Alanna The First Adventure - By Tamora Pierce Page 0,7
her for her page’s uniform, Alanna felt sick. Her mind whirled with visions of being forced to strip, of being caught and sent home in disgrace before she had even had a chance to start.
Instead a scowling old man whipped a knotted cord around her shoulders and hips, calling out the number of knots it took to circle Alanna to his assistant. Then he laid the cord along the length of her right arm and then her right leg. He sent the anxious-looking apprentice scurrying into a storeroom while he measured Coram in the same rapid style. The apprentice returned with an armful of clothing. He was instantly sent after boots and shoes while the grumpy old tailor shook out a gold tunic and held it up to Alanna. The bright garment could have easily fitted a much larger youngster.
Coram fought to hide a grin. “Isn’t it a wee bit big?”
The tailor glared at the servingman. “Boys grow,” he barked, shoving the whole pile of boots and clothes into Alanna’s arms. “It’s their natures.” He turned his scowl on Alanna. “You rip ‘em, you mend ‘em,” he said. “Don’t let me see you for at least three months.”
Alanna followed Coram and Timon out, her knees weak with relief. Her secret was still safe!
Timon took them to the huge kitchens for a luncheon and spent the afternoon showing them around the palace. Alanna was lost in no time. She didn’t believe Timon when he told her she would soon learn her way around. The royal palace could hold several Trebonds, and more people lived there than Alanna had ever seen before. She learned that many nobles had suites in the palace. There were also quarters for foreign visitors, a servants’ wing, the throne and council rooms, ballrooms, kitchens and libraries. It all made her feel extremely small.
The sun was setting as they quickly unpacked. Coram changed into clean clothes in his own room while Alanna slowly laid out her new uniform. She noticed her hands were shaking.
“Alan?” the servingman called.
She opened her door. Coram was ready to go.
“Well, la—lad?” he asked. His dark eyes were kind. “How shall we work this? Th’ boys are changin’ for dinner.”
She tried to smile. “You go on.” It was hard making her voice sound relaxed. “I’ll be fine.”
“You’re sure?”
“Of course,” she replied stoutly. “Would I have said so if I wasn’t?”
“Yes,” was the calm answer.
Alanna sighed and rubbed her forehead. She wished he didn’t know her so well. “Best now as later, Coram. I’ll be all right. Really. Go on.”
He hesitated for a moment. “Good luck—Alan.”
“Thanks.” She watched him leave and felt lost. Locking the door—it wouldn’t do for someone to come in unannounced—she reached for her shirt.
When she was fully dressed, Alanna stared at her reflection in the mirror. She had never looked so fine. The full-sleeved shirt and hose were bright scarlet against the cloth-of-gold tunic. Sturdy leather shoes covered her feet; her dagger and purse hung from a slim leather belt. True, the clothes were a little large, but she was too dazzled by the colors to care.
There was one thing to be said for such a bright red and brighter gold: the royal uniform gave her the courage to unbolt the door and step into the hall. She couldn’t have done it in her battered old clothes. Several boys saw her and hurried to spread the word: There’s a new boy in the palace! Suddenly the pages’ wing was very quiet. Everyone came to inspect the newcomer.
Someone behind Alanna grabbed her. She spun. A tall, gangling boy of nearly fourteen looked her over, a sneer on his thick mouth. He had cold blue eyes and sandy-blond hair that flopped over his forehead.
“I wonder what this is.” His crooked teeth made him spit his s’s. Alanna wiped a drop of saliva from her cheek. “Probably some back-country boy who thinks he’s a noble.”
“Leave him alone, Ralon,” someone protested. “He didn’t say anything to you.”
“He doesn’t have to,” Ralon snapped. “I bet he’s some farmer’s son trying to pass for one of us.”
Alanna blushed a dull red. “I was told pages were supposed to learn manners,” she murmured. “Whoever told me that must’ve been mistaken.”
The boy grabbed her collar, lifting her off her feet. “You’ll do what you’re told,” he hissed, “till you earn the right to call yourself a page. If I say you’re the goatherd’s son, you say, ‘Yes, Lord Ralon.’”
Alanna gasped with fury. “I’d as soon kiss a pig! Is