Read Online The Beggar King by Michelle Barker - Free Book Online Page B

men arguing over the price of a goat. Nearby, some kind of meat sizzled in a sauce that smelled of pepper, and several women were shrieking about a snake that had fallen out of somebody’s basket. A flash of yellow slithered past Jordan’s feet, making him jump back. Chickens and goats sauntered by the canvas-partitioned stalls as if they, too, were browsing the merchandise. Merchants called to customers about the best prices for porcelain figurines or sasapher pipes, while in the background there was the erratic hammering of tradesmen. He closed his eyes and breathed it all in.
    â€œTrinkets,” called a man in a striped suit. “Almost free.” Nearby came the jittery music of several twangers accompanied by a single flute. Jordan had heard about the wild women belt-dancers who moved with the travelling musicians, selling woven belts scented with cinnamon. He’d heard that sometimes the dancers took strangers with them for the night and that when you came home you couldn’t speak for a whole week.
    Jordan concentrated upon the distant sound of hammers, following their irregular clanging until he arrived at a great rusted metal archway announcing Trades Alleyway. Open sheds and doorways lined the long winding road. Dust hung in the air, and the noise, the banging and pounding, was deafening. There were blacksmiths and cabinet makers and a man who made chairs, stacked one upon the other on a perilous pile, atop which sat, inexplicably, one red hat.
    Finally, at the end of the alley, he spied a small placard announcing, ‘Willa, Maker of Doors that Open and Shut.’ A wooden shed stood behind it, surrounded by the greatest number of glass chimes Jordan had ever seen in one place. In the gentle breeze they sounded like a symphony of falling coins.
    He poked his head into the shed and called, “Hello?”
    One inadequate lantern gave off a dull yellow light, revealing a space made of rough wood, with sawdust on the floor and cobwebs strung across the ceiling. A scrawny pigeon rambled out into the sunlight. Jordan waited, but no one came. He was about to leave when a sudden movement caught the corner of his eye, startling him.
    â€œI don’t do spells for boys no more,” someone said in a low voice.
    Before him stood a stooped woman with the hurricane hair he remembered from the Meditary. Her grey eyes were set far apart and seemed to see more of Jordan than he would have chosen to show.
    â€œThat’s not what I came for,” he said, taking a step inside.
    â€œWhy, then? You ain’t here to buy a door.”
    The way she held her hammer — upright, in one strong hand — made her look dangerous. Jordan shifted his weight, considered leaving. It felt as if she was looking right through him.
    â€œOut with it — what sort of foolery have ye got yourself into?”
    â€œDo you know about a door in the Cirran palace?”
    â€œThere’s over three hundred doors in that place. Ye can’t expect me to know ‘em all.”
    Jordan swallowed hard. “This one is made of brass. It doesn’t look much like a door, actually. It doesn’t even have a handle.” Willa stiffened. She knew exactly what he was talking about.
    â€œWell, then, if it ain’t got a handle, it ain’t a door,” she said matter-of-factly. “Now, I got orders to fill, and I reckon ye got a mind to waste my time. Go home to your mama and find something useful to do.”
    Jordan’s jaw tensed. “I can’t go home to my mother. She’s been taken prisoner by the Brinnians. I snuck up to the palace to find out what happened to her and the Brinnian Landguards showed up, so I ran. I found this door, and it is a door. Please, if you know anything about it, could you tell me? Because my friend said it’s enchanted and I don’t want my mother to die, and I touched the door and then it opened.”
    She put down the hammer.