Plain Kate

“Ah,” Daj sobbed. “I’ll never forgive myself.” She yanked Kate up—“Come on, kit”—and pulled her by the wrist, staggering, toward the big tent, with the cat tangling around their feet. They burst into the yellow light and sudden silence. Faces turned to them.

There was no men’s fire ceremony, no “May I pass between you?” Daj barked: “Tea!” Her husband, Wen, rose, creaking, his hands on his knees, and shuffled over with the black kettle. Daj seized it and pushed Kate onto one of the trestles. Taggle leapt up. Daj swatted him away. She ripped off the bandage-scarf. Before Plain Kate knew what was happening, hot tea was pouring over the open wound.

“Just brewed that,” said Wen.

Daj thrust the kettle lid at him. “Can’t you see the child’s hurt?” She slapped a handful of steaming tea leaves on Plain Kate’s arm.

“What happened?” Stivo was pushing through the tent doorway behind them. “Carver cut herself, did she? Little girl with a big knife?”

Plain Kate looked up at him. He was strangely colored in the yellow light, like a smoked fish. Daj looked at her looking and said, “It weren’t her fault. I jostled her. And she’s a better carver than you are a horseman, boy.” She dropped the bloody, gaudy scarf into the teapot, and tied another scarf over the tea leaves, and another over that.

“What news of your daughter, Stivo?” Rye Baro’s voice came from the other side of the fire. To Kate, it seemed as if the fire itself was speaking, as if it wanted to claim Drina.

“She’ll live,” said Stivo. “And it’s not thanks to this one.” He gestured roughly at Kate.

“What—” Plain Kate felt dull as the dark of the moon. “What did she tell you?

The voice came from the fire again. “What should she have told, Plain Kate Carver?”

That it was my fault, Plain Kate thought. That she was only trying to help me. That I knew it was dangerous, and I let her help me anyway. I let her go alone.

Taggle sprang back onto the trestle beside her, sniffling at the tea-soaked scarf arpund Kate’s arm, bleating wordlessly. His pink tongue flicked out like a bit of flame. Beside her, Wen suddenly spat out his tea. “Bah! Who brewed the bandages!”

“Plain Kate?” said the fire, in Rye Baro’s voice.

“I—” she croaked.

“ ’Tis not the time for questioning the kit,” said Daj firmly, lifting Kate to her feet. “Come along, Plain Kate. I’ll clear you out a patch to sleep.”

“It’s full as the king’s pocket.”

“No, you’ll see,” said Daj, leading her out into the night. “You can sleep by me, mira.” She put an arm around Kate’s shoulders and guided her back across the river meadow, through the echoing, thickening fog, as if to the land of the dead.

¶

“Blood!”

Plain Kate struggled to wake. She was wrapped in blankets, lying on Daj’s bunk in the hot vardo. Taggle was asleep. Drina was lying in the other bunk, her face turned to the wall, the roughly chopped hair sticking out and matted here and there with blood. Kate could see the heave of her ribs and hear the rasp and shudder of her breath. It was daylight, not too long past dawn: The gaps around the door curtain let in long slants of sun.

Kate shook her head, trying to remember what had wakened her. An angry voice, the word blood. That voice from outside came again. “And what does that tell you?”

“That my fool of a husband can’t tell a bandage from a tea leaf.” Daj’s steady rasp came from just outside the doorway; she was sitting on the vardo steps. “ ’Tisn’t news.”

Plain Kate eased her arm free of Daj’s quilts and wiggled her fingers. The new wound felt tight as dry leather, but everything moved as it was supposed to be. She felt a stab of relief—and then of guilt. What kind of carver cut herself? There had been so much blood.

“He drank her blood and now he’s witched.” Plain Kate finally recognized Stivo’s voice. There was a tremble that hadn’t been there before—not just anger but fear. That was what had confused her. “That gadje child has a witch’s eyes.”

Taggle’s eyes cracked open. “Don’t like him.” She shushed him and rubbed a thumb between his ears.

“Well, let’s look, then.” The steps creaked as Daj lumbered down them. Plain Kate heard the voices fade away. Outside a horse whinnied, uneasy.

Kate tried to pull herself together. “What’s happening?”

Taggle opened one gold eye. “We’re napping.” He rolled over and stretched belly up in the crook of her arm. “You may scratch my throat.”

“I meant—Stivo just said—” The cat was going to be no help, clearly. My fool of a husband, Daj had said. Wen. He’d spat out his tea last night, made some crack about the bandage—the bandage with her blood on it, in the kettle. Wen had drunk her blood. Plain Kate sat up.

Taggle spilled out of his crook and onto the vardo floor. He gave her a sidelong look. “Huh!” he complained.