Miranda's Giants, Chapters 1-3

Chapter 1: Miranda Enters

Miranda was a steady-headed, plucky girl of fifteen. She lived in a high apartment room with her thirteen-year-old brother Zeke and her father, when he was home. Being a firefighter and also working a part-time job teaching Coast Guard classes this last year, he had been little home. Her mother had died of a fever over a year before, so it was Miranda who “looked after” her brother, as she called it, tended the apartment and saw to the meals. Not that she minded – Miranda loved the work, and after she and her brother got home from school, they would do fun activities together, often going on bike rides or playing hide-and-seek in the park. Miranda always seemed to have everything together. People would say of her, “Oh, just ask Miranda – she can handle it”, and indeed, it did seem as if she could handle anything that might come her way, until one stormy Tuesday night.
Miranda was a light sleeper, and the wind howling by outside her window had woken her. She didn’t believe in pajamas but rather wore the last day’s clothes to bed, so she huddled in a rumpled skirt and tee-shirt, a blanket pulled tightly about her shoulders to ward off the chill. She muttered dire remarks to herself about poor sleep meaning poor results on the test tomorrow. This was her first year in school, having been homeschooled until her mother died, and she still wasn’t used to all the rigmarole. Zeke was still her best friend, and all the kids scorned her as “that girl” who hadn’t been in school her whole life. Consequently, she had dedicated herself all the more to her homework, trying to prove herself as good as any of them, and regularly got straight As in all her classes, estranging her all the more from her fellow students. She knew if she got a bad grade on this test it would only increase her problems, and here she was, unable to sleep.
Perhaps she dozed while she sat there; at any rate, she at last decided to go to the kitchen. She could get started preparing the next morning’s breakfast, and at least it would be warm and she might find something to clean. If Zeke had woken up too, which was not likely, him being such a heavy sleeper, they could chat. Her eyes were dim with sleep as she blundered out to the kitchen, fumbling in the darkness for the door and groping in.
At first, she didn’t notice the differences, until she stumbled over an enormous chest. Miranda came fully awake with a start and stared about her, a feeling of wild panic stirring in her stomach. Nothing was familiar. She seemed to be in a small, one-room cottage with a thatched roof and very primitive furnishings. Everything was in a jumble; chairs and table broken and thrown against the wall, smashed dishes scattered around the room, linens and rugs slashed and flung in disarray about the place. The worst part of it all, though, was the blood. There had obviously been some sort of fight or struggle, and the bloodstains told the horror of it. Miranda forced herself not to think about them, not to stare, but rushed at the crooked, unhinged door and burst out into the night, one hand pressed over her mouth. The land was barren and grassy, with only the dim shadow of trees on the horizon. Taking several deep breaths, Miranda slowly pulled her composure back together. She was not sure how she got there – if it was a dream or some kind of magic, though she didn’t believe in such a thing – but her practical sense told her that she was in a spot no matter what. She was stuck in a strange place she didn’t know, and though she tried pinching herself she could not seem to awake from this dream, if dream it was.
Miranda knew she had to find shelter, and as far away from the cottage and its ghastly scene as she could get. She wondered what had happened in there, and if there was anyone in this forsaken place that could tell her. Listening carefully, she could hear a gurgling brook mixed in with the soft night sounds of the country, and padding stealthily forward, following the noise, she found it. It murmured on softly to itself in the night, the moon gilding the ripples in silvery pearls and festooning them with dazzling strings of diamonds. Miranda turned and followed the course it flowed, hoping it would take her somewhere, as if the peaceful current could sweep her away from the gruesome spectacle behind her. The brook soon joined into a river, and this Miranda followed for some time. Ahead, she could make out a smudge that must be a wood of some kind. It seemed that she walked in a daze, not really awake but not asleep, and she had very little idea of how long she’d walked or how far she went. All Miranda knew was that the cottage was long out of sight behind her and that dawn was not far off, judging by the lighter blackness in the east, when she ran into trouble.
The wood she had seen on the horizon had long since encroached on the edge of the river, and she had avoided the shade of its dark leaves for fear of some wild creatures that might prowl there. Now, though, she heard a sound in the woods. Her heart pounded and she froze. What should she do? The sound had come from the forest, but here in the open she was exposed. Should she go into the forest fringe to hide, or stand here? Might as well a rabbit try and escape a wolf by standing still, and yet, if she did enter the forest, heading right toward the mysterious noise, which was getting closer by the moment, would she not increase her chances of discovery?
No time for hesitation, Miranda thought, just make a decision and stick with it. She plunged into the forest and leapt at the lower branches of the first climbable tree she saw, a patriarchal old elm. She had not gained three feet off the ground, however, when she felt something seize her from behind and pull her, trying to disengage her from the tree. Now that she really had something to be afraid of, all her fear evaporated, replaced by anger. How dare anyone try use force on her! She kicked ferociously, and was rewarded by a grunt behind her. The arms that had been tugging on her loosened and Miranda dropped to the ground. For a moment it was all fists and feet as Miranda put up a terrific fight, dodging arms and tangled legs and throwing punches right and left, kicking out with both feet alternately. The struggle did not last long, however. Miranda soon found herself with both arms held firmly behind her back, her face pressed against the tree, panting hard.
“What do you want with me?” She gasped. “I never harmed you. What is the meaning of this assault?”
“Never harmed?” A somewhat breathless voice asked, laced with sarcasm.
“Of course not, Jack.” Another voice added, almost merrily. “I have a bruise on me shin and a fine black eye, but she don’t count that as ‘harmed’ either.”
Miranda coughed, and twisted in her captor’s grasp to get a good look at them. “That was self-defense. I didn’t initiate the scrap; you were the ones that tried to pull me out of the tree –” Miranda broke off and gulped as she caught sight of her captors. It was their eyes that disturbed her the most and that she noticed first. They were red like live coals and casting their own faint light. Their bodies were short and broad, and they were covered with scales of a dull, gray-green color. Their noses were long and pointed, like soft horns, and curved down slightly over their wide mouths. Even their ears were wrong, looking more like bat’s ears than anything humanlike, giving them a very frightening appearance.
“What’s the matter, girl, haven’t you ever seen a gnome before?” The one named Jack asked.
Miranda almost shrieked. This is a dream, she told herself. It has to be a dream. I’ll wake up soon. Just keep cool and wait it out. “Um, actually, I haven’t ever met one before, but I’ve read a good deal about them.” This was true, but as every tale told of gnomes differently, it wasn’t much use.
“Shut your mouth, Jack. Don’t natter on to the prisoner; it’s dangerous. She might sweet-talk you into freeing her or trap you in your words. Guard her carefully and bring her along.” Miranda was forced along, and though she struggled and kicked at her undersized captors, they held her firmly and she was unable to disentangle herself. Breathlessly she began to harangue the gnomes for kidnapping and carrying off innocent victims. It only took about ten minutes of uninterrupted verbal bludgeoning before Jack called to the leader.
“Hey Andy, can’t we stuff her noisy gob with something? I think I shall burst apart soon.”
“You’d deserve it, you villains!” Miranda shouted. “Unhand me!” She twisted and writhed ferociously, and managed to free an arm. With this, she dealt out several hard blows and some of the gnomes ducked away from her flying fist. Bear her down they did, however, and it wasn’t long before every inch of her was either held by flappy gnome hands or sat upon by rotund personages. Only her head was left free, and the one named Andy was approaching, cloth in hand, to gag her. With only one remaining instant in which to act, Miranda lifted her head as much as she could off the ground, and taking a deep breath, let loose an ear-shattering scream. The gnomes wriggled, trying to keep her down and stop their ears at the same time, and those who were still standing flung themselves to the ground as if to escape the sound. Miranda was not an experienced screamer, and her breath quickly gave out, but she gulped in another and recommenced. The gnomes were not slow to recover, however, and though she tried to break loose while they were overwhelmed by the sound, even then she could not, and the gnomes held on doggedly. In short order a piece of cloth was jammed between her teeth and tied behind her head, and her last chance fell spent to the ground in vain. After that, the gnomes trussed her up and carried her between four of them.
Miranda was exhausted from her struggles and was drifting on the edge of unconsciousness, so she was not sure whether it was two or ten minutes before trouble came. Trouble, that is, to the gnomes. She was jerked awake by a gnome’s squeal, and in seconds there was utter confusion. She heard the ring of steel and Andy’s voice shouting at his gnomes to find their knives and fight. It seemed that they were being attacked by an unexpected enemy, who, being armed, was doing great damage to the gnomes, scaled though they were.
Apparently, Miranda thought fuzzily, they don’t seem to carry real weapons. The gnomes bearing Miranda dropped her and rushed to join in the fight. She tried to sit up, to crawl away while she could but the mass of cords that bound her held her firm. She looked up in time to see the flash of a blade and a gnome fall dead. A figure she could not make out clearly leapt over the body and with one neat slash cut her bonds. Miranda shook off the severed ends and scrambled dizzily to her feet.
“Run!” The swordsman shouted, and Miranda obeyed. She fled deep into the forest regardless of direction so long as it was away from the gnomes that had kept her prisoner. Away! Away! She felt as though she were in an everlasting nightmare, one from which she could not awake. And perhaps she was. At any rate, she was no more successful at waking now as she tripped, staggered and stumbled through the woods than she had been outside the cottage when she had first found herself here. Her heart pounded, she choked on her own ragged breath, and she didn’t know how much longer she could keep running. Weariness drenched her limbs, and a thick black fog was in her mind, threatening to engulf her. Her pace slacked, and her leaden legs would do little more than trot when she burst without warning out from under the shadow of the trees. The river was nowhere in sight, and she was completely lost. Miranda’s shoulders sagged, and after a few steps she sank to the ground. The blackness swallowed her whole.

Chapter 2: A Stranger Named Shade

When Miranda opened her eyes, the sky above was gray with dawn and clouds. She was aware of low voices murmuring near her, but could not make out what was said at present. She sat up. Her muscles were tight and stiff, and she groaned softly. At least a score of men, or men so far as she could tell and she didn’t want to make any assumptions since the gnome encounter, were gathered under the eaves of the forest. Miranda wondered if these men wanted anything with her, as the gnomes obviously had, and if they were kinder or crueler captors than they. Miranda stood, trying to decide whether or not to address herself to the men or simply walk off. As she wavered, unsure which the wisest course of action was, a man, as tall as her father, came toward her. He was wrapped in a cloak of dark gray, and at his right hip he had a long straight sword. He had an air of command about him, but he was not bearing down upon her as if he were an enemy. Miranda crossed her arms and waited. When he reached her, he cast his hood back from his face, revealing sharp features carved in sun-darkened skin, and eyes like green fire. Yet his manner was friendly rather than hostile, and Miranda wasn’t sure whether to be free or distrustful of him. She decided to cut to the chase and broach the first words.
“Who are you? What do you want with me?”
“Call me Shade.”
“Call you? That doesn’t sound like a name. What’s your real name?”
 “That is enough of a name for my men.” Shade said. “It will be enough for you. As for what I want with you, that is a question probably better phased as ‘what do you want with me’. You are, so far as I and my men are concerned, free to go whenever, wherever you wish.”
Miranda eyed him dubiously. “How do I know you’re not fooling me?”
“You can’t. No one can ever know. Only trust.”
She snorted. “Oh, right. I’m supposed to take you at your word and leave, and let you follow me in secret so you know where I go, is that it?”
“What could I say – either yes or no – that would convince you to believe me? How would you know I wasn’t lying then?”
“Um, well, how about you just tell me what you want with me.”
Shade smiled. “Perhaps we shall say that I wished to spite the goblins of their prey. Does that suit you?”
“Goblins? They said they were gnomes.”
“It comes to the same thing. Gnome is just a prettier name they like to call themselves. Most people, especially Wanderers, call them goblins.”
“Why wanderers more than other people? Do travelers have more dealings or encounters with them than most or something?”
“No, I’m sorry, I didn’t know you didn’t know, but then why should you?” Shade looked off into the distance, as if he could there glimpse long lost memories. “Wanderers,” he said at last, “are, by the strict sense of the term, vagabonds who are sworn to serve the king as a sort of low profile force. We collect information, capture the guilty, guard the borders, and spy on his enemies. We also interrupt their dirty work when we can, which is why,” he glanced at Miranda, “I should like to know what the goblins wanted with you.”
“Oh.” Miranda knew she had come to the brink of choice. Either she could trust this man and tell him the little she knew and get his help to get back home, or she could trust this man to leave her alone and strike out on her own to get back. He’s right, unfortunately, she thought, it’s trust both ways. I’m helpless on my own – I don’t know this country, or how, or even if I can get home, and I might run into more goblins. I’ll have to risk it. Risk, like when she’d struck off unthinkingly into this unknown world to escape the ruined cottage; risk, like when she had chosen to hide in the forest rather than wait in the open; risk, like when she had screamed for help just before being gagged by gnomes. This was just one more risk. She took a deep breath. “I don’t know.”
“But you’re going to tell me all you do know.” It wasn’t a question, nor was it an order. It was as though Shade had simply read her thoughts.
He’s creepy. I’m sure I wasn’t that obvious. “Yes.” She tried to pretend as if his guessing her thought was normal and expected and she had intended for him to.
“Can you tell me as we go? I fear we must leave this place. The goblins will gather more strength and pick up our trail for vengeance sake at the least, and probably to regain a prisoner.”
Miranda nodded and fell in step with his brisk walk. He seemed to know where he was, for he had struck off towards the sun without scarcely glancing at the territory around them. Not that there was much to look at. Beyond the trees was nothing to see but swaying grass, not tall, but of the kind that constantly caught at the ankles and made it slow going. The men, whom he had left on the edge of the forest, followed them and gradually some passed them, fanning out in front and on either side so that Miranda saw, as she glanced back, she and Shade were entirely surrounded. Miranda became uneasy. Perhaps she had made a mistake and this Shade had tricked her, fool that she was, into thinking he was a friend.
“They’re keeping guard,” Shade said.
Miranda jumped. How had he discerned her thought again? She began to wish that she too had a hood to shroud her face; a better armor than mail against the weapons of this man. Her nerves were not completely soothed despite his reassurances, but slowly she began her story. It was rather vague, as she herself did not understand how she had gotten to be here, and she had to stop herself from explaining how she thought it all was a dream over and over again.
What would he care, anyway? If he’s a figment of my imagination, why would he relish being told that he does not exist? It was an interesting reflection. Her words were clear and concise, and in a few minutes recitation and walking she had brought her tale to date.
“It was a cottage, you say?” Shade asked.
“Yes.”
“And you do not know how you got there?”
“No. I thought I was in my own apartment, but I was half asleep and didn’t realize the change.”
“Then you don’t know at what exact moment you made the transfer, shall we say, from that place to this?”
“No.” Miranda wondered what he was driving at.
“Then, in the absence of sure knowledge and with a lack of any other reasonable explanation, why do you so quickly discount magic?”
“Well, but, magic isn’t real. It can’t be. Magic is completely and utterly and totally unscientific, and also impossible.”
“There are powers in this world much older than those we can see or hear or touch or smell. They are above my understanding or judgment. Those who claim to have wisdom must first acquiesce this fact before they can truly know.”
“I still think it’s impossible.” She was feeling more and more like a mouse cornered by a cat.
“Impossible is the only boundary to the possible. It is in our minds – the thought that something has never been done, or has been tried and has failed, therefore makes it impossible, and a barrier is erected in the mind. It is the hardest part of ‘impossible’ to overcome, but, once knocked down, great possibilities can be glimpsed and even brought to be.”
“Oh, yeah? What about flying? Ever tried?” She was sure Shade could not know of airplanes, and wanted to see him answer this one.
He smiled. “It poses problems. Once we no longer consider a thing impossible and attempt to execute it, then we encounter obstacles, which must, in their turn, be overcome. Some obstacles require the efforts of many lives of men before they are breached, but still, they are breached. But if I am not greatly mistaken, your world has already overcome the barriers to the flight of men.”
Miranda had had enough of this strange man reading her thoughts. She would have the truth out here and now as to how he knew all these things. “Look here,” she said sternly, “What do you think you’re doing? How can you tell whatever I’m thinking?”
“For more than five-and-twenty years my job has been to catch and bring to justice liars; I have gained experience in interpreting the expressions of men. But in this case, the real answer is in the fact that you are not the first I have met from your world. There was another, some twenty years ago.”
Miranda gasped. “Why didn’t you tell me before?”
“Would you have believed me? Would you not rather have thought I was deceiving you for my own ends?”
Of course he was right. Miranda knew she would never have fallen for a story like that, yet even now she found herself believing Shade’s words despite herself. If this is just a dream, it won’t hurt to believe in magic, at least for a while. “Well,” she said at last, “I believe you now.”
“That is well.” Shade said, sounding satisfied. “But ware, look to the east! We are approaching the refuge of our king. There may be peril ahead. Hold you courage, little Miranda – we will see what can be done.”
Sure enough, there on the horizon, peeking up over the edge of the world was a castle. Or was it a fortified city? She could discern a high stone wall, and inside it a lofty tower or roof of some kind. Miranda felt a twinge of fear in her stomach which she sternly repressed. What would happen to her when they reached it? What would this king make of her? Would he want to kill her or would he help her? And would Shade simply hand her over to him, or did he have another plan? She realized with a start, that she trusted him completely now.
 
Chapter 3: A Visit To The King

Far away as the castle had seemed, they reached it less time than Miranda had at first supposed. When it was only a quarter of a mile off, she still could not make up her mind as to the type of structure. It seemed to be a small castle, or perhaps a mere tower, surrounded by a neat collection of houses and shops that might be called a town, and the whole encircled by the wall. At the main gate was a guard of two men in yellow surcoats the color of a sunflower, and their arms and armor were black as night, which gave them rather the look of over-large bumblebees. They stood stonily at their post outside the gatehouse, taking no notice of the approaching band of men. The closer they drew to the gate the closer Shade’s men gathered about them, until Miranda was enclosed by a solid living wall. So it was that they came to the gate, and only then were challenged by the guard.
“Ho, Wanderers! Where are you off to in such a hurry? No strangers are allowed within these walls. If you would enter, first dispose of that girl!” The men halted and stood in silent impassive ranks before the gate. After a pause so long that the guards were becoming uncomfortable, Shade stepped to the front.
“Open the gate, Wilbur. You know me, and I and my men are welcome within. As for the girl, she is under my protection and is here to see the king, straight off. Let him deal with me, or her.”
Wilbur, the guard who had spoken, took a step beck, looking pale next to his bright yellow surcoat. “If you answer for her, Shade, of course you can go in. Just keep an eye on her.” He hastily unbolted the gate, flung it open and stood aside. Without glancing at him again, Shade beckoned Miranda to the front with him and strode through the gate. Now Miranda could see the inside, it did look like a miniature walled town. Down the main street, which they were on, vendors had erected booths and a market was in full swing. Woman with large baskets were moving from stand to stand, laughing and bartering prices with the vendors, and filling their baskets with fresh figs and dates, bolts of cloth and bars of sweet-smelling soap. Shade called something over his shoulder to the men, and they dispersed, each going their separate ways, except for six, who stayed close on either side of them up the street to the central tower.
“Will the king help me, do you think?” she asked.
Shade shrugged. “I don’t know. But if I’m even close in my guesses as to the steps we’ll have to take to get you back, I should get his permission to proceed. Anyway, any stranger I find wandering unbidden in his land is supposed to be brought a prisoner before him.”
“So, I’m a prisoner?” Miranda was confused.
Shade laughed. “No, not really. I’m taking a risk, I suppose, by making an exception. Anyway, it’s only for formality’s sake that I’m actually trying to get his permission to carry on with my plans. Even if he refuses, I still intend to do it.”
Miranda was suddenly aware of the silence that had fallen on the market. When they had first entered, business had been moving along briskly and people were laughing and strolling from stand to stand. Now, there was utter silence, as though someone had pressed the mute button in the middle of a movie. Everyone in the market stood frozen in exactly the position they had been in when they caught sight of her, some testing fruit for quality, others fingering the softness of a length of cloth. All were perfectly still; all eyes followed her.
“You frighten them,” Shade commented.
“I do?” She hardly dared to speak aloud.
“They never have strangers here. Just keep looking ahead and don’t say anything to them and they’ll go back to their own business. No one really wants to argue with a Wanderer.”
It seemed years before the marketplace was behind them and they stood directly before the tower. Looking up, she got her first good look at the building. It looked as though the keep of a castle had been sucked out of its original location and placed here. It rose straight and smooth, up to a cone- topped turret, and all around the base was a covered portico, the roof of which was supported by high, sculpted pillars that were almost Grecian in appearance. Marble steps marked the way into a dark interior, and up this Shade boldly led the way. Miranda followed, feeling very out of place. The six Wanderers remained on the steps. The interior was all white dressed stone, and at intervals down the hall in the wall niches were hollowed out in which delicate palm tree saplings were placed, though how they grew indoors she wasn’t sure. Each niche was framed on either side with long, bright blue curtains the color of the sea in summer. In the center of the hall ran a mat, woven out of dried bamboo, culled and sunbaked early in life. As the warm breeze swirled in behind them, Miranda felt as though she had stepped into some long-forgotten Mediterranean palace in another time. The rich smells of various fruits and the stuffy smell of hot stone were swept together into the hall, and she shivered despite herself. It was all so exciting, and not a little terrifying. The hall soon came to an end however, and Miranda winced and she caught sight of the guards who, in sharp contrast to the refined virgin beauty of the hall, were adorned with their characteristic assaultingly yellow surcoats. They straightened as Shade approached them.
“Tell the king I’m here to see him,” Shade ordered. “With a guest,” he added.
The guards glanced suspiciously at Miranda, and then one pushed open the double doors and entered while his companion kept a weather – and non-too-friendly – eye on Shade and Miranda. Shortly the first guard returned, and reluctantly informed them that they were both to proceed into the room. The guards opened the doors and held them as first Shade, and then a nervous Miranda, passed through, and then let them swing shut behind them. In contrast to the hall, this room was decorated with heavy, rich tones of gold, scarlet and ebony. The walls and floor were all wood paneling, and hanging on the walls on either side and before were thick tapestries, depicting what, she could not say. There were no windows, so that the only light in the room came from torches, which studded the walls like shark’s teeth, illuminating the room with a flickering eerie light. On pedestals, positioned at irregular points along the edges of the room, were incense burners that filled the whole place with a sweet but stifling smell. At the opposite end of the room on a kind of raised dais was a man, seated on a pile of flat cushions; plush and brocaded, some with corner tassels and some without. He was old, pushing seventy, yet his posture was as upright as any’s, and his skin was remarkably smooth. He had the look of one who had been a prince among men in his youth, regal and commanding, and who was now but shrunken and faded.
“It is nigh on eight months since you last came, Shade, and I was becoming concerned. Who is this you bring with you?” His voice was cold, and Miranda wondered for the first time if there was perhaps not much love lost between Shade and his liege lord the king.
“She is no enemy, my lord. She has stumbled into this world through the chink once thought to be closed forever. She needs aid to return to her land. That is what brings me here and her here too.”
The king didn’t even glance at Miranda. “So you caught her trespassing, did you?”
“Not intentionally, my lord. She was in the hands of the goblins, being carried off somewhere.”
“You have done well, Shade.” Miranda’s hopes soared. He had caved! He would help her! But his next words murdered her hopes. “I will hold her prisoner until it is decided what should be done with her.” She choked on her breath but held her tongue. Now for it, Miranda. Time to be brave and prove yourself.
Shade advanced a step towards the king. “No,” He said quietly, “That won’t work, I fear. Look well at her face, and remember the debt you owe her blood. She will receive help from your people, even if I must seek it alone.”
The king rose, bristling with anger, and marched down until he was level with the man’s chin. “How dare you defy your king! I will have you hung from the highest point of the tower! Do you imagine yourself the king or are you just a pig-headed oaf?”
Miranda clenched her fists, restraining herself with difficulty from flying at the king and lighting into him, but Shade was unmoved. “Is that the eleventh time you’ve threatened to hang me or is it the twelfth? Will you answer my first words, or will you evade them a second time by idle threats?”
The king screwed up his fists, and in his eyes was a look of fear and hatred, and such fury – pent-up fury that had no outlet – that Miranda took a step back. “You… you..!” He spluttered. “I don’t care. In fact, she dies tonight!”
The green coals of Shade’s eyes suddenly blazed. “A debt cannot be cancelled by bestowing death upon those to whom it is owed, nor can it be by skulking in a corner, afraid to act, or even bid others to act. If you would lay a hand upon the girl, then know this: I’ve placed myself between her and you, and if any would harm her then you must first deal with me! So do not dare. My men are watchful, and you will not catch us napping. Beware to break an oath, even one sworn in folly or youth.”
His hand dropped to the hilt of his sword, but the king had already retreated several paces. He had the look of a hunted animal; cornered, without an escape route. Without warning, he let loose a shrill cry for his guards. The two yellow-surcoated guards burst into the room, and the king pointed a long finger at Miranda.
“Take her away! Lock her up and don’t let her escape!” The guards seized her by both arms and began bustling towards the door.
Shade turned but did not move, but she thought she heard him whisper, “Courage! It’ll be alright.” He gave a shout that echoed in the hall and Miranda could not understand. She held her head high and marched out as calmly as she could. She would do nothing now of which she would later be ashamed. The guards led her down a small side passage and then up a long flight of stairs. Sometimes as the passed shadowed corners or passageways, Miranda fancied she saw the dim outlines of men, standing in shadowy doorways or crouching in the darkness. She tried not to shiver or let herself glance at them, but hurried along with the guards. Round and round the spiral stair they went, until she felt ready to give up and sit down on the stairs, though the guards should skewer her with their black spears. At long last a door rose up before them at the top of the stair, built of solid oak, reinforced with iron, and double bolted in addition to the lock. One of the guards stood behind her while the other opened the door. Miranda was shoved unceremoniously in and the door slammed behind her. The lock clicked, the bolts grated, footsteps retreated, and then there was silence. She sat up and looked about her cell. It was bright and airy, and altogether unlike the dank dungeon she had envisioned. The room was clean, a wide window with neither glass nor bars was opposite her, and the golden sunlight of high noon streamed in. A low table stood on one side of the room and a chair sat in front of it. Beneath the window and to one side was a cot with a reed pallet on it, covered with a thick white sheet and warm blanket flopped on the end. It was actually an attractive room, and not at all prisonlike. She quite approved of the practicality that had clearly been employed in its furnishing. She got up and went to look out the window. If the window was positioned correctly… But it wasn’t. Just the sight of how far down the ground was – fifty feet if it was an inch – made her feel sick and she backed away, wishing now that the window did have glass or bars. She sat down on the bed and thought back on the last crazy half-day, and began to wonder just what Shade had meant by his words to the king: look well at her face and remember the debt you owe her blood. What did he know about her? What was it that he knew, or suspected, that he hadn’t told her? Had he just made the whole thing up? Nothing made sense, and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t make it fit together in a way that did. She was tired, and flinging herself backward on the bed, she tried to figure out how long she had slept the night before. In a few moments she was fast asleep.
Miranda woke to the sunlight on her face. She leapt to her feet and stared about her. Where was she? It was the afternoon and she had missed school! She was in a strange room, in her old clothes that had the grungy feel of have-been-slept-in, but her bare feet were covered in mud. She got up and went to the window. Looking out, she remembered. So it hadn’t been a dream after all. She had gone to sleep and woken again in the same place. Was it magic, then? Yes. There was no other logical explanation for what had happened, and anyway, she had just woken up, so she couldn’t now be asleep. Miranda had made her choice – she would believe it was magic, and would hold firmly to it unless someone could prove it otherwise or put forth a better reason. She only wished she’d thought to bring a change of clothes. She was trying to finger-comb her rebellious hair when she heard soft movements outside her door. She stood perfectly still and listened. Someone was stealthily drawing back the bolts. The door swung open soundlessly and Shade stepped into the room. Miranda relaxed. One of his men entered, set down a bundle on the floor, nodded to her, and withdrew, closing the door behind him.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t come sooner,” he said, “and I’m afraid we can’t escape until everything is ready, which may take some days, but I have some questions I want to ask you… and some explaining to do.”