Chantress Read Online Free PDF

halt, the ruby leaped against my skin, and I shivered.
    “Papers?” a voice barked.
    “Right here,” the cart driver replied, his strong, young voice cheerful and easy.
    “So you’re a ratcatcher, eh?”
    “That I am.”
    “With a pass signed by the Lord Protector himself, I see. Well, that’s as good a warrant as one could wish. But what’s in the barrels and boxes?”
    “Traps and cages and bait. And a few dead rats.”
    Dead rats? In the barrels right next to me? I forced myself not to recoil.
    The easy voice went on, “You can check if you want to.”
    “Oh, we’ll check them, all right. And don’t you move till we do.”
    A long pause. I forgot my qualms about rats and prayed only that I would not be discovered. The cart jiggled as someone jumped on.
    My heart thudded so loud I was sure he would hear it. The straw itched at my ankles, but I dared not move. How much did it hide? Could he see my head, my shoes?
    Something clunked. “Traps in this one, like he said,” a hoarse voice called out. “One with a dead rat in it. You want me to open the rest, sir?”
    “No, that will do.”
    The cart shook again as the guard jumped off.
    “Pass on through,” the inspector ordered. “But if a Watchman stops you, you’ll have to show your papers again.”
    The cart jerked into motion. Still fearful of discovery, I stayed as still as I could, but my mind was racing. Who were the Watchmen? Would they inspect the cart too?
    It seemed an age before the driver spoke again. “Not too far from home now, Aristotle.”
    Aristotle? Was that the donkey’s name? And where was home?
    Best if I didn’t stay in the cart long enough to find out, I told myself. But when I flexed my numb arms, I discovered that my mother’s letter was no longer in my sleeve. A quick search in the straw revealed it wasn’t there, either.
    I must have dropped it in Ravendon House.
    Despair swept over me—and then in its wake, sick fear. Was it the loss of the letter? The aftershock of working magic? Whatever it was, I had never known dread like this.
    “Halt there!” A gutteral shout. “Halt for the Watch!”
    The cart stopped. Buried in the straw, I went rigid with panic.
    “Your pass,” a Watchman bellowed. “We must see it.”
    “H-here,” the cart driver said, all easiness gone.
    The strain in his voice only whetted my own terror.
    “Inspect the cart,” the Watchman shouted. “Open everything.”
    Watchman boots boarded and set the cart planks shaking. Barrels opened and closed. Waves of heat washed over me, and an acrid taste like smoke burned in my throat. I felt roasted alive by fear. They were almost on top of me now, almost—
    “Everything’s in order,” a Watchman called out above me.
    “Come down, then,” said his commander. “And you, driver, be on your way! Do not dawdle.”
    The donkey jerked forward, and the cart bounced ahead. My terror dwindled, replaced by a deep languor, as if my limbs had dissolved to jelly. For long minutes, I lay motionless in the straw, too exhausted to do anything but be dimly glad I had not been discovered.
    “Whoa.” The low command barely disturbed the cold night air. The cart swerved, then halted.
    All at once, my languor left me. Had we arrived at our destination—whatever it was? Had I missed my chance to escape?
    A soft moan like hinges, and the cart moved again, but only a little. I huddled deep in the straw. I would hide, I decided—hide and hope to flee later, when all went quiet. Hinges again, and the clunk of a door shutting.
    “Well done, Aristotle.” It was the same strong, easy voice. “Thatwas a close call, and no mistake. But there will be extra hay tonight, you can be sure of that. And perhaps a carrot or two.”
    The door groaned open again.
    “I’ve been listening for you.” A new voice, older and worried. “You are safe?”
    “Safe—and successful.”
    “Oh, well done, Nat!” A hesitation. “And no one suspected . . . ?”
    “Not a soul,” came