caradec would pay a fortune to recover her, and more. But such things were unheard of in Thorn. Miles had never heard of any one in the royal family being kidnapped, at least not in the last century.
So there had been someone in the palace that morning after all, and they had frightened Brianette in the library. How had they gotten that far in? Had no one else seen them? Miles tried to remember what Edric had said about them. Something about Malodir.
Malodir lay to the extreme south of Thorn, behind a curtain of low but forbidding mountains. Thornians had little to do with their southern neighbors; Malodirans were considered uncouth and rough. Miles understood why. If these really were Malodirans, then what were they doing in Thorn? Couldn’t they have kidnapped a Malodiran royal? Miles tried desparately to think of who ruled that country. As long as he had something to occupy his mind, he could quench the panic which kept threatening to make him sick.
Balfor. That was his name. King Balfor and Prince Olivers.
The tears drying on his cheeks stung like fire, but he couldn’t free a hand to wipe them away. The blood on his lips mixed with the sour kerchief made him nauseous, and he fought to settle his stomach. Where were the sentries? Where was Edric? This was a remote part of the gardens; few people ventured back here, so far from the path, and Edric only passed through her once a month.
Eventually someone would have to notice Brianette’s absence, and maybe they would stumble upon Miles in search of her. He could only hope so. Meanwhile, the sun was setting behind the trees, and shadows began to creep out of the bushes. In an hour, Miles was sitting in nearly utter darkness, and a new supply of tears coursed down his face.