Alanna: The First Adventure by Tamora Pierce
“Raoul just wants an excuse,” Jonathan explained. “He likes hitting Ralon.”
“Ralon didn’t make anyone else put his tack away?” Alex wanted to know. “You didn’t see anything strange?”
Alanna didn’t look up. “No.” It wasn’t strange, she excused her lie mentally. Ralon does things like that all the time.
The servants arrived, sending the boys off to bed. Jonathan returned to his room, frowning thoughtfully. Trouble was brewing between Ralon and the boy Alan, but there didn’t seem to be anything he could do to stop it.
His punishment didn’t keep him from the afternoon rides, so Ralon was with the boys at the swimming hole the next day. The weather was hot and damp. Most of the boys stripped down to their loincloths and leaped into the pool. Alanna sat under a shady tree, looking wistfully at her friends. She would have loved to join them.
Ralon planted himself in front of her. “Too good for us, Master Alan? Afraid to get in the same water with us?”
Alanna looked up. The others were suddenly quiet.
“Leave me alone,” she snapped.
“‘Leave me alone,’” he mocked, swinging his hips. “Too good to swim with us, Alan the Snot?”
“I don’t feel like swimming.” The others were watching her, wondering if she was a coward. He’ll kill me, she thought. I’m just a girl, and he’ll kill me.
Ralon grabbed her arm. “Into the water, page,” he gritted. “We’ll have some fun.”
Alanna rammed herself into Ralon’s stomach. The older boy yelped as he tumbled into the pool, hitting the water with a painful smack.
“Why, Ralon,” cried Raoul. “Let me help you up!” Seizing one of Ralon’s flailing arms, the bigger youth yanked Ralon’s legs from under him. Ralon sank to the bottom with Raoul on top of him. He struggled frantically, but Raoul was impossible to budge. When Ralon finally surfaced, he was half blind and three-quarters drowned. He glared at the wickedly grinning Raoul.
“Malven!” Alanna shouted. She was standing, her fists tight against her sides. “I don’t like to swim. Don’t try to get me in the water again! And don’t order me around, either! The next time you try it, I’ll break your face! D’you hear me?”
Jonathan put a hand on Ralon’s shoulder. “You heard Alan,” the Prince whispered. “Don’t forget.” He shoved Ralon under the water again.
Alanna returned to her seat. Ralon wouldn’t forget this, but there was no sense in worrying about trouble until it happened.
That evening she was serving Sir Myles when Ralon passed her. Under the noise of serving he whispered, “Part payment, snot,” and pinched her viciously.
Alanna dropped the plate she was holding, biting back a yell of pain. She cleaned up the mess, blinking away tears of rage, knowing she would catch it later from Duke Gareth.
“Everyone slips,” Myles told her kindly. “Uh—Alan—I feel a little tired. Would you be so good as to escort me to my chambers after the king rises?”
She nodded, puzzled. Myles had been drinking lightly this evening. Unless he was drunk, he never asked her to walk him to his rooms.
As she suspected, Myles didn’t need assistance. Once at his rooms, however, he stopped her as she turned to go. “A moment, Alan, if you please.”
Alanna took the seat he pointed to, wondering what he wanted.
The knight lit a branch of candles and put it on the table between her chair and his. He poured himself a glass of brandy, nodding to a bowl of fruit. “Help yourself. I’ll try not to keep you from your dinner too long.”
“Thank you, sir.” Alanna took an orange and began peeling it.
“Young Ralon is picking on you, isn’t he?”
Alanna froze. “I don’t know what you mean, sir.”
“Don’t be coy, Alan.”
“Sir?”
“Don’t hide something we’re both aware of. I see much of what goes on here. It’s one reason I drink so much. And I see Ralon bullying you when you’re alone or with the younger boys.”
Alanna shrugged. “I’m not a crybaby or a telltale.”
“Do you think you’ll lose the other boys’ respect if you say anything? Prince Jonathan would be the first to take your side.”
Alanna felt very uncomfortable. “I have to handle this myself.”
Myles shook his head. “What are you trying to prove?” he asked. She refused to answer. He went on bitterly, “I truly love our Code of Chivalry. We are taught that noblemen must take everything and say nothing. Noblemen must stand alone. Well, we’re men, and men aren’t born to stand alone.”
“Nobles are,” Alanna replied. “Or they have to. Isn’t that the same thing?”
Myles shook his head. “No, it isn’t.” He sighed. “You’ll have to fight him in the end.”
“I know, sir.”
“Alan, he’s taller and heavier than you! He’ll kill you!”
Alanna put her orange aside. “Then I fight him till he lets me alone or till I get big enough to beat him. I can’t let him walk all over me, Sir Myles! When you’re—” She stopped, horrified. She had almost admitted she was a girl! She rushed on. “When you’re little, like me, you either quit and get picked on all the time, or you stick it out. I have to stick it out.”
Myles made a face. “Run along to your supper.” She got up to go. “Alan.”
“Sir?”
“If you have to hit—hit low.”
She grinned and bowed. “Thanks, Sir Myles. I’ll keep that in mind.”
Trouble came the next day, in the stables. Alanna was there grooming Chubby; the others were gone. She was dreaming of the horse she would someday own when she heard the stable door creak.
An ugly sneer twisted Ralon’s face. “I suppose you think our talk yesterday was the last one.”
Alanna was shaking with nervous energy. “No,” she said flatly.
Ralon swaggered around her, eyeing her stocky form. “You’re too big for your breeches. You aren’t so much when you don’t have Raoul or Gary to hide behind, are you?”
She clenched her fists. “I don’t hide behind anyone,” she retorted. “And I don’t have to pick on someone littler’n me to prove what a man I am, either!”
He grabbed her shoulders, shaking her hard. “I won’t take that from you, dunghill trash!”
She hit low and hard. Ralon doubled over, clutching his lower belly. She waited, legs braced, fists ready. “Take it back. Or I’ll stuff your mouth with dung—since you like it so much!”
Mercifully no one saw her when she returned. Alanna closed her door and bolted it, keeping her head down. Coram had her bath waiting.
“Mother of Darkness,” he whispered when he saw her. “What happened?”
She glanced at the mirror. Her uniform was a bloody, dirty mess. “I fell down.”
Coram forced her to look up at him. She flinched as he wiped her face with a wet cloth. His calloused hands were surprisingly gentle. “It’s lyin’ ye are. Ye were in a fight.”
“I said I fell down.” She gasped as he touched her eye.
“Ah. The ground bloodied yer nose, split yer lip and punched ye in th’ eye, all at once. Would ye prefer to say ’twas yer pony? Th’ others didn’t say ye were hurt, so ye must’ve—fallen—in th’ stables.”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” she said coldly.
He grinned. “I’m off t’ fetch some raw meat for yer eye where th’ ground hit ye. I’ll tell th’ lads ye’re ill.” He clapped her on the shoulder and added gruffly, “Ye’re a plucky lass. I’m proud of ye. And I think it’s time I gave ye a bit of help.”
She lay down after he left. Tears forced themselves from her eyes. This wouldn’t have happened to a real boy.
Someone tapped on the door. “Alan? It’s Raoul. Coram says you’re sick. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“Can we come in?”
“No! Go away!”
“Alan—it’s Alex. What’s the matter?”
“There?
Brief silence.
“Alan. Open the door.” This was the Prince, and he was giving an order.
Slowly she obeyed. It was nearly dark—maybe they wouldn’t notice.
All her friends were standing outside. She looked at the floor. “I—I’m sorry I yelled. It’s just the heat, I guess—”
“Look at me,” Jonathan commanded.
That she would not do. He put cool fingers beneath her chin and lifted her face. She gave him look for look with her good eye, ignoring the gasps and murmurs of pity.
“What happened?” the Prince asked finally.
“I fell down, Highness. In the stables.” Now they all knew what a weakling she was.
Jonathan let her go. “I’ll make your excuses to Uncle Gareth. We’ll bring you something to eat later.”
“Thank you,” she whispered. “I’m not hungry.”
“Here, lads—what’s this?” Coram was returning with a slice of raw meat. “Alan had a bit of an accident, that’s all. Ye’d best be gettin’ to th’ tables—his Majesty’s about to start.”
The others hurried away. Jonathan hesitated. “I’ll be back,” he told Coram.
The man bowed. “Very good, yer Highness.”
That night the pages ate in silence. After dinner Jonathan and his friends went to Gary’s rooms.
“It was Ralon!” Raoul burst out when they were alone.
“He didn’t like what happened yesterday,” Francis pointed out.
“It’s time we dealt with him,” Alex added in his soft voice. “He forgets his place.”
“I’ll teach it to him,” Raoul growled.
“He forgot the lesson you taught him yesterday,” Gary reminded him.
Raoul smiled coldly. “This time I’ll make sure he knows what the lesson’s about.”
“You’re forgetting something.” They all looked at Jonathan. “Alan won’t admit Ralon hit him. He wants to fight Ralon himself.”
“He can’t,” Raoul protested. “He’s just a little guy. And he doesn’t know how to fight!”
“He’s got courage,” Alex said.
“Courage!” Raoul bellowed. “That coward almost kills him and—”
“Hush!” Jonathan ordered. “Listen. We must be sure. Gary—see if anyone at the stables knows what happened. Perhaps Alan will tell me something. And remember—we have to do it his way. He’d be ashamed if he thought we were fighting his battles.”
The others nodded in agreement, and the group split up.
“How do you feel?” the Prince asked.
Alanna struggled to sit up. “Miserable, Highness,” she admitted.
“Poor little man. He really whipped you, didn’t he?”
“Nobody whipped me. I fell.”
He grinned. “Deny it all you want. We both know you had a fight with Ralon and you lost.”
She stuck her chin out stubbornly. “I fell. Your Highness.”
Jonathan patted her shoulder. “You’re pluck to the backbone, young Trebond. Get some sleep.”
Gary found Stefan immediately. The hostler nodded as the young nobleman climbed into his hayloft. “I thought perhaps one o’ ye would be comin’ around. What lie is Master Alan tellin’?”
Gary made a face. “He says he fell down.”
Stefan spat. “Oh, aye, he fell. O’ course, Master Ralon helped him fall, several times. Poor li’l tyke didn’t have a chance.” He chuckled. “But he got Master Malven a good ’un in th’ nuts t’ start.”
“Why didn’t you stop them?” Gary wanted to know.
Stefan shook his head. “It’s th’ rules—we don’t mess in th’ nobles’ fights. But I’ll say this—if Ralon ever comes back from th’ City wiv a full purse, George’ll have all our ears. George likes Master Alan.”
“Let George do what he wants.” Then Gary frowned. “What do you mean, he’ll have your ears?”
Stefan’s eyes were calm. “George has a collection. One slip an’ he warns ye. Two, an’ he takes an ear—fer his collection. Three mistakes—” Stefan shrugged. “He takes t’other ear an’ all that’s attached. George likes things done right.”
The next afternoon Raoul beat Ralon thoroughly. Ralon broke the code and informed Duke Gareth. From then on Jonathan’s friends left any room Ralon entered. Raoul watched Ralon all the time, just waiting for his chance.
Ralon couldn’t take revenge on Raoul, or Gary, or the Prince. Instead he found an easier victim.
“You told your friends!” he hissed when he caught Alanna in the library alone one day. He blacked her other eye and split her lip again. Four days later he caught her once more. This time Alanna used a few tricks Coram had taught her. She bloodied Ralon’s nose.
Ralon broke her arm.
Each talk she had with Duke Gareth was worse than the last one. Once again she faced him, this time with one arm in a sling.
“I fell down, your Grace,” she said, her face straight.
“Mithros, boy—can’t you think of a better excuse?”
She scuffed a foot. “This one works so well, sir. It—it has tradition behind it.”
Gareth scowled at her. “It certainly does. I’ve heard it from every page who’s been fighting that I ever trained—with a few exceptions.”
“Well, sir, you don’t believe me and I know you don’t believe me, but pride is satisfied all around. Your Grace.”
The Duke had to hide a smile. “You are pert, Alan of Trebond. An extra hour of mathematics for you for the next five weeks. You may go.”
Alanna was opening the door when he added, “I wish you would thrash him. He deserves it.”
She looked back at him. “I will one day, sir. I’m getting tired of falling down.”
While Alanna talked to Duke Gareth, Stefan came to the practice courts in search of the master who was teaching the boys hand-to-hand combat. After Stefan lured the teacher away, Jonathan’s friends surrounded Ralon. He saw Raoul adjusting the padded gloves on his big hands and began to sweat.
Jonathan spoke, his voice icy. “You were warned, Malven. You are no gentleman. You are a dog, and you shall be thrashed like one.”
Gary held Ralon. Raoul administered the beating, his face impossible to read. When the boys’ teacher returned from his wild-goose chase, he found his students practicing wrestling. Ralon, they said, was sick and had gone to his room.
After that Ralon kept to small bits of nastiness, knowing Alanna would never complain to anyone. If she had gone swimming, the others would have seen the many bruises on her body. As it was, she said nothing and continued to study with Coram. She lived with Ralon’s tormenting and spent her free time wrestling and boxing. She fell asleep the moment she rolled into bed, only to rise at dawn to practice some more. She was determined to beat Ralon—it would mean she had finally earned her place among the boys. It would mean that she could do anything larger and stronger males could.
Her splinted arm turned into an advantage. Normally she was right-handed. Now Alanna had to depend on her left hand for everything, and her left hand was the one she first learned to really fight with. She quickly saw that she could be twice as effective using both hands, and worked as hard as she could to develop her skill.
In mid-October the palace healers removed the splint. If they were surprised that her arm had healed so quickly, they said nothing. Impatient to get Ralon, Alanna had used her Gift to help mend her broken bone.
In bed the night the splint was taken off, she waited to hear Coram’s snores before getting up. Quickly she put on dark clothes and picked up her boots. She crept through Coram’s room, trying not to make a sound.
When she got to the door, Coram sighed, “Now what are ye up to?”
Alanna froze. “Go back to sleep.”
“Where are ye goin’?” She could see him sitting up in the dim light from the window.
“If Duke Gareth asks, you won’t be lying when you say you don’t know,” she p
Coram made a resigned noise. “Lass—it’s restriction to the palace if ye’re caught.”
“I know.”
“All right, then. I won’t bolt the door.” He lay back down and immediately went back to sleep.
It was easy to slip out of the palace and onto the road to the city. Alanna set off at a jog-trot, wishing she was riding Chubby. Still, she knew she couldn’t have ridden out of the palace without being spotted.
The Dancing Dove was bustling. She could barely see through the smoke-filled air, and the noise of the thieves and their ladies having fun was deafening. For a moment she wanted to turn and run, but Ralon was waiting back at home. Better to face George’s friends—who were honest villains—than Ralon the sneak. But how was she to find George in this mess?
A tall, chesty redhead stopped and looked Alanna over. Planting her hands firmly on her hips, the redhead drawled, “A bit young for this place, aren’t you, sonny?”
Her husky voice was teasing, but there was kindness in the lady’s large brown eyes. “I’m looking for George,” Alanna replied. “He said I could find him here.”
The woman made a face. “He did? That sounds like him, tellin’ a bit of a boy t’ come t’ this place at night.”
“I don’t think he expected me to come at night,” Alanna said, always fair.
“Humph. Wait,” the woman ordered. She vanished into the crowded room, to return within minutes. “Come on, then—and have an eye t’ your purse.”
“I didn’t bring one,” Alanna yelled above the din as she followed the redhead.
“Here you be.” The woman shoved Alanna into a clear space before the fire. A table had been set beside the hearth and George sat at its head. Gathered around him were men and women who eyed Alanna curiously.
George had an odd expression in his eyes as he looked her over. Finally he spoke. “Alan, this is Rispah, the queen of the ladies who follow the Rogue. Alan’s a friend of mine—from the country.”
Rispah gave a crooked grin. “I’m sure he is.” Raising her voice, she called, “Solom, you old dotard, bring lemonade for the boy. Can’t you see he’s parched?” She looked at Alanna. “Unless you want somethin’ stronger, youngling?”