by Patty Jansen
She was about to put the lid back on the box when something caught her eye.
What was that?
Inside the fabric, a little point glowed, like a flame without a candle.
She lifted the box closer to her eye, and the effect disappeared. But when she held the box further away again, the point reappeared, brighter and bigger.
What was that?
She poked her finger into the interior of the box through the glowing point. She felt nothing. She saw nothing on her skin.
But the point of light became brighter.
This was magic. She should shut this thing and hide it somewhere before someone came and saw this. But she couldn’t bring herself to do it. It was as if a giant hand stopped her and forced her to stare, frozen, at the bright spot.
And then: poof! The bright spot grew into a ball of whirling flames. A shape moved within, a curled up creature like a chick inside an egg. It opened a beady eye that focused on her. That creature looked all too . . . real.
Nellie gave a squeak and dropped the box. It fell onto the mat by the side of her bed, with the lid and the bottom of the box sticking up like the halves of an empty clamshell.
The kitten mewled and ran over to sniff the box.
“No, don’t!” Nellie pushed the kitten out of the way. The spell on her was broken, and she slammed the lid onto the box.
But just before the lid closed, the fire creature slid through the tiny gap. It whirled through the room, sucking in more fire as it passed the candle flame.
No, no, no!
Nellie picked up the box and chased after it, snapping the two parts of the box together like a pair of grasping hands.
And missing.
Going right through the glow but capturing none of it.
The kitten bounced onto the bed, onto the table, trying to bat the fire creature when it passed. Playing with it.
Everywhere the fire passed, it left black marks. Nellie even had to stomp out a fire on the rug.
This thing would set the whole palace on fire.
The fire creature skittered to the ceiling. It now had distinguishable legs, and wings, too, all radiant with fire glow.
Nellie climbed onto the bed. With both sides of the box in either hand, she reached out and slammed the box shut to catch the creature—and missed again.
The fireball scooted to the corner of the room near the door.
“Oh no, you don’t.” Nellie jumped off the bed and snapped the box together again.
The creature whizzed to the other side of the room, above the shelf over the bedhead. Nellie tried to catch it with the box, dislodging the hairbrush that lay on the shelf. It fell onto the bed and clattered on the floor.
The creature flew to the other side of the room. Any moment now someone would come in to investigate the racket she was making in the middle of the night.
The fire dragon escaped her twice more. She dragged the bed to the middle so she could reach all corners of the tiny room.
The creature darted from corner to corner, making the bedspread smoke until Nellie put the fire out.
“Stop it, stop it, you’ll set the palace on fire!”
The creature darted away.
“Stop it!” She didn’t want to shout too loudly. People would come into her room.
And still the fire dragon grew.
It already didn’t fit in the box anymore. If she waited too long, it wouldn’t even fit in the room. She needed something other than the box to catch it. A sheet or a towel from her cupboard would do, or an apron. She had a spare one she pulled from the shelf.
The dragon sat on the little table next to her books. It had already become less glowy and more solid. The skin looked like that of a snake. It shimmered gold and red. The eyes were orange and had long pupils, like a cat’s. It had two round nostrils that flared at the end of its snout. It had pointy ears that moved as if it was listening, like a rabbit.
Nellie could feel the warmth coming from the demonic construction.
For a moment, neither of them moved.
She would have one chance at catching this creature with the apron which she had unfolded and held up in front of her.
Then the dragon sniffed like it was a horse. It blinked its eyes, and cocked its head, regarding Nellie, who stood frozen.
The kitten sat on the bed, also watching, but twitching its tail as if getting ready to spring.
Nellie whispered, “Come on, help me.”
The kitten mewled.
The dragon turned its head.
Nellie lunged forward. She tossed the apron over the dragon’s head and wrapped the garment around it. The creature’s body felt solid and warm through the fabric.
She transferred the bundle to her bed and wrapped the apron’s straps around the parcel.
There.
Nellie got to her knees and reached under the bed where she kept her chest with the last of her personal possessions. She opened the lid, tipped out the contents—her mother’s winter coat, a set of cups that had belonged to her grandmother and a couple of table cloths she had no use for but couldn’t bear to sell.
She collected the bundled-up apron from the bed—and found that it was empty.
What?
Heart thudding, Nellie looked around. Where had the dragon gone?
The box lay open on the bed where she had left it. A little glow floated into it like a downy feather drifting on the breeze.
Nellie grabbed the box and slammed it shut over the glowing spot.
Phew.
She found a ribbon in her cupboard and wound it several times around the box. That dreadful thing would not escape again.
Tomorrow evening, she would give it to Shepherd Adrianus so he could return it to the safety of the crypt.
She wanted nothing more to do with this thing, and she wanted no one else to have it.
Chapter 16
* * *
NELLIE WOKE UP with a shock when a couple of people walked past her room talking. They probably weren’t that loud, but only sounded that way, because she had been so fast asleep—and by the Triune, she had slept in. Not even the kitten on her bedspread had stirred.
There was so much to do. Dora would be angry with her.
Nellie scrambled out of bed, lit the oil lamp and searched for her clothes.
It was still quite warm in this room.
That brought back the surreal memories from last night.
Nellie checked that the dragon box was safely tucked away in her linen cupboard, which it was.
She dressed to get ready for work: her underdress, her overdress, her apron, her long socks. She hesitated when putting on her bonnet. It looked ridiculous, Madame Sabine had said.
What would she look like without?
On the shelf above her bed stood a little mirror that had belonged to her mother. It was stained with dark blotches where some paint on the back of the glass had come off.
Nellie undid the pins to her bun.
Her hair fell past her shoulders.
It had never been pretty. It was thin and had an ashen colour that was neither the radiant silver of Els’ hair or the golden blond of Queen Cygna. Now that it was mostly grey, it was stiff and stubborn, even if that made it easier to pin up.
Bah, suggesting that she shouldn’t wear her bonnet was easy for someone like Madame to say. She had a head full of lush curly locks, none of this dirty-looking, wiry, lifeless rubbish.
Madame Sabine also didn’t like hair in her food, so Nellie put on the bonnet, and tucked all the stray hairs underneath.
She made sure the cupboard was properly shut so that nothing would look out-of-place if someone checked in her room. The kitten was again trying to climb in, so she picked it up and took it into the corridor, making sure that the door to her room was also closed.
It miaowed and scratched at the wood.
“No, you’re not getting in when I’m not here.”
Nellie left the kitten sitting there.
In the kitchen, activities for breakfast were in full swing. Dora had started cooking soup for the midday meal.
“Hey, Nellie, you’re late.” She laughed, holding up the ladle.
Els and Maartje were filling plates with pastries.
The scene in the kitchen was surreal, the happy atmosphere that usually hung around after a busy night, the sense that the worst was over and that life could go back to normal now. Even if there were still a lot of guests in the palace, the big event was done.
They knew nothing about the claims of poisoning yet. Definitely no one knew of the dragon. But how long would the happiness last?
Nellie poured some tea and cut a slice of the freshly baked, delicious-smelling bread. She couldn’t bear to break their contented mood. The bad news would come down to the kitchen soon enough.
“Is Wim in yet?” she asked. He would know.
“I’ve seen him briefly this morning. He was doing something in the storerooms. Why?”
“Just wondering, because he wasn’t here.”
She didn’t ask any further. She never spoke much to Wim and had no reason to be interested in where he was.
After a quick bite to eat, Nellie and her helpers brought all the clean plates back upstairs.
There were fewer diners now—only those who were staying at the palace. Most of them were only now coming out of their rooms, ambling down the hallway that led to the guest quarters.
The servants had opened the doors in the big hall to let out the foul stench. The breeze that came in from outside was cold and made the tablecloths on the far side of the hall flap.
Clean tablecloths, for breakfast for the remaining guests. Some young helpers were already putting out plates on the tables, those plates that had been washed and dried by Maartje and Els after the partygoers had gone home or to their rooms last night.
There were of course far fewer people to be served than at the banquet, so the tables all stood in the middle of the hall.
One by one, the guests arrived.
Most of the pretty nobles looked a little worse for wear. Not quite as nicely dressed, their hair messy. Some were not wearing their wigs.
The Regent sat alone at the table. Neither his wife nor his sons had joined him. A young girl had the task, every morning, to bring porridge with honey upstairs for Madame Sabine. Nellie had seen her leave the kitchen with her tray.
The girl had not come back with the full bowl, so Nellie assumed that Madame Sabine had not left the palace.
There was no word about the condition of Lord Verdonck.
Breakfast was a much quieter affair than dinner had been. Most of the guests were rather subdued. They sat in groups with the people who had travelled with them to the city, and the tables had a lot of empty seats. Nellie also noticed some women who had not been at the banquet last night.
Madame Sabine had not been the only one with a distaste for noisy drunken banquets.
For Nellie and the servants, serving was an easy task, bringing up bread and tea, butter and jams and honey, cheeses, and milk and porridge for a plentiful breakfast.
Nellie was in the hall pouring tea when Adalbert Verdonck came in.
He strode across the hall and along the aisle between the two lots of tables. He wore riding clothes. His hard-heeled boots made sharp clacks on the marble floor.
Compared to these sorry partygoers, he looked so proud and straight-backed. He had not been at the banquet last night, Nellie realised.
Everyone in the hall fell quiet. Some people turned around and looked at him.
Adalbert stopped in front of the Regent’s table, giving a stiff bow.
“What is the matter, young man?” the Regent said. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“I demand answers. Why has my father been treated like this?”
“Whatever are you talking about?”
“My father has been poisoned!”
A murmur broke out among the guests. Amidst the shouting and men getting up and arguing, Nellie spotted a noblewoman pushing her plate aside. That was food she and Dora had cooked. There was nothing wrong with it.
The Regent held up his hands. A semblance of quiet returned. He started with a grandiose gesture and a dismissive tone. “I don’t see how you can conclude that your father’s condition is caused by poison—”
“That’s clear to me. You only need to go into his room to see that. I will spare these good people the details, especially the ladies, except to say that he is gravely ill. I demand an explanation and an apology. I demand to know who under this roof did this.”
“Calm down, man. He probably suffers from indigestion. Wait a while and he’ll recover.”
“He is not fine. He was poisoned some time yesterday while eating food you provided.”
The Regent’s face grew red. “That makes no sense. Why would I want to poison my closest advisor?”
“I can think of many reasons.”
“Wait, young man, before you commit the foolish act of accusing your host in this palace.”
“You are not my host. My father is your advisor. Without my father, you would not be sitting here and you would not be holding these lavish feasts. I’d like to remind you of King William of Anglia’s words: You will not sit at the table with evil men, and eat their food, because your stomach will turn to water and your water will turn to blood and you’ll die before the two days are up.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, man. I employ a man who tests all the food before it comes up into the hall.”
“Does he taste the wine?”
The Regent scoffed. “The food and the wine, he tastes all that passes through the kitchen. The wine comes from the Guentherite monastery, and you can hardly—”
“Did he taste this wine?” Adalbert Verdonck asked, more insistently.
“They are monks. Are you really saying we should distrust religious men? What has the world come to?”
Nellie made her way out of the hall. She sped across the foyer and down the stairs, panic clamping around her heart.
The wine.
They had drunk some wine around the kitchen table the evening before the banquet, but a large crowd consumed so much of it, tasting it all would be impossible.
Most of the wine came straight off the river boat from the Guentherite order, was unloaded by monks, brought to the palace by monks and served by monks. With help from Els, who had shown more than a passing interest in the monk Gerard.
Els, who was up to some mischief with her juniper berries, lying about why she needed them.
By the Triune . . .
But no, she found it extremely hard to believe that a fourteen-year-old girl would be involved with poisoning people.
But there was definitely something going on with Els.
Yes, but let’s be realistic, if the wine was poisoned, then everyone in that room would be ill.
But still . . .
The activity in the kitchen was normal, disturbingly normal. Dora, whose work to cook breakfast was done by now, sat at the table drinking tea.
She met Nellie’s eyes.
“Anything the matter?”
“There is some commotion upstairs,” Nellie said. “They say someone has been poisoned.” Sweat rolled down over her back.
Dora’s brows knitted together. “Are they sure?”
“They said it was poison. That’s all I know.”
Dora’s frown deepened.
“Is Wim here?”
“No, he’s gone out. Is this why you were asking about him this morning?”
Was Wim already answering questions from the guards? Nellie felt cold. “Can I speak to you?”
Dora jerked her head to the back door.
Nellie proceeded Dora into the yard. The weather had taken a turn for the worse, and snowflakes drifted from the sky. It wasn’t quite cold enough for them to freeze, but they left a slippery slurry on the mud in the courtyard.
As soon as Dora and Nellie appeared at the top of the ste
ps, the pigs thought they were getting something, and they started to make noises.
Dora let the door fall shut behind her, and the two stood facing each other.
“Is there anything I should know?” Dora said in a low voice. “You were in Lord’s Verdonck’s room last night, weren’t you?”
“Yes, I was called to attend him, because Mistress Graziela has left town. The lord had fallen ill, and they asked me to help, but there was not much I could do.”
“What was wrong with him? Are they sure it was poison?”
“It looked that way to me. His bottoms were stained with blood.”
Dora gave her an urgh face.
“Wim doesn’t test the wine, does he?”
Dora shook her head. “It comes from the Guentherite monastery.”
“It could have been an accidental poisoning. I haven’t heard about anyone else falling ill.”
But Nellie knew that was unlikely, in the light of the other events. Lord Verdonck was not a friend of the church. The church delivered the wine. Nellie couldn’t imagine the shepherds getting involved with—or even ordering—anything like a poisoning, but those monks might. And there was that cabinet in the crypt room with the dusty bottles. Poisons aplenty for whoever needed them.
Lord Verdonck had stolen or otherwise obtained the dragon box. He was unlikely to have direct access to the crypt, but might know someone who did. Likely, her father’s wasn’t the only stray key to the little metal door in the grate.
The church suspected that someone in the palace had the box, maybe even knew that Lord Verdonck had it. They might know the dragon had taken a swipe at Lord Verdonck and Madame Sabine. Because both thought they could control magic or had a small ability.
“Whatever is going on, we have to keep our heads down and weather the storm,” Dora said. “We have no knowledge of any poisoning, and I hope our word will be enough.”
But the implication that it might not be enough hovered in her voice. “To be honest with you, Nellie, that man is trouble.”
“Lord Verdonck?” She only knew him as an affable father figure.
