Mally and Lita left the sitting room that they had finished dusting and sweeping. But before they entered the corridor, Lita glanced up and down both ends. Just as Galen had told her, they traveled on the very edge of the corridor, Mally’s right shoulder nearly brushing against the wall. Mally was amazed at how utterly ignored they were. They passed many knights who didn’t give any indication that anyone had silently walked by.

At Mally’s insistence, Lita used the servant passages whenever possible. Mally ignored her grumblings. She wanted to know as many shortcuts and escape routes as possible. But once when Lita was trying to use a very colorful rose garden tapestry on the second floor she couldn’t because of the presence of a group of knights leaning against a statue. After they had managed to pass the group by, Lita said to Mally out of the corner of her mouth, “Don’t feel tempted to use a secret passage if a knight is near.”

“Meriyal told me to be careful,” Mally answered.

“This isn’t just about being careful,” said Lita. “You’d be amazed at how keeping something like those passages secret has given us a new purpose. We can’t rebel against them. We can’t refuse to serve them. But we can keep our secrets. Meriyal’s behind it. The harder Molick tries to find them the harder we make sure they’re hidden.”

Mally assured Lita that she would take her obligation to secrecy seriously. Pleased, Lita opened a large pantry and started handing Mally tall, thin candles.

.

.

On their way back to the fourth floor, Lita used some of the same passages but she also pointed out some new ones as they walked. Mally was amazed at their intricacy. Walking down a servant passage felt like traveling down an ant’s tunnel. They were a maze that overwhelmed her.

Arms full of candles, they made their way back to the sitting room on the fourth floor. As they turned a corner onto the sitting room’s corridor they were met with a pair of knights. Mally’s very blood turned glacial in her veins as she recognized Sir Adrian Bayard. She felt Lita stiffen beside her. Remembering Galen’s advice, Mally quickly lowered her eyes and hurried her gait.

“No, go ahead. I have some things to do first.”

Mally heard Bayard speak to his companion and heard a pair of footsteps behind her. The door to the sitting room was just up ahead. Mally saw it as a sort of sanctuary and fought against the urge to run. Quite suddenly, her shoulder was yanked around. The candles in her arms tumbled through the air and scattered all over the floor. Lita gasped and spun around as well.

Before Mally stood Sir Adrian Bayard. He looked down at the candlesticks at his feet.

“Tut, tut. What a mess.” He shook his head mockingly, stepping deliberately on a candle. It snapped in two. “A castle servant,” he leered, jutting his face close to Mally’s. “I suppose that means we’ll be bumping into each other.”

Mally couldn’t bring herself to look away from him. Blood was pounding in her ears. It was as if she were frozen in place.

“Adrian, aren’t you supposed to be on the western wall?”

Bayard turned to face the newcomer, a knight with a bushy, brown beard and very broad shoulders.

“I was on my way, Sir Anon,” said Bayard immediately.

“Then go.”

It seemed that Sir Anon Haskin was higher ranked than Bayard, for Bayard left without another word, but he made sure to kick a few candlesticks as he went.

“Dear Lenzar, what a mess.”

Another knight emerged and Mally immediately recognized him from his blonde hair and red hat: Sir Brian Rendle. Sir Anon had already turned and started walking away from Mally and Lita as if he had not seen them. Mally had dropped to her knees and was quickly trying to collect the candles, but she was sure that Sir Brian’s eyes lingered on her. When she raised her gaze, she and Lita were alone.

“Well that was pleasant,” Lita said sourly. She handed Mally another candle, rose from the floor and walked into the sitting room. Mally quickly followed her.

“Are some of the knights, um, I mean, are some—” Mally didn’t want to say outright what was on her mind. Lita looked at her in confusion.

“Are what?” Lita asked, sticking one of her candles in a brass holder.

“Good,” Mally whispered.

“Good?” Lita repeated.

“I heard from a friend that some knights aren’t as bad as the others. That they’re working against Molick.”

“If they were then I doubt they would still be alive,” Lita stated. “Molick would see to that. Why do you ask?”

Mally hesitated for a split second before saying, “I’ve heard about gold being left for those in serious trouble. I wondered if it was a knight.”

Lita’s eyes widened.

“I’ve heard those rumors, too!” She quickly glanced around the room, but they were quite alone. “You thought it was a knight? Ha! I’ve always thought it was a rebel!”

“A rebel?” Now it was Mally’s turn to be taken aback.

“Why not? They’re leading the charge against the knights.”

“Well—I suppose …” Ivan certainly had money. But Galen didn’t. Mally hadn’t ever been introduced to the other members. She wondered if there were other aristocrats like Ivan.

“No,” said Mally, shaking her head. “I don’t think it’s a rebel. I think it’s a knight.”

Lita humphed, but smiled and started replacing candles.

.

.

The servants ate in the Servants’ Chamber—a small low-ceilinged room next to the kitchen. But not all the servants ate during meal times. Those who served the nobility ate afterwards, either in their bedrooms or the kitchen or the Servants’ Chamber. No one particularly cared if the servants did or didn’t eat in the Servants’ Chamber. Mally wondered if anyone would care if the servants ate at all.

After her confrontation with Bayard, Mally had no interest in running into him again any time soon, and voted for dinner in their bedroom. Lita agreed. Even though she had been nonchalant about the knights, she hadn’t enjoyed the encounter any more than Mally.

“I’ll just pop into the kitchen and get us something,” she said, leaving Mally to return to their chamber alone. As Mally made her way to the corridor of ugly oil paintings, she spotted Sir Brian deep in conversation with Gibbs. They were alone, standing in a little nook. Mally couldn’t keep from watching them whisper to each other. Gibbs looked highly unsettled by whatever Sir Brian was saying. She wondered what it was that would make Gibbs—one of the terrifying tax collectors—look so worried …

She was so immersed in trying to read their lips, that she lost her bearings and walked straight into a tall candle stand. With a startled gasp and a loud clattering, Mally stumbled and caught the stand before it toppled over. Blushing from head to foot, she righted the lopsided candles, dropped a hasty curtsy to Sir Brian and Gibbs, who were both staring, and hurried on her way.

She breathed freely when she shut her chamber door. But not two breaths had passed before she gasped again.

“Gibbs!”

He knew her! Not by name, but he knew her face. She wouldn’t be able to fool him into thinking she was as orphan from Halspeare!

Mally sunk down on the bed nearest the writing desk and watched their small fire crackle, panic filling up her lungs. Wanting to do something with her hands, she reached over and lit a handful of candlesticks that had broken during their encounter with Bayard. What was she going to do? Gibbs saw many people on his tax collecting trips. Maybe he would just think he was confused and think it an odd likeness. Maybe he would never find out the story she and Ivan were weaving. Why would he even bother? A servant? Who cared about a servant?

Just then the door opened and a tall woman with long brown hair entered.

“Oh!” she said, pausing in the doorway. “Who are you?”

“Mally Biddle.” Mally stood quickly. “I’m a new servant. You must be Gerda.”

Gerda nodded. She was much older than Mally—probably near the same age as Nathan Cobbs. She had a tired and testy air about her.

“I hope you enjoy the castle, but I think that’s wishing for a bit much.” She walked over to the bed nearest the fireplace and sat down on it with a deep sigh. “Do you know how many times he asked for mead?” she shot suddenly at Mally.

“No,” said Mally, startled.

“Five. And do you know who had to bring them?” asked Gerda angrily, snatching off her shoes.

“No,” Mally repeated, uncertainly.

“Me!” Gerda yelled, throwing her shoes down in a clatter. “Me! Not Abigail, not Joan! Me! I can’t stand it! I have half a mind to tell Meriyal to let someone else serve, but I’m sure he’d just make a scene and order for me!”

Feeling very confused, Mally lowered herself onto her bed and asked, “Who’s he?”

Gerda breathed through her nose so fiercely, she looked like a flaming dragon.

“Bayard.”

Him again, Mally thought wearily. Honestly, how many servants does he terrorize?

“Why does he want you—” but Mally’s question was cut short as their door opened again and Lita stumbled in carrying a heavy load of bread, wine, steamed carrots, and roast pork.

“Archie sends his greetings from the kitchen along with a handful of curses.” She slid the platters of food onto her bed, and glancing from the dark look on Gerda’s face to the concern on Mally’s asked, “What’d I miss?”

“I was just telling Mally about Bayard,” said Gerda, in a tone that matched her sour face.

“Not him again,” Lita sighed in exasperation. “I don’t think I can handle hearing Bayard’s name again today—I nearly ran into him just now.”

“You did?” gasped Mally.

Lita nodded her head vigorously.

“I barely managed to squeeze behind the tapestry of the fox hunt on the second floor.”

“He didn’t see you?” asked Gerda quickly, her fierce tone switching to worry.

“No. I heard him coming before I saw him. Belching away.”

Mally snorted. Gerda smiled.

.

.

Mally was used to rising before dawn. It was how life was on the farm and the servants woke just as early. Lita, Gerda, and she had a bit of trouble dressing. Lita and Gerda had been used to sharing their tiny space for a year, but an added body fumbling around in the dim light of their candles for socks and shoes caused much groggy grumblings and stumbling. When finally they were dressed in heavy scarves and gloves—for in the early dawn the castle was frigid—they made their way to the Servants’ Chamber for breakfast.

The castle was so quiet it seemed like it was a cathedral. Mally didn’t want to talk, not even whisper, for fear of ruining a silence so deep.

The Servants’ Chamber, however, was not silent. The small room was crammed with the servants, sitting at the benched tables, talking and laughing over plates of ham and biscuits. Lita and Gerda led Mally down a table and managed to squeeze onto a bench.

“Hello!” A young man with a giant smile thrust out a thin hand to Mally. “Name’s Christopher Banks. Pleasure to meet you!” He was tall and gangly and reminded Mally strongly of a scarecrow she had once made for her mother.

“Mally Biddle,” said Mally, shaking his hand.

“I didn’t see you at dinner,” said Christopher, pouring her a glass of juice.

“We ate in our chamber,” said Lita.

“Spare a spot?”

Mally turned and smiled widely. Nathan stood behind Lita and Gerda. Lita scooted closer to Mally and Nathan managed to sit down next to Gerda.

“Sleep well?” Nathan asked Mally.

“Very, thank you.”

“Where are you from, Mally?” asked a curly-haired girl beside her named Betty.

“Blighten,” Mally said before thinking. She reddened immediately at the confusion upon Betty’s face. Blighten was only known as a farming town. There was no wealth there—no noble families in need of servants. “I was born there,” Mally continued rapidly. “But I went to Halspeare when I was younger … to an orphanage,” she added, remembering the part she had to play. “Corral and Chestnut Orphanage. They helped me find some small service jobs.” Mally was relieved when Betty nodded in understanding.

“Christopher’s an orphan, too” said Betty, turning to Christopher. “And my grandmother raised me. My parents were some of the first to be put in the dungeon for rebelling. They refused to stop using the late king and queen’s names,” said Betty proudly. “I never saw them again.”

“I’m so sorry,” said Mally.

“Don’t be, they were very brave,” said Betty with a smile. Then she continued her narrative, “I used to be a maid for a wealthy widower, but I was thrown out by his daughter after he died. Then I came here.”

“She just threw you out? Like that?”

Betty shrugged.

“She didn’t like me. I think she thought I was trying to steal her fur cloaks. I kept a letter opener under my pillow. Rebecca was insane.”

Christopher laughed and Lita suddenly yelled at a blonde woman standing at another table: “Come here, Joan, and meet Mally.”

Joan turned at the sound of her name and rushed to them. Before Mally could say hello, Joan asked the others, “Did you hear about the raid?” She leaned over Christopher’s shoulder, her eyes wide. Lita, Christopher, and Betty all turned their complete attention to Joan.

“Raid? What raid?”

“At the Lone Candle,” said Joan. “Word is it happened last night.”

The glass of juice slipped from Mally’s hand. It clattered on the table, spilling juice all over the wood. Betty grabbed her napkin and mopped up the spill, but Mally and the rest had hardly noticed.

Lita gasped and covered her mouth.

“Oh, no,” she moaned. “Was anyone hurt?”

“I’m not sure,” said Joan. “There was a scuffle, I think, but I really don’t know. But supposedly they made a right mess of the place. Broken chairs everywhere.”

“Why was there a raid?” asked Mally, her hand still held upright, but without her glass of juice.

“Because the knights were bored, why else?” raged Lita. “They wanted to knock around some furniture and the Lone Candle just happened to be close by! I hate them!”

“You’re sure no one was hurt?” Mally asked Joan.

Joan shrugged, her face lined with worry.

“I hope not,” she said.

.

.

Breakfast wasn’t much fun after that. Joan left their table to spread the news to others. Lita silently fumed beside Mally, and Betty and Christopher were both pale and staring at their plates. Mally was using every ounce of self-restraint not to run straight to the Lone Candle that second. Lita might be right about the knight’s motivations, but Mally had another reason to fear any attacks on the inn: Galen was a rebel.

When it seemed clear to both Mally and Lita that they weren’t in the mood to eat anymore, they rose and started for the door, but Meriyal suddenly appeared at Mally’s side.

“I need you to come with me—fitting,” Meriyal explained.

“I’ll see you later,” Mally said to Lita and she followed Meriyal from the Servants’ Chamber.

Twenty minutes later, Mally stood on a short stool as two women pinned and altered a servant’s uniform to her size. One of the women was Mildred Bolton, who doted on Mally so much that Mally suddenly felt like a five year old. The other was Evelyn Green, an unpleasant woman who kept “accidentally” poking the needles into Mally’s side. Meriyal stood to one side watching the proceedings.

“It is your job to keep your uniform clean,” said Meriyal. “Any darning or patching is up to you.”

Mally nodded. Her mother was the real seamstress of the family but Mally could manage a few stitches.

“Wrists too thin,” Evelyn huffed under her breath as she pinned a sleeve.

“Brown is a very attractive color on you, Mally,” praised Mildred.

Evelyn snorted.

“Meriyal,” Mally said loudly to drown out Evelyn’s not-so-subtle criticisms, “I have a horse—”

“Congratulations,” said Meriyal unenthusiastically.

“And I was wondering when I would be permitted to see him.”

Meriyal raised an eyebrow.

“See him?”

“Yes,” said Mally.

“Well, you may see him on your day off. You get one day every two weeks—I know that sounds harsh, but it’s all I can allow.”

Mally was in shock. One day for every fourteen? That was ridiculous!

“But, Meriyal, I must see him every week!”

Meriyal stared at her in surprise. Mildred stopped sewing the skirt’s hem and stared up at Mally. Evelyn grumbled something about selfish young people.

Meriyal seemed to come out of her surprise like a ruffled hen.

“Every week? He’s a horse!”

“But—”

“What a thing to ask!”

“Indecent. Ungrateful,” added Evelyn with a poke of her needle.

“But Meriyal! He’ll be depressed!”

“And what will I be if the curtains are not washed?” Meriyal countered. “If the floors are not waxed? If the dust is not removed? If you don’t want the sanctuary of this castle then you may leave! We earn our safety here!”

Mally was so shocked by Meriyal’s words that for a moment she wondered if she had just been kicked out of the castle.

Evelyn smiled contentedly and continued her work, but Mildred turned to Meriyal with a soft smile.

“It wouldn’t hurt for her to spend a short portion of one day with her horse, Meriyal. Just an hour say … every Thursday? She could run the errands in the city that day—make the trip useful.”

Mally could hardly believe it, but Meriyal considered Mildred’s request. They were very close in age, Mildred and Meriyal, and then, as she felt another jab in her side, Mally conceded that Evelyn looked a few years younger than Meriyal.

“One hour every Thursday,” Meriyal ordered, giving Mally a piercing stare. “And you’ll run the errands.”

Thrilled, Mally jumped from the stool to hug Meriyal in thanks.

Flustered, Meriyal awkwardly patted Mally on the back.

“That’s enough of that!” she said gruffly. “Get back up there, and let them finish.”