by Alex Flinn
Agathe was in the hallway, fairly swaying under the weight of a satin gown the color of wine. She turned to me, and her face was white as milk, which made her freckles stand out like measles. “Oh, Sophie! Do you think he will like me?”
No. Of course not. Or, if he does, it will merely be because you are rich. I took her hands in mine, noting the blue vein that pulsed in her high forehead. Indeed, the vein was bluer than her eyes.
I wanted to tear at it. Silly thing! Why should she have Karl?
Yet she stared down at me so pitifully, and I had to say, “Of course he will, my dear. You look perfect.”
And then, still holding hands, supporting each other, as we were both too nervous to walk, we went for dinner.
“I am so glad you are here,” she said, as we descended a grand marble staircase into a room so large I felt like I was jumping into the ocean in all my elegant clothing. As the stairway curved, Agathe slipped and grabbed onto me. For a moment, I thought we might both pitch forward, rolling over and over each other, down the staircase and into the roomful of people, a pile of torn finery. Fortunately, I had the presence of mind to grab the banister and steady myself until I was able to drag up the dead weight of Agathe. “Hold on,” I whispered.
And then I saw him.
Karl.
Prince Karl.
He was dressed more elegantly than I had ever seen him. Far from playing peasant, now he was dressed impressively. He wore a red-and-blue coat trimmed in gold, so much gold it hurt my eyes. I gazed in wonder at the ornamentation, with flowers and even little frightened faces incorporated into the stitching. Finally, I looked down. My eyes were watering.
“Go!” Agathe tugged at my gown, and I realized I was to curtsy. I did, winking back the tears. When I rose, Karl bowed low. “Ladies.”
He did not look at me. At least, he did not see me. I felt as if I had descended into the river, and now my skirts were waterlogged, tugging me down into the depths like the young child who once had drowned near my father’s property, dragged down by the force of our mill. I was sinking.
Karl offered his arm to Agathe, who took it, giggling like the ninny she was. From somewhere, another gentleman materialized, offering his own arm to me. I took it. The gentleman told me his name, which I did not even hear, and I must have told him mine. He led me to the dining room.
The table was the size of my father’s barn. Laid for thirty or more with lit candles reflected in gleaming silver and sparkling glass, it was piled with tureens of soup, towering plates of vegetables, and platters of fish and meats, one wrapped in a sort of crust like a strudel. I felt that if I ate any of it, I might explode like an unmilked cow.
I fell into my seat. Karl was on my other side, and I tried to catch his eye, but he looked only at his own companion, Agathe. My escort, the nameless, faceless young man to my left, tried to converse with me as I decided which of the seven forks and three knives were for the fish.
“You had a long journey,” he asked.
“Yes,” I barely whispered. “Three days.” I did not know how I knew this, but I did. Kendra’s magic at work, I supposed.
A silence. I had nothing to say, I knew nothing of this man. I suppose, if I had thought about it, I could have told him of the books I had read, the history Karl had sent me, but instead, I sat there, dumb, as the hall filled with more and more people. The cooked fish with its head still on stared at me with disapproval. I glanced to my right, at Karl. He still did not notice, did not see me.
“And was your journey a pleasant one?” The young man attempted again to engage me.
“Yes. I mean, it rained.” I tried to look at him. He was dressed similarly to Karl and was tall and looked strong.
Would you rescue me if I began to drown?
“Ah, that is unfortunate,” he said, “though I suppose the peasants will be glad of it. Rain, I am told, is good for the crops. Peasants are always worried about the crops.”
“Yes,” I said. “Silly peasants.”
Peasants like me.
“Of course, a young lady like yourself need not worry about such things,” he said. “You are only concerned about how the weather affects your complexion.”
I took a bite of the fish. I had decided to begin with the fork closest to me only to realize that others had done the exact opposite. I wiped it off upon the tablecloth and started again. I took another bite. And another. And another. And then servants materialized to take away the largely unconsumed food. They brought more, and my escort said, “Oh, it is time to turn the conversation.” He seemed relieved.
And, at that, he swiveled his body toward the lady on his other side. I realized that the entire table had done the same, and I was looking at the back of the gentleman’s head.
I turned too and found myself face-to-face with Karl.
“Did you have a good journey?”
He spoke as if he did not know who I was. But I looked the same. Had he never seen me? Or was he pretending not to know me?
“I imagine the rain must have slowed your pace.”
A servant set down a giant pig with an apple in its mouth. Its eyes met mine and rolled heavenward. Then it spit the apple right out. The fruit banked off the king’s chair and into Agathe, knocking her over. The animal stood, squatted down, and sprang onto Karl’s head. It began to urinate.
Karl said, “Was your journey a slow one?”
I blinked at the platter. The pig was still upon it, setting on a bed of greens, the apple still in its mouth.
“Do you not know me, Karl?” My voice was a whisper. I no longer knew what was true or false.
I did. This child in my belly was true.
Karl laughed. “Know you? Of course. You are my dear Agathe’s friend, Sophie.”
I reached out my hand and grabbed his chin. Beside me, I heard Agathe gasp.
I said, “Look at me, Karl. Look at me.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw one of the servants—or perhaps a guard—advancing upon me. I needed to speak, and quickly.
I stood. “Karl, I am more to you than Agathe’s friend.” My voice quavered, but it was loud. “You know I am Cornelia from the market. We have been . . . lovers.”
“Oh!” A gasp rose from the assembled guests, and a moan from Agathe. I faced the king, a corpulent man with a long, curled beard. This was my one chance.
“You must believe me, Your Majesty.”
“I do not know this woman, Father. I swear it.”
“He knows me well, and I know him. I know that his favorite story as a child was about the animal musicians who scared the robbers. I know that he hates turnips but loves strudel, especially when I make it. I know he has a birthmark like port wine on his stomach. I have seen it, touched it, when we—”
“No! Sophie!” Agathe yelled, and the king buried his face in his hand.
“You must help me. I am going to have a baby.”
The king stared at me. Around the table, all was silent except for Agathe’s soft whimpers and Karl’s whispered “No, no . . .”
The king rose. He was a tall man, and he walked around the table to meet my eyes.
“What did you say?”
My throat felt closed from the inside as if I could neither swallow, breathe, nor cough.
I finally managed the latter. Then I whispered, “I am having a baby. Your grandchild.”
The king nodded, but not at me.
A pair of strong hands grabbed me from behind. The guard. He must have moved in when the king rose from his chair, and now he was lifting me, pulling me toward the door. This could not be happening. Kendra’s magic could not have failed me so spectacularly.
Failed.
“Wait!” I yelled. “Wait! You must listen to me!”
“I must listen to nothing!” bellowed the king. “You are a fortune hunter out to trap my son.”
I remembered the bookseller’s instructions and straightened my shoulders. The guard pulled me back, but I yelled for all to hear.
<
br /> “I have no need of fortune-hunting. I can spin straw into gold!”
6
Why had I said it? In years to come, when people hear this story (and I have little doubt that they will), they will marvel at my stupidity. I suppose it was the lack of other choices.
And now I am in a barn. A lovely, large barn one would expect from a castle, but still a barn, surrounded by straw, straw, straw! The animals, which could have been a comfort to me, have been removed from the barn to make room for more straw and, presumably, because it would not do to have them eat the straw. Still, I can tell from the stink that there were once goats here. In the dim light from the moon coming through a high window, I can make out the shape of chickens, asleep in their coops. Chickens, of course, do not eat straw. Perhaps I can get an egg from them in the morning. I do not know if my captors intend to feed me. I do not know what will happen when they realize my lie. I do not know what I was supposed to do after I told them I could spin straw into gold. Kendra did not tell me.
I must speak to Kendra. But how?
I stand, feeling the straw crackling under my feet. I am mentioning straw quite a bit, but really, it is my entire life. I need the mirror. I begin to pace back and forth. In the darkness, the straw feels unstable, slippery beneath my worthless dressy slippers. I steady myself on an object, then realize it is a spinning wheel. They have left me a spinning wheel with which to spin my lies. No, to spin my straw.
Because my life was not hideous enough before now.
I hear a rustling. Then the door creaks open. Have they sent someone to check on me? What will I tell them?
“Darling!”
“What?”
“Cornelia? Are you here? It is so dark. They must bring you a light.”
It is him. Him. Karl. Has he come to rebuke me? Or to save me? I rush toward him.
“I have not yet been able to spin straw,” I tell him. “It is dark, and I need my satchel. I will do it, though. I will do it if you bring it to me. I promise.” It is a rush of words cut off only by his mouth upon mine, his arms around me. I do not want to want him, to succumb to him, but I do. I melt into his body.
“Darling.” He kisses me, kisses my mouth and my cheeks, his hands groping his way down my back.
I pull away. “You abandoned me! You threw me away! Am I nothing to you? You did not even recognize me when I was in front of you!”
“You surprised me. And I could not, anyway, not in front of my family.”
“You could have if you loved me.”
“I do love you, darling.” Again, he embraces me, and I want for all the world to give in, to relent, like the water rolling through the mill, even if it means I will drown.
I hold his head in my hands and kiss him.
Drowning.
“You did not come on Thursday. You did not come, and I waited.”
“I could not. I was detained. And I did not know how to send word to you. I did not even know your full name.”
“I did not know yours, apparently.” I gasp as he kisses me, as his hands, his lips rove over me, pulling me closer, closer to the abyss.
“You want a princess, not a peasant,” I say.
“I want you,” he whispers. “Do you not see? I went to the market dressed as a peasant to meet a girl just like you.”
To take advantage of, whispers a horrible voice inside me. To have before you have your proper princess. Who knows how many other girls there have been.
But I only say, “Why?”
“To find someone who would love me for myself, as Karl, not Prince Karl Theodor of Bavaria. I am tired of these noblewomen who only wish to be princesses. I had to meet someone who did not know who I was.”
“And . . . ?” My eyes have adjusted to the light, and I stare up at him, at his beautiful face. I cannot make out the color of his eyes, only his long eyelashes, his brows knit together.
“And I found you, my darling. The sweetest, kindest . . .” He begins to kiss me again, my eyes, my cheeks. “The most wonderful girl in the world. Cornelia! We will be together.”
“Yes.” It is what I want, the reason I came here. Kendra’s magic worked. I do not know how, but it worked after all!
“So you spoke to your father?” I hold him at arm’s length to gaze at him.
“Yes, my love. Yes!”
“And he knows I am not a fortune hunter?” I lay my head against my darling Karl’s chest. It will be all right.
“Of course not. Once he heard of your talent, he knew you could not be.”
“My . . . talent.”
“Yes. Why would a girl who could spin straw into gold need to marry for fortune?”
“What?”
“Yes, ’tis true. Father said that once you spin straw into gold, he will know you are not a fortune hunter. Then we can be married. We will be together, my love!”
He gazes down at me, and even in the near-darkness, I see the light of happiness in his eyes.
“Are you not overjoyed?”
I lay my head upon his chest, again feeling sick, more than a bit sick. Part of me whispers that if Karl only wants me contingent upon my being able to spin straw into gold, he is not worth having. But of course he is! He is a prince! If I marry him, I will be a princess. And if I do not . . . if I do not . . . I will be a wretched, abandoned miller’s daughter, disgraced with a prince’s bastard, a piece of garbage who may as well throw herself into the river.
“Oh, yes, Karl, I am so happy. I just need my satchel.”
He backs away. “Of course, my love. I will send for it. You must work through the night, so we can be together.”
“I will, my darling. I will.”
He leaves then. I settle into the straw to wait. I can only hope that Kendra will be able to fix it.
But Karl does not return with my belongings. He does not bring the mirror. He does not bring anything. The moonlight rolls across the window, and I listen to the night noises of the barn, the movement of the chickens. What if he never returns? The straw feels scratchy against my arms. No. Of course he will return. He loves me. He said he would. In the corner, I see the shadow of the spinning wheel like a smaller version of our mill. Oh, if only I was home. No, I do not want, I cannot go back home. I have to stay, to do this. Sometimes, people have to do things they do not wish to do, in order to be rewarded. I came here to change my life. It will change. It must.
An hour or more passes, and my arms feel scratchy, as if hundreds of insects are crawling upon them. Where is Karl? Where is the mirror? I rise and walk to the window. There is no one there, nothing. I run to the door. It is locked from the outside. I am trapped, a prisoner. I knew Karl would not return, I knew it. What will happen tomorrow morning when they find me, asleep in the straw that is still straw, not gold? When they see I am a liar? Will I be executed?
Perhaps it is for the best.
In the darkness, I hear a mournful sound. A cow, mooing. I walk over to the corner whence the sound came. A cow! One cow. My hand meets her smooth back, and I slide my arm along it, stroking it. We have a cow at home, Brunhilde. Soon, she will wake, and there will be no one to milk her, and Father will know I have been gone all night.
I lay my head upon the cow’s back. She feels warm and familiar, and I begin to sob.
A streak of light shoots through the barn. Is it him? Karl? With my mirror?
“Young lady?”
It is not. It is a man’s voice, strangely familiar, but not Karl’s.
“Young lady, are you here?”
I raise my head from the cow’s back. I see a shape, only a shape in the darkness. A man, walking toward me. He holds a lantern, but low, so I cannot see his face. As he comes close, I see that he is a small man, short and slight, with curly hair and a crooked, wrong-turned nose. The young man from the bookseller’s stall!
“You! Why are you here?” I fairly gasp.
He walks closer. His eyes are the color of the steel poker I use for the fire. He does not smile but says, “I
have come to help you.”
“Help me escape?” For I note that the door is still closed, must have closed behind him. Stupid! Can he open it again?
Now he laughs. “No, my fine lady. I have come to help you spin straw into gold.”
“But that is impossible.”
He smiles, a queer smile, as if he possesses a wisdom I cannot see. “Not for me. We all have our talents. That is mine, though I may not be a handsome prince.” He rather spits the words handsome prince, and I wonder if he knows what Karl did to me, if Kendra told him. “I am here to help.”
“But how did you know I needed help?”
“Kendra has ways of knowing.” He gestures broadly around with one arm, and as he does, the barn is bathed in light. “Do you wish me to leave?”
“No. No! I just didn’t know why you were here, why you would do such a kind, generous thing for me.” I do not believe he can do it.
He winks a bit at that. “Oh, I am not kind or generous. I require payment for my efforts.” He walks closer and lays his hand upon my arm, staring directly into my eyes. His smile is crooked. His eyelashes are long, and when he blinks, they brush his cheeks.
“Payment?” He does know about Karl and me.
“People only value that which has a price. Remember that in all things, my dear.”
I know not what he means by a price, but I nod. He keeps gazing at me, and I relax under his gaze. He will help me. I know it now. But that is silly. I do not know this man. I know nothing about him except that he likes to read books.
Still, the fact that a person likes to read books makes him rather more likely to be worth knowing than not.
But what if he wants something that I do not wish to give?
“What sort of payment?” I ask, not moving from his hypnotic gaze.
It is he who backs away now. He looks me up and down, down and up, before his strange gray eyes settle upon my hand. He smiles.
“Your ring.”
The ring is nothing special, a fede ring with a symbol of joined hands. It was my mother’s. I love that little ring. It reminds me of happier times. It belonged to each of my sisters first, but they gave it up once they had wedding rings to wear. It is mine now, and I meant it to be my daughter’s.
