I nod.
Then Ferris lets the cloth drop, and the world goes dark, save for the thin line of light at the floor.
The trolley jerks forward, and Ferris lets out a groan. Then a grumble. Then another groan.
“You think you’re uncomfortable?” he mutters. “Do you have any idea how much this thing weighs with a giant like you in it? I’m going to put my back out.”
Despite everything, I smile for a moment.
We move through the kitchen. One of the cooks calls out to Ferris.
“Is that a delivery for the Ruler General?”
“Indeed,” Ferris replies.
“So early?” There’s a questioning lilt to her voice.
“I don’t question orders. I just carry them out,” he says with exactly the right amount of put-upon.
“Okay, then,” she sighs. “Hurry back, we’re behind on preparations.”
“I will.”
We pass through a corridor. The voices in the kitchen fade behind us. He grunts as he turns a corner. Then grunts again halfway down what has to be the long hallway.
“You need to slow down on the food,” he whispers.
My mouth twitches, but I can’t quite manage a smile. Not when my left leg has started to go numb.
Then we stop.
“Are you going up to the solar?” a male asks.
“Yes. The Ruler General wants her dessert,” Ferris says.
“In you go,” he says.
The trolley moves forward, going over a bump. Ferris grunts.
There’s a mechanical grinding sound. I think it’s the pulley system. It’s how large items are transported up and down in the various towers. There is a lurch that sends my stomachdropping; we begin to rise. The lift rattles and creaks as it hauls us upward. The mechanisms groan under the load.
The platform stops with a jolt.
“Kakara’s teeth,” the same male complains from just below us. “Why does this trolley weigh twice as much as usual? Make that thrice as much. Are there rocks in there?” he shouts.
My body tenses. I hold my breath.
“It’s a fancy new trolley,” Ferris says. “It’s made from a solid metal frame. Don’t ask me what the head cook was thinking when he ordered them. I’ve been complaining all evening. The thing weighs more than I do.”
“Bloody management. They never think of us little people. The ones at the bottom,” the platform operator grumbles. Then he groans as he pulls the rope. We jerk up again, coming to a halt several times before we finally make it to the top. It takes a while before Ferris wheels us out.
We continue down what I know must be the upper corridor. The route to the Ruler General’s quarters follows a shorter passage with guards posted at intervals.
Ferris greets them, and they grunt or greet back.
We stop again.
“Has the Ruler General requested her late tray already?” The guard’s voice is clipped and authoritative. “Surely it’s too early?”
