What is Hidden (6 page)

I
followed my feet to the
pier. It was already bustling with activity—the market was still going on after all.
One more crime from the Chameleon, but the world still carries on
, I thought bitterly.

A gaggle of children burst into my path, their faces painted in shades of bright blues—the sign of children from fishing families. From cheekbone to hairline, their skin was coated in a thin layer of blue paint, even their eyelids. The whites of their eyes shone with excitement and one girl who couldn’t have been older than twelve smudged a streak of blue across the back of her hand. She must have recently reached twelve, the age when children started wearing paint.

She giggled and pointed at a pair of young men eating on a ship’s deck. The other children gathered around her, giddy and slightly scandalized. The two men wore no masks. Instead they had a cluster of tattoos inked directly into their skin around their eyes. They were from Saran, after all, a country to the north of us where the strange people lived almost bare-faced.

The young men noticed their audience and stood to get a better look at the little blue faces. One of the men winked, sending the youngsters into a fit of giggles before they ran off to tell their friends and families.

I used to be one of those children who came to stare at the strangers; every adult of my country used to be one of those children. No child could resist a scandal, and these foreigners were as good as nearly naked. Only the uncivilized and poorest of people went without a face covering, and Saranians were barely a step above them with their inked faces.

I didn’t know what I was doing there.

My stomach growled.

At least there was something I could do for that.

I dug out some of the cheese I’d managed to rescue. My fingers brushed against the palace masks, and I took those out as well, making sure there wasn’t anyone around who’d recognize them for what they were. Both were formal masks that covered the top of the forehead to the chin, with a thin beaded veil falling an inch or so below the jaw line. The masks were easily recognizable as belonging in the palace. They were dark silver, clearly low on the totem pole, but still in the color spectrum of public service to the government since whoever wore it worked in the palace. A simple silver ribbon lined the edges and crushed glass sparkled attractively over part of the surface. There were also some small engraved curls along the right side.

The first was stained beyond repair. The fabric needed replacing, as well as some of the beading, and even if I’d had fine enough material, it was burned at the workshop. I placed it back in my bag.

The second, though, was promising.

The ties were nearly torn clean off, and the lining was all but gone. Otherwise, it looked pretty good. I could work with that. The ribbons were still in good shape; they just needed to be resewn into the lining. Thankfully there was enough of that along the edges that I could rig it to work. And while a palace servant would want the most comfortable mask available, I could not afford to be so picky, so the current lining would have to do.

After studying the mask for a long moment, I shoved it back in my bag. I would have to be crazy to even think of wearing the mask myself. I would be no better than the Chameleon.

And yet . . .

It wasn’t like I’d stolen it. Iniga gave it to me, and it had been given to her. She wouldn’t be in any trouble.

And I wasn’t stealing anyone’s identity in particular . . . just an anonymous scullery maid or laundress or something.

It could work.

It was insane, but it could work.

Finishing my scanty meal, I pulled myself to my feet, brushing off my skirts. I frowned—I would need better clothes if I were to pass as a palace servant.

Maybe if I could just get in there, I could grab some clothes as well.

A twinge of remorse pricked in my gut. It was so easy to fall back on theft when I had nothing else.

But I couldn’t ask anyone for help. Iniga would be risking her position if she snuck me in, and I didn’t want to rely on her charity when I could fend for myself.

As for Aiden, I had hoped to see him when I’d gone
back to my home, but he was nowhere to be found, and I didn’t know where to look for him. Besides, he wouldn’t be able to do anything for me that I couldn’t do myself.

And it would kill me if he looked at me the way Dr. Vito did.

As the doctor’s face flashed across my memory, I made my decision.

I would hide, and I would fend for myself, and I would do it on my own.

* * *

I took a deep breath, steeling myself as I gazed up at the imposing gates of the palace. Great stone kaku-dōrō lanterns stood on either side, flanked with statues of lions growling at those who dared to pass by. They were much more intimidating when I didn’t have Iniga to lead the way through them.

The trick was to look like I belonged. The problem was I clearly did not.

I picked at my skirt, trying to concoct an excuse for my dress. The servant’s silver mask was on my face, and it felt suffocating being unable to breathe deeply beneath the veil. At least my wound was completely covered.

“Hey, you there!” one of the guards called out. He muttered something to his companion and then took a few steps toward me. “What are you doing out here dressed like that?”

I looked down at my clothes once more, my head spinning. “I, uh, fell in the canal.” That might have been convincing if I had been wet. “And so I borrowed clothes from a friend of mine who works in the artisan district where
I was running errands,” I added quickly when the guard frowned.

His expression softened, and he looked me up and down. I struggled to keep from fidgeting under his scrutiny, trying to look annoyed at being stopped. When he finally shrugged, I wanted to sigh in relief.

“All right. Go on through,” he said, waving back at the gate. “I’m sure you need time to make yourself presentable before dinner.”

“Yes. Thank you, sir!”

He chuckled. “You’re lucky you’re a pretty one. And you can thank me by bringing me my dinner! Name’s Matteo—I’ll be looking for you.”

I gave him a confused look but didn’t bother waiting around for an explanation. I didn’t understand all the comments about my being pretty, seeing as he couldn’t see me at all. And if he could, he would certainly be singing a different tune. My mask was lovely, but it was a servant’s and nothing extraordinary, which was my usual rule of defining beauty.

I’d learn later that beauty is measured in a different fashion in the palace.

I hurried inside, pausing when there was no one around to see me. I was completely lost in a matter of minutes. Even if I could go to Iniga’s workroom, I didn’t have the slightest idea of how to get there.

Walking around somewhat aimlessly, I searched for someone with a mask similar to the one I wore, or a sign of a laundry.

“What are you doing, looking like that?” a scandalized voice asked from behind me.

I spun around, my hand instantly checking to be sure my mask was secure. “What?”

A girl approximately my age, with stick-straight, dark brown hair and narrow gray-green eyes glared at me. Her uniform black mask seemed to be a size too small. It had large eyeholes so as to cover as little of her face as possible while still being proper. A sure sign of a flirt. “You’re a mess,” she announced.

“I fell in the canal,” I said, narrowing my eyes back at her, daring her to challenge my alibi. I might be intimidated by the palace guards, but I wasn’t about to let some silly girl scare me away.

“And you thought you could still serve in that?” She motioned dramatically at my soot-stained clothing.

“I was going to the laundry, but I got turned around. I haven’t been here very long,” I said defensively.

She rolled her eyes. “I’ll say. You’re in the wrong wing entirely. You’re heading toward the boys’ rooms.” A grin curved her lips. “Or was that really where you’re coming from?”

I didn’t bother to dignify that with an answer. “Just show me where to go,” I asked, sounding tired.

“Only because Mistress Vera will have my head if you show up like that. Hurry up—I have things to do, you know.” I nearly had to jog to keep up with the girl’s long legs, and she wasn’t joking about going quickly. I lost track of the turns again, but we stopped in front of a door marked with waves carved into the wood.

The girl didn’t bother knocking and pushed the door open, calling, “Leo? I’ve got a girl for you!” Then, without waiting for Leo to appear, she gave me a dirty look and
said, “Don’t be late for dinner,” and flounced back out the door.

Left alone for the moment, I took a deep breath to steady my nerves and looked around.

Cloth was everywhere. Now this was my kind of place—I knew my dressings and trappings. I drifted over to the ribbons and silks and fingered them longingly. I missed them already.

“Can I help you?” a low voice asked, startling me, and I spun around.

An elderly man was standing by the wall that I’d passed by on my way to admire the ribbons. He looked more friendly than the rest of my welcoming committee, but I’d been wrong on every other first impression, so I wasn’t going to make any judgments.

“I need a new dress . . .” I said, though it sounded more like a question.

“I can see that. I should have a uniform for you here.” He began rummaging through several piles of clothes. The skirt and blouse were so loose and billowy that it didn’t matter what size he gave me. “Put these on, and I’ll see if I need to hem anything. Can’t have you tripping, now.”

I pulled the skirt over what I was already wearing and discovered it was too short, hitting my leg awkwardly above my boot top with several inches of skirt showing underneath. Same with the sleeves—they fell just short of my wrists.

“Hmm, let me see if I have anything longer. You might be out of luck, though.”

Great.

About five skirt and shirt combinations later, we finally
found articles of clothing that didn’t look horribly awkward on me. The material was actually nicer than I expected, but then again, we were supposed to be representing the royal services. We needed to look respectable.

“Thank you,” I said. He had actually been helpful, and while not overtly friendly, he wasn’t hostile either. He was just . . . uninterested. And I could live with that.

I studied myself in the large mirror propped against the wall, curious to see the new me.

The look suited me, oddly enough. My mask comfortably covered enough of my face that I wouldn’t have to worry about things showing that shouldn’t be, even if I would have to get used to breathing more shallow breaths. Even better, I barely recognized myself. Ill-fitting clothes and a full mask and in a position of servitude? No one would ever recognize me.

I pulled distastefully at my skirt and resigned myself to my job. Just for a few weeks—that’s as long as I’d need to stay here, surely. The Chameleon would be caught, and I could return to my old life, somehow. This too would pass.

* * *

Next, I needed to find where I would be sleeping. I could hardly say I couldn’t remember which room was mine and ask for a new one. Luckily an idea struck me as I passed a girl with a mask similar to mine. “Do you know where an empty girls’ room is? I’m supposed to get it ready for a newcomer.”

She looked at me oddly, her head tilting slightly to the right. “You? Don’t they have other servants for that?”

I winced inwardly. Of course the palace would have
different servants for tasks like that, and I clearly worked in the kitchens. “Yes, but I know her and volunteered.”

The girl still looked skeptical, but shrugged it off. “Do you know where she’ll be working?”

“Kitchens?”

“Wouldn’t that just be near your own room?”

Why did this girl have to be smart? “I suppose,” I began slowly, “but I don’t think there are any more rooms there.”

“She’d probably just be roomed with the general servers then. Come on, I’ll show you. They’re downstairs.”

This time I carefully memorized the turns and corridors as she quickly showed me the way. “Most of these are empty,” she said, sounding somewhat apologetic, “and much smaller than the ones the other serving girls like you get, but if you’re full up there, then there’s not much more you can do.”

“I’m sure it’ll be just fine. She had to share a room before, so she’ll be happy to have some privacy for once.”

For the first time, I saw a smile in the girl’s eyes. “Then this one should be okay,” she said, opening the first door on the right.

The room was small, occupied by a single set of shelves and a bedroll directly on the floor. There were no blankets or decorations, and it felt dismal. I’d have to do something to brighten up the place—I’d lose my mind if I had to spend any extended amount of time in that room. I’d also have to see about getting a blanket. And a lantern—the solitary window facing the east would be all but useless in the evenings.

But it would serve its purpose. It would certainly hide me well. Hiding in the basement of the palace itself? Perfect.

“You can get some blankets and things from the laundry, if your friend isn’t bringing her own,” the girl supplied helpfully. “Anything else you need?”

“Can you help me back to the kitchen?” I asked. “I’m still new myself and keep getting lost.”

She laughed. “I remember that feeling all too well. Sure, follow me. I need to get up there soon, anyway.”