Princess Renn threw her arms around the king’s neck and kissed his cheek. He looked pleased with himself. Why not? A happy daughter and greater riches.
I discovered I was happy, too. This ogre would be a better ruler than either the king or his daughter. King Grenville had no kindness and the princess was too flighty. Count Jonty Um’s character combined steadiness and compassion.
She spun in her chair to her betrothed. Rising halfway, she kissed him on his cheek. “La! It is lucky you are tall.”
His arm went around her. It was an awkward gesture, but his smile was certainly glad.
Mmm . . . I thought, wishing I could tell if he loved her. I liked the princess and didn’t want her in a marriage without affection. Whatever he felt, however, he would be good to her. Perhaps that was enough.
Sir Misyur cried, “Hurrah!”
The cheer was taken up with gusto by the servants, listlessly by the guests. When the voices died away, Sir Misyur said, “My lord, tell them the sort of king you’ll be!”
Count Jonty Um stood.
He should have remained seated, I thought. His shadow crossed the dais and darkened a few feet of the lower guest table.
“My friends . . .” He sounded husky. “My friends . . .”
I looked around the hall. Master Thiel and his brothers raised their knives and ate again. The brothers’ wives did the same. Goodwife Celeste turned the twine around her wrist and whispered into her goodman’s ear.
“Your Highness . . .” His Lordship paused, consulting the ceiling not far above him, as if words might be written there. He swayed, but steadied himself with his hands flat on the table. “Thank you. My friends . . .”
Princess Renn said, “Jonty Um, tell them not to worry.” She faced the guests below her. “He’ll be a good king. La! When he’s been king a week, you’ll forget he’s an ogre.”
His flushed face deepened to scarlet. People stopped chewing. Knives and spoons halted in the air.
Let them think about something besides the princess’s foolish words. I threw my wine bottle to the floor, hard, so it would certainly break. Purple sloshed on my kirtle.
The crash broke the spell. After a moment of surprise, conversation resumed. His Lordship sat without delivering a speech.
Cellarer Bwat rushed to me with a length of linen and began to mop up the wine and broken glass. I bent to help.
The king twisted in his golden chair. “Did the girl splash me?”
Cellarer Bwat examined King Grenville’s cloak hem, where I saw stains as big as my hand. “Not a drop, Your Highness.”
Greedy Grenny returned to his gluttony. “Of course I wouldn’t have minded being splashed. I never object to anything.”
Cellarer Bwat whispered, “Excellent, Elodie. Well done.”
I thought this was sarcasm until he patted my hand.
A servant carved the peacock while the second wave of courses issued from the kitchen. Soon I would be called upon to perform. The tale of Princess Rosette seemed too complicated now. But what to do instead? Possibilities ran through my mind, none of them right: too long, too sad, tedious.
As I poured water for the princess, Master Thiel’s brother Frair choked. His wife slapped him roundly on the back. He spit out a morsel of food.
And I knew what to mansion: a scene from Toads and Diamonds. The tale had no dogs or thieves and not much of a betrothal, so it was little like the present circumstance, but I knew it well enough to perform unrehearsed.
I was still frightened. How mad to debut before a king! And Master Sulow would probably be watching, too. My hands were so slick with sweat, I feared I would drop a pitcher or wine bottle. Yet my feet were numb with cold.
Two boys and a girl of my approximate age began to set up scenery against the wall beyond the end of the long table. They put out a tidy lady’s chair, an enormous chair, four pillows.
I deduced the three were Master Sulow’s new apprentices. They seemed unremarkable—no flourishes as they set the pillows on the chairs and brought in three large wooden pots planted with rosebushes. Not so much as a glance at the audience. If they were portraying Little Masters Humdrum and Little Mistress Humdrum, they could hardly have done better.
But maybe Master Sulow had instructed them to mansion these vacant characters. The true selves of the apprentices might be much different; they could be mansioning prodigies.
Perhaps they would gladly change places with me if they knew—charged with protecting an ogre, deducing and inducing for a dragon, soon to mansion for an entire court.
The roses they’d brought out could mean only Beauty and the Beast. The minstrel had sung about a giant; the mansioners were going to enact the story of a monstrous beast.
What would happen if Count Jonty Um’s forbearance snapped?
Nesspa lifted a paw onto his master’s knee. I knew what the gesture meant, and so did His Lordship, who stood. If he left, I would have to accompany him.
“Jonty Um, don’t go. Can’t you send someone? Ehlodie?” The princess turned my way. “You don’t mind?”
His Lordship looked at me uncertainly.
I couldn’t go. My masteress said I mustn’t let him out of my sight. Yet how could I refuse?
“La! I forgot! Ehlodie is going to entertain us, but you mustn’t leave either, Jonty Um. Your guests will be offended, and you want to see Ehlodie.”
Sir Misyur beckoned a manservant, who hurried to the dais. Thank you, Princess!
Count Jonty Um mussed the fur on Nesspa’s head and told the servant, “Don’t let his chain go.” He bent over and put his face close to Nesspa’s. “Come back to me.”
Tail wagging, Nesspa accompanied the servant out of the hall. Other servants took away empty dishes and platters.
Sir Misyur nodded to me.
I am a mansioner, I thought. Toads and Diamonds. Two sisters, one cruel and ugly, one kind and pretty. I am one. I am the other.
I left the dais and stood in front of Master Sulow’s scenery. Be with me, Albin, I prayed. Let His Lordship not regret his kindness.
On shaky legs I curtsied first to the king and then to everyone else. Forgetting to keep the count in sight, I turned my back. Ah. A rose would help me begin. I placed myself so everyone could see me snap one off and pop it in my mouth. Pui! It tasted bitter. I faced forward.
Princess Renn understood instantly and ruined the surprise for everyone else. “Look, Jonty Um! The flower will fall out when she speaks.”
But His Lordship’s eyes were on the door Nesspa had left by.
Portraying the kind, pretty sister, I fluttered my eyelashes. In a honeyed voice I said, “Dear . . .” I made an O with my mouth, revealing the rose on my tongue.
Light laughter rippled through the hall. I removed the rose, dug a shallow hole in the floor, and planted it, as if the flower, though lacking roots and most of its stem, might grow again.
The laughter deepened. As I stood, I checked His Lordship, who still gazed at the door. Master Thiel laughed. Goodwife Celeste nodded and laughed.
I leaped sideways, turned my cap backward, and screwed my face into a grimace, transforming myself into the selfish sister. My mouth opened as wide as it could. I imagined a Lahnt moonsnake slithering out. Although I tried to say sister, my mouth couldn’t close for the s or t. “Ih—” I placed my hands to catch the snake.
The king shouted, “Ha! She’s funny.”
The laughter rose again. Then it trailed off, and the room fell silent.
A cat hissed. A dog barked. My eyes followed the bark to one of the fireplace dogs, who barked again, without rising from where it sat. I turned to the dais. Nesspa had not returned, and led by Pardine, every cat in the hall was stalking the ogre.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Shoo, cats!” Princess Renn cried.
Master Thiel shouted, “Pardine! Come to me!”
Yelling and waving my arms, I ran at the cats, but they ignored me. I scooped up two. One squirmed free. The one I still hel
d spit and tried to scratch.
His Lordship hugged himself, as if he were cold, or for protection. His face looked mottled again. His nostrils flared, and his eyes widened pleadingly.
The guests and servants were motionless, too shocked or fascinated to move.
The count’s arms went up. I’d seen this before. His mouth opened wide, and he began to tremble.
Princess Renn shrieked. Pardine leaped onto the table and crouched, poised to pounce.
I rushed to the dais, tripping over a table leg and hurtling on. When I reached the ogre, I threw the cat I held to Sir Misyur. My arms grasped the ogre’s quaking body but couldn’t hang on. He was too big and shaking too hard.
“Stop, cats!” I shouted. “Stop, Your Lordship! Stop! Stop!”
The count’s features coarsened. His hair grew and thickened. He bent over at the waist as his torso lengthened.
I backed away. Everyone did. I heard screams.
His shoulders broadened, first straining his tunic, then bursting it. I smelled musk. His gold chain snapped with a ping. The pendant thudded onto the floor.
The cats froze. Pardine yowled from his place on the table.
His Lordship’s front legs—no longer arms!—overturned the tabletop. Bowls and glasses slid off and smashed when the wood came down on them. Guests on the dais jumped off. I jumped, too. The princess held her father’s hand and pulled him away.
He shouted, “There’s peacock left. Ogre, eat peacock!”
We all scattered to the walls, leaving a throng of cats motionless on the floor or on the tables below the dais. The dogs at the fireplaces kept their places, appearing unworried.
The lion snarled.
Nothing remained of His Lordship but the flush—the lion’s cheek fur blushed a faint pink.
No one stirred, every one of us likely thinking the same question: If I run, will he chase?
I watched his eyes—polished black stones with nothing of the count in their gaze. He padded gracefully to the dais’s edge and roared.
The sound echoed off the walls, grew, echoed, reverberated, until I thought the castle would tumble down. My eyes dropped from the lion’s eyes to his fangs and back up to the eyes. The fangs were not to be looked at!
He blinked, and when he opened his eyes again, I saw awareness in them. He choked off the roar, shook his head as if to clear it, and vibrated again.
But he didn’t return to himself. He shrank.
I ran to him again and grabbed the loose skin on his back, but it melted away in my hands.
Pardine took both of us into his gaze. I felt the cat’s longing: Become a mouse. Become a mouse.
“Don’t become a mouse!” I yelled as he continued to diminish. “Not a mouse! Bigger!”
Moments passed. He shrank more. And more.
On the floor, a brown mouse trembled next to the pendant. His whiskers twitched once. Then he streaked toward the kitchen, pursued by cats. People followed, Princess Renn and I in the lead.
I ran faster than she did, but the cats outstripped me. Crashes came from the kitchen. I entered in time to see Master Jak snatch a cat while the tail of the last chasing cat exited to the inner ward.
Count Jonty Um, let me reach you! I bounded across the kitchen. Don’t be eaten!
“Wait for me!” Princess Renn cried.
I burst outside. In the inner ward, all was serene under the night sky.
“La! Alack! Oh, la!” the princess wailed. “He’s gone!” She sank to the ground.
I crouched, facing her in the dim light, and blinked back tears.
“They’ll eat him, my tall Jonty Um.”
“No. We’ll find him.” But I imagined a cat’s bloody teeth, His Lordship’s anguish, the mouse’s little kicking legs. I shuddered and repeated, “We’ll find him.”
“Alack! Alack!” She wrapped her arms around her knees and rocked.
Master Thiel dashed out of the kitchen. He rushed to us and pulled me up. “It may not be too late.”
The princess stood, too. “Go to the barracks, Ehlodie. I’ll try the gatehouse.”
Why the barracks? But I ran there anyway.
In the dark I saw the shapes of trestle beds mounded with their occupants’ belongings. No movement. I left quickly and descended the stairs to the stables, a better destination. If the mouse led the cats here, they might startle a dozen ordinary mice and satisfy themselves.
A groom approached me. “What is it, young mistress?”
“Did His Lordship as a mouse . . . Did a multitude of cats . . .” They couldn’t have. The scene was too peaceful. A stableboy with a mucking shovel entered a nearby stall. Another carrying a pail moved away from me down the line of stalls.
“No one’s come in.” The groom’s voice tightened. “He became a mouse?”
Master Dess stepped out of a horse stall.
“Master Dess!” He could do anything with animals. I blurted out what had happened.
He hunched down. “Honey, honey,” he sang close to the floor. “Come to Dess, honey.” Still bent over, he hurried toward the doors to the outer ward.
I returned to the inner ward, now crowded with guests and servants. Sir Misyur, holding Nesspa, was dividing the servants into groups to search the castle. Master Thiel joined the group on its way to the cellar under the kitchen. Other guests called their cats, but he didn’t call Pardine.
Two cats came, both ambling out of the kitchen with a well-fed air. My stomach churned.
The princess descended the steps from the battlements. Maybe she thought His Lordship would go where Nesspa had been found, but I doubted a mouse could manage the stairs on its short legs.
Silly as she often was, she seemed a tragic figure now, taking each step slowly, dejectedly, one hand on the curtain stones to balance herself.
Sir Misyur patted Nesspa’s head and let go of his chain. “Perhaps the dog will lead us to his master.”
But Nesspa just curled up at the steward’s feet.
Some thought dogs clairvoyant. If his master were no more, mightn’t he be howling?
An early star flickered in the eastern sky. Soon I would have to meet my masteress and confess my failure. Sir Misyur told me and two servants with oil lamps to search the barracks, so I returned there. We peered under every bed and poked every pile of belongings while my ears strained for a cry of discovery outside.
We left the barracks as the castle bells rang nine. A black shape winged ITs way toward the castle.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Oh, how I wished I didn’t have to meet my masteress. I started through the postern passage to the outer ward but had to stop in the middle, overwhelmed by a flood of tears. His Lordship had shown himself to be good, only good. If alive, he was suffering. If dead . . . I didn’t want to think about it. And if he was gone forever, so was the monkey. That merriment, gone.
I should never have let Count Jonty Um and his dog be separated. Nesspa would have stopped the cats. I continued through the tunnel, sniffling as I went. Outside, I hurried to the back of the castle where Masteress Meenore and I had met before, but IT wasn’t there.
I heard shouts. A plume of purple smoke rose above the battlements. I ran.
There was my masteress, ITs legs set squarely, ITs wings spread on the ground, blocking the passage that led between the outer gatehouses to the drawbridge. I wound my way among guests waiting to climb into carts.
Flames played around ITs lips. “Someone will answer for His Lordship’s misfortune.”
How did IT know?
“You will all oblige me by remaining to answer my questions.”
Sounding not at all frightened, a man said, “Ask us in Two Castles tomorrow, Meenore. I want my bed.”
IT didn’t budge.
“I will not buy a skewer ever again if you don’t let me go.” The voice belonged to one of the men on line on my first day.
IT swallowed ITs flame.
A chorus of protests ensued. My masteress would lose the cust
om of all of Two Castles if IT didn’t let people leave.
ITs smoke blued. IT gave in and rose into the air.
I raced back to where I’d expected IT to land.
Behind me, IT trumpeted, “Tomorrow I will come to each of you. You will not escape me.”
Circle overhead, I thought. Give me a few minutes. I didn’t want IT to know I’d witnessed ITs humiliation.
I wondered why anyone would tell IT the truth now or tomorrow. The guests were probably hoping for an end to His Lordship, even if they’d played no part in bringing his end about.
But any of them might have done it. A simple gesture would have been enough. Goodwife Celeste had shown me on the cog how to start a cat stalking. She herself might have given the signal.
I reached the back of the castle and stood panting.
My masteress landed in a cloud of blue smoke. “We are both disgraced, Lodie. I saw you at the drawbridge.”
“Masteress, how did you know His Lordship is gone?”
“You just said so.” Enh enh enh. “Tell me all.”
Standing close to ITs warmth, I related everything I could remember. IT questioned me again and again about who said what and where and when and with what expression, what tone of voice, what gestures. Such a misery it was to recite the tale over and over and never be able to change the ending.
As I spoke, weariness struck. I sat on the grass, certain that if I kept standing, my knees would buckle.
“Stand, Lodie. I need you alert.”
I struggled up.
“Hold my wing.”
I reached out gingerly, afraid of being burned, but the wing was no hotter than cozy, and it was bracing. My tiredness fell away.
“How many guests brought cats?”
“At least eighteen.”
“At least?”
“Definitely eighteen.” Or more.
“What were their names?”
“The cats?”
“Don’t be foolish. The guests’ names, the ones with the cats.”
A Tale of Two Castles Page 13
