6

W HEN K INCHEN woke up she couldn’t remember where she was or why. Her mouth tasted like sheep’s wool, greasy and fuzzy at the same time. And bitter. She thought about sitting up, but somehow her brain felt like it needed to stay lying down. Slowly she tilted her head and studied her surroundings. She seemed to be lying on a bed, on top of a quilt dyed in stripes of green and blue—the official colors of the Islands. The walls of the room, too, were green and blue, bright and clean: one of the governor’s upstairs rooms. The windows stood open to let in a breeze and a bright late-morning light.

Too bright. She tilted her head the other way. A dresser, bare but for a slip of old-fashioned birch-bark paper lying importantly in the center. She squinted, but couldn’t see what it said from her angle—and didn’t feel like getting up yet. Between the dresser and the door, on the floor, lay a bulging burlap sack, securely tied at the top with boating rope. Her own shoes hung above the sack on a wall hook. She lifted one heavy foot toward the ceiling and stared at it, feeling stupid because she couldn’t figure anything out. Her foot was bare. And somewhat dirty.

Yes, dirty. She searched her memory, foggy, for a clue. Her feet were dirty because she’d been gathering the goats and milking them, and she’d been barefoot, and then she’d shoved on her shoes and gone to find Pip—

Pip.

She flipped her head around the room again, grimacing at the sudden, sharp headache.

Pip was not there.

Everything flashed back to her, Pip at the pond and the tea afterward, and she sat up, head spinning. Had she fallen asleep? No, she must have gotten sick. The last thing she remembered was the tea. The Raft King’s tea, whose bitterness still rested on her tongue.

The paper on the dresser was a note; she could see that now. She’d have to stand to reach it. Slowly she slid her legs to the side of the bed. She had to walk only a few steps to the dresser, but she didn’t know if she could make it.

Of course she could. Taking a deep breath, she lunged for the dresser. She didn’t walk so much as she fell with forward motion, grabbing the note on her way to the floor.

At first the letters on the page didn’t look like anything, just scrawls that kept going in and out of focus. She breathed deeply, wiped her sweaty forehead, and gazed around the room, letting her head clear as much as it could. The bag on the floor was even bigger now that she sat across from it— almost the same size as she was.

Kinchen studied the paper again and was relieved to find that she could remember how to read. The scrawls shaped themselves into letters and the letters into words. But the words didn’t make sense.

Dear Kinchen,

You’ve been here all night, sleeping off your sudden illness. I hope you will feel better upon waking.

Meanwhile, your guardian, Mr. Ren, has not even bothered to come to town to look for you and your brother. It is clear to me that neither you nor Pippin are well-cared-for children, and I am now convinced that Pippin at least would be better off where he can learn a trade and be taken care of. The Raft King has offered to adopt him—even after learning about his limitations in interacting with others. This is the best offer he might ever receive—a life fit for a prince, really. I know that you will not want to hold him back from such a wonderful opportunity. I know that you will want the best for your brother.

You may, if you wish, continue to live with Mr. Ren. You are old enough to make that decision for yourself. If you feel, as I now do, however, that he is not a competent caregiver, I will be happy to find you acceptable housing in town. You’ll be able to attend school. (It’s yet another example of your guardian’s thoughtlessness that he has never sent you.)

Do let me know your thoughts on your future housing. Meanwhile, please try to be happy for your brother’s good fortune.

The Raft King has left you a gift. He wouldn’t say what it was, just that it would amply compensate your grandfather for any lost help around the house or fields. It’s in the sack.

With respect,
Clarissa Flans-Daughter,
Governor

•   •   •

I T FELT like hours, but was probably only minutes, that Kinchen sat with the note in her hand, trying to take it in. Then she crumpled the paper into a ball and dropped it on the floor between her feet. Her heart raced and the bitter tea rose in her throat and tried to come back up. She swallowed hard.

She hadn’t gotten sick, that much was clear. She’d been poisoned—she and probably Pip, too—by the Raft King. All to steal Pip away from her. To take him somewhere where she couldn’t protect him.

Well, she’d only been knocked out one night. Pip was probably lodged on the giant raft by now, but Raftworld was still sitting just outside the harbor. Kinchen could borrow a rowboat (with or without permission; right now she didn’t care) and get out there easily in an hour or two. Blast—she would swim there if she needed to. Raftworld wasn’t slated to leave for several days yet. There was time to get Pip back, to rescue him.

No time to waste, though. Pip would wake soon, and he’d be scared. He wouldn’t recognize anyone, and he’d act weird, and everyone would think he was an idiot and then, as usual, he’d stop talking and confirm their conclusions. And they’d treat him like he was not normal and he’d feel terrible. She needed to find him.

Just then the door opened. The governor poked her head in, saw Kinchen on the floor, and stopped short. Her thick black hair, barely streaked with gray, was pulled back in a tight knot, as always—very professional and governor-like—but her face didn’t look like the face of someone in charge. It looked fallen in, like a landslide, and she seemed much older than usual.

“You jerk,” said Kinchen.

The governor sighed. “You have no idea how much of a jerk,” she said, and she eased into the room and sat on the floor across from Kinchen. “You read my note.”

Kinchen kicked the crumpled paper toward the governor.

“I thought you’d see reason in the morning—but if you didn’t, you’d have time to go out to Raftworld and retrieve Pippin.”

“Pip.”

“Yes. Pip.” She lowered her head and twisted her hands together. “But I’ve been bamboozled. And I’ve bamboozled you, too. You have to believe that I didn’t intend to. I thought—still think—that I was doing the best for Pip. Giving him an opportunity to shine. But I also thought you’d have a say in the matter when you woke up, and if, after reading my letter, you still felt he should live with you”—Kinchen glared, and the governor faltered, then continued—“you could make that choice. I didn’t mean for him to be stolen away.”

Stolen away? “What do you mean?” Kinchen felt almost like she couldn’t breathe. Stolen away?

“Raftworld is—gone.”

Kinchen stared at the governor. Nothing made sense. “They’re not supposed to leave until next week.”

“I know! But they left sometime during the night. Without the fourteen volunteers. Without finishing the trading deals. Without the big send-off party. They just left. We went out to the harbor this morning, and they were gone. The Raft King swindled me—swindled us . And I think he did it so that he could take Pippin—Pip—with him.”

The governor’s words were sharp and clear, like a shard of good gypsum stone. No: like a skinning knife. Every word cut into Kinchen. She wasn’t sure she was breathing.

The governor continued. “I meant what I said about your guardian, about Old Ren, and I’m concerned—”

“He’s sick. He couldn’t get out of bed.”

The governor blinked.

“That’s why he didn’t come looking for us. He’s the best grandfather ever. He loves me—and he loves Pip.”

The older woman blinked again. Then, in a low voice: “I’m sorry, Kinchen.”

Kinchen did not answer. She was concentrating on not crying—or exploding. She needed to focus, to find something to do to fix all this. “Send out a ship to find them.”

“You know we can’t do that,” the governor said gently. “We don’t have seafaring ships, only fishing boats. Raftworld is far out of our waters by now, and we don’t know the world out there. All our seafaring folk . . .”

“Have joined Raftworld.”

“Yes. Over the years. It’s—it was —a good system.” She took a deep breath. “I’ll call together some of the former Raftworlders—the ones who joined us last time.”

“Almost ten years ago.” Kinchen couldn’t keep the scorn out of her voice. As if they could help.

“They knew the Raft King—long before he became king. They at least can tell us something of his personality, his desires.”

“From ten years ago.”

She sighed. “Yes. But it’s the best I can do right now. Kinchen, I’m sure Raftworld will return. After Pip is done—with whatever it is they want him to do. They’ll bring him back.”

Kinchen refused to nod, refused to let this woman off the hook. “Just go. Please.”

The governor sat for a minute, then rose gracefully— despite her age—and brushed off her long tunic. “I’ll keep in touch. Don’t forget your sack.” Then she stepped out through the door and was gone.

Kinchen sat for a few minutes more. She felt frozen. But she had to move. She had to get back to Old Ren, who must be worried. And he was sick—what if he needed something? She stood up and reached for her shoes, then sat back down to put them on. She shook her head to test it. The fuzzy sheep’s wool feeling still lingered in her mouth, but her head felt much clearer. Okay. Go back to Old Ren and then figure out how to rescue Pip. What else?

Don’t forget your sack.

The sack. Her prize for losing her brother.

She stared at it, only a few feet away from where she sat. Big, lumpy thing. The Raft King had said it was something to help around the house or barn, did he? It was probably a clockwork of some kind; the Raftworlders were known for them. A floor cleaner or timekeeper or something. Like that would make up for the loss of a brother.

She was tempted to give the bag a big kick and leave it there for the governor to deal with. Yes, that seemed about right.

She stood up, steadying herself, not sure she could kick something right now without toppling but determined to try. Angry.

She pulled back her foot.

The bag sighed. GoERW7Bx0+vl+w0dnAT/IuqtHVHJc4ncTNAIv2TYiSoIdSe7jyqqe/bWNTsbzkhB