"If you are the Deliverer," she said, "you've gotyour work cut out for you."
"Just everybody hang on one second," Maggiesaid.
Her head was whirling. She understood whatwas going on - sort of. These people believed shewas some legendary figure come to save them. Because of a prophecy-they seemed to have a lot ofprophecies around here.
But she couldn't really be their Deliverer. She knew that. She was just an ordinary girl. Andhadn't anybody else ever worn a flowered top inthis place?
Well maybe not. Not a slave anyway. Maggie looked at Laundress's clothes again with new eyes.If they all wore this sort of thing, hand sewn and plain as a burlap sack, maybe a machine-made topwith bright colors and a little wilted lace would look like something from a legend.
And I bet nobody wears red and blue socks, shethought and almost smiled. Especially at once.
She remembered how Sylvia had looked at them. Normally she would have been terribly embarrassed by that, perfect Sylvia looking at her imperfections. But the socks had been what started heron this whole journey by convincing her that Sylviawas lying. And just now they'd saved her life. IfLaundress had attacked Jeanne or Cady, Maggie would have had to fight her.
But I'm still not the Deliverer, she thought. I haveto explain that to them....
"And since she's the Deliverer, you're going tohelp us, right?" Jeanne was saying. "You're going to heal Cady and feed us and hide us and everything? And help Maggie find out what happened toher brother?"
Maggie blinked, then grimaced. She could see Jeanne looking at her meaningfully. She shut hermouth.
"I'll help you any way I can," Laundress said."But you'd better do your part. Do you have a plan, Deliverer?"
Maggie rubbed her forehead. Things were happening very fast-but even if she wasn't the Deliverer, she hadcome to help the slaves get free. Maybe it didn't matter what they called her.
She looked at Cady again, then at Jeanne, and at P.J., who was staring at her with shining confidence in her young eyes. Then she looked at thegirl named Soaker, who was wearing the sameexpression.
Finally she looked into the gaunt, hard-bittenface of Laundress. There was no easy confidencehere, but there was that half-stifled look of hopedeep in the burning gaze.
"I don't have a plan yet," she said. "But Ill comeup with one. And I don't know if I can really helpyou people. But I'll try."
Chapter 14
Maggie woke up slowly and almost luxuriously. She wasn't freezing. She wasn't aching or weakwith hunger. And she had an unreasonable feeling of safety.
Then she sat up and the safe feeling disappeared.
She was in Laundress's hut of earth bricks.Jeanne and P.J. were there, but Cady had been taken to another hut to be treated. Laundress hadstayed all night with her, and Maggie had no ideaif she was getting better or not. The frightened girl called Soaker brought them breakfast, but couldonly say that Cady was still asleep.
Breakfast was the same as dinner last night hadbeen: a sort of thick oatmeal sweetened with huckle berries. Maggie ate it gratefully. It was good-atleast to somebodyas hungry as she was.
"We're lucky to have it," Jeanne said, stretching.She and P.J. were sitting opposite Maggie on thebare earth of the floor, eating with their fingers. They all were wearing the coarse, scratchy tunicsand loose leggings of slaves, and Maggie kept goinginto spasms of twitching when the material made her itch somewhere she couldn't reach. Maggie'sclothes, including her precious socks, were hiddenat the back of the hut.
"They don't grow much grain or vegetable stuff," Jeanne was saying. "And of course slaves don't getto eat any meat. Only the vampires and the shapeshifters get to eat blood or flesh."
P.J. shivered, hunching up her thin shoulders. "When you say it like that, it makes me not wantto eat it."
Jeanne gave a sharp-toothed grin. "They're afraidit would make the slaves too strong. Everythinghere's designed for that. Maybe you noticed, there'snot much in the slave quarters made of wood."
Maggie blinked. She hadnoticed that vaguely, atthe back of her mind. The huts were made of bricks, with hard-packeddirtfloors. And there wereno wooden tools like rakes or brooms lying around.
"But what do they burn?" she asked, looking atthe small stone hearth built right on the floor ofthe hut. There was a hole in the roof above to letsmoke out.
"Charcoaled wood, cut in little pieces. They makeit out in the forest in charcoal pits, and it's strictly regulated. Everybody only gets so much. If they find a slave with extra wood, they execute 'em."
"Because wood kills vampires," Maggie said.
Jeanne nodded. "And silverkills shapeshifters.Slaves are forbidden to have silver, too-not thatany of them are likely to get hold of any."
P.J. was looking out the small window of the hut.There was no glass in it, and last night it had been stuffed with sacking against the cold air. "If slaves can't eat meat, what are those?" she asked.
Maggie leaned to look. Outside two big calves were tethered to iron pickets. There were also a dozen trussed-up chickens and a pig in a pen madeof rope.
"Those are for Night People," Jeanne said. "The shapeshifters and witches eat regular food - and sodo the vampires, when they want to. It looks likethey're going to have a feast they don t bring theanimals here until they're ready to slaughter."
P.J.'s face was troubled. "I feel sorry for them," she said softly.
"Yeah, well, there are worse things than beinghit over the head," Jeanne said. "See those cagesjust beyond the pig? That's where the exotics are
?tigers and things they bring in to hunt. That's a bad way to die."