She had to remain one step ahead.
4
Kuni replayed her knight’s calm instructions.
Run in the opposite direction. That, she was doing. Or trying to do. So many pedestrians crowded London’s busy streets, she half expected a parade to bear down at any moment. Take the first left. Yes. Kuni was already on the left side of the street and tearing around the corner.
Then, an alley on the right. Narrow. Fetid. Littered with broken bits of heaven-knew-what and bisected by a dirty trickle whose origin she had no wish to investigate.
An unmarked door twenty feet from the corner. Her tutors had told her other nations still used this measure, and that its length differed from country to country. Twenty of her brothers’ enormous leather boots? Twenty of Kuni’s half boots? Her knight had failed to specify on the right or the left. The end of the alley opened into a loud bustling street overflowing with horses and carriages like herrings in a barrel—
There.A door so nondescript one almost didn’t notice. That had to be it. Even if it wasn’t, it wentsomewhere. Floris could reach the alley at any second. There was no time to dither.
Kuni wrenched open the scuffed wooden door, flung herself inside, and slammed it closed behind her. It had a lock! And a thick crossbar! She rapidly engaged both and sagged against the sturdy barrier.
As her heart regained a less frenzied pace, she cursed herself—and her knight. Her newfound autonomy was not off to a fine start.
This could also be a trap.
She was in a silent, shadowy corridor, standing exactly where she’d been sent by a total stranger. Floris and Reinald were formidable Guardsmen—and diabolical brothers. They would absolutely send their sister a Trojan horse in the shape of an attractive man.
Or perhaps this had nothing to do with the Royal Guard at all. Whatwasthis place that she had been sent to? Puss & Goose? What did that mean? Had she escaped one danger only to fling herself headlong into another?
Luckily, Kuni never left home without a pair of daggers strapped to her thighs and twice as many throwing knives hidden just inside her spencer—and another small blade tucked along the busk of her stays.
She crept forward, exiting the corridor toward an open area bathed in sunlight ahead. She stepped into a cozy room with a thick door on one side and stairs on the other.
An older woman with pale cheeks and a cloud of white hair stood behind a wide counter. She whistled beneath her breath as she tied a brown paper package with a length of twine.
When Kuni approached, the older woman looked up, startled—but not scared. An odd response to a stranger emerging from the servants’ entrance.
The old woman gave Kuni a sunny smile. “Why, good afternoon, dear. Welcome to my inn. How might I help you?”
“Uh…” said Kuni eloquently. What had the Englishman said? She used her father’s memory trick of a donkey’s bridge. “Winifred…Winklemeyer…sent me to reserve a north-facing room for one?”
“I reasoned as much.” The proprietress pushed her package aside and leaned over the counter with avid interest. “That is a charming accent. Where are you from, dear?”
Kuni sighed and relaxed. She was not in danger of anything besides the monotony of reliving the exact same conversation as ever with yet another clueless stranger.
“The Netherlands,” she responded politely. Truthful, but vague. “Netherlands” could mean one of several principalities.
The older woman’s face lit up.
“We had a guest from Amsterdam just last year! He was called…” The proprietress leafed rapidly through a large book lying open on the counter, then glanced up in victory. “Mr. Janssen.”
“Mr. Janssen and I have not had the pleasure.”
“Pity. You did say ‘north,’ did you not? You must be in a hurry, and here I am prattling on.” The proprietress emerged from behind the counter and placed the brown paper package in Kuni’s hands. “Here, take this nuncheon. It was for a different guest, but I’ll have the kitchen prepare another. Come with me, dear.”
Without waiting for a response, the proprietress hurried up the narrow stairs, pausing on the first landing to verify Kuni was following her.
“Oughtn’t I to pay for my room?”
The proprietress laughed. “Of course not. That room is on a perpetual lease to the Wynchesters.”
Wynchester.Kuni finally had a name for her knight—a name she recognized. During her ten days of reconnaissance, she had overheard mention of the Wynchesters in conjunction with good works enough times she had written it down in her intelligence journal.
“Do you mean the same Wynchesters known for acts of philanthropy?”
