After two long years of wandering the country, they had come to Midd, the capital city of Meridiana. Wildfire had, as a general rule, steered them clear of any larger settlements, but as the tales of Sir Goldmayne circulated more widely, the places to hide became fewer and fewer. Duncan had seen his fair share of skirmishes since escaping to this country, but more often than not he spent his time as the simple-minded Scurvyhead, a youth who traveled from place to place looking for work. Scurvyhead never stayed anywhere for long, as longevity invited exposure of his secret, the golden mane of hair hidden beneath his awful wig.
In two years’ time, they had failed to discover anyone who could reverse either Wildfire’s enchantment or the enchantment on the goldwater, and Duncan was starting to think that the fairy back at Otis’s smithy had been telling the truth. Wildfire already believed it; he had quit even mentioning their search for someone to lift his curse, though they still went through the motions of looking.
Duncan had plowed fields for two springs, had harvested grain for two falls and had pulled turnips from the frozen ground for two winters, but the summertime was the real problem. Farmers didn’t need extra help in the summertime, when the crops were all busy growing. Duncan had spent his first summer with Otis at the smithy, and his second roaming the woods in the west and south of the country. Now, as the weather began to warm once again, he needed a new place to hide.
It had only been a matter of time before he and Wildfire ended up in one of the big cities. He just hadn’t expected it to be quite this big.
“What sort of a job am I supposed to get here?” he asked. “They don’t need farmhands in towns, do they?”
Wildfire snorted. “You don’t actually need a job, you know. With that head of yours we have plenty enough to live on.”
It was certainly true. They had made a brief visit to Otis’s smithy on their way here. The blacksmith had sheared Duncan’s head yet again, and had given him a generous cut of its value to pay for his living expenses.
Still, “I need something to do,” Duncan said. “I hate being bored.”
Wildfire might have answered, but they came upon a large cluster of people and he decided that a talking horse was a spectacle that no one needed that day.
Duncan could see no obvious reason for the gathering crowd, but they effectively blocked the road. He tapped on someone’s shoulder. “Excuse me,” he said apologetically, “but what’s everyone standing around here for?”
The man turned, mouth open to reply, but he took one look at Duncan and swallowed his words. His eyes flitted dubiously over the youth and lingered especially on the old-fashioned sheepskin wig atop his head. “You’re not from Midd, are you?” he concluded skeptically.
“Just arrived this morning,” said Duncan, and he thrust out his hand jovially. “People call me Scurvyhead, on account of—well, it’s fairly obvious, isn’t it?”
The man realized that Duncan was no threat. He smiled permissively, as one might smile at an amusing child, and shook his hand. “The name’s John Bowman, and that’s what people call me. What brings you to Midd, Scurvyhead?”
“My horse brought me,” said Duncan, feigning the halfwit even though it really had been Wildfire’s decision. “I guess we’ve come to seek our fortunes here. There’s no extra work to be had out in the fields right now, you know.”
John Bowman eyed him as though not quite sure what to make of him. “No, there wouldn’t be right now, would there?” He started to say something more, but a sudden murmur arose among the gathering crowd. Fingers pointed upward to a high wall at the end of the street just ahead. A soldier had emerged from an arched door and stationed himself midway along the top wall.
“What’s going on here?” Duncan asked again.
“It’s almost time for the royal lessons,” John Bowman replied. Upon seeing Duncan’s confused expression, he elaborated. “The three princesses have their lessons in the north tower on certain days,” he said, and he pointed up to the top of the wall where the soldier stood. “They have to cross that parapet to get there. People gather here to catch a glimpse of them as they pass.”
Duncan had never paid attention to politics in his former country, and he certainly didn’t have that luxury here. Thus, he failed to see the significance of this event. His indifference showed plain on his face, too. John Bowman looked affronted.
“You do know about the three princesses of Meridiana, don’t you?”
He knew that there were three princesses, but he hadn’t caught much more information than that. Wildfire never discussed the subject at all. “Not really,” he admitted.
“Then you’re in for a treat,” the man said proudly.
“Shall we stay?” Duncan asked Wildfire under his breath. The horse gave no response. “I said—” he began, a little louder this time, only to be shushed by the creature. Wildfire’s attention was fixed on the parapet above, his muscles tense and a strange, somber expression in his eyes.
A second soldier emerged and took up his position a few paces from the first. The crowd was getting restive. A hush fell over them, but it was charged with eager anticipation.
Suddenly, a cry went up as a figure emerged from one tower and began the long walk to the next. The crowd cheered and hollered. Some waved their hands, and others waved handkerchiefs. The young woman steadily crossed in front of them; she paused only once, briefly, to acknowledge them with a nod of her head. She had straight, black hair and well-formed features, but not even a hint of a smile touched her lips.
“She’s beautiful,” Duncan said with the interest of a casual observer. Even with such a somber expression, the girl’s beauty could not be denied.
“That’s Princess Margaret, the eldest,” said John Bowman helpfully, his voice barely audible above the cheers of the crowd. “She’s the future queen of Meridiana.”
“She’d be even prettier if she smiled,” said Duncan critically.
The man took no offense. Instead he merely shrugged. “Princess Margaret never smiles, but at least she never scowls either.”
The crowd’s applause had weakened slightly, but it immediately picked up as a second figure emerged from the same archway as the first.
“That’s Princess Alberta, the second daughter,” John Bowman said, and he clapped his hands only half-heartedly. “Now she scowls.” Sure enough, the second princess shot the crowd a dirty look as she hurried to catch up to her sister. “Downright scary, she is,” he continued to narrate, “though she’s pretty enough to look at if you’re not in her crosshairs.”
Princess Alberta was pretty, scowl notwithstanding. Her brown hair tumbled in curls over her shoulders, and her features were elegant despite her severe expression. Margaret had slowed her gait, and as Alberta caught up to her, the two linked arms and continued onward. The younger sister leaned over to whisper something as they walked.
“Probably some snide comment,” John Bowman muttered to Duncan, as though afraid of someone else overhearing him. “Princess Alberta has the sourest disposition you’ll ever come across—everyone knows as much.”
If everyone really did know as much, Duncan wondered that the man would attempt to keep his voice so low. That seemed to convey more about Princess Alberta’s true nature than the words he spoke.
The crowd’s cheers had ebbed, but the intent atmosphere around them had not diminished. Instead, it seemed to build as they waited for the advent of the final princess.
She appeared through the archway, and the crowd exploded in a deafening roar, almost frenzied in their cheers. John had to yell to make himself heard over the noise.
“That’s Princess Bellinda! She’s the youngest of the three, and everyone’s favorite!”
It wasn’t hard to see why. If the two elder princesses were pretty, Bellinda was stunning: large eyes, porcelain skin, and hair in golden curls all made her look like an angel in the flesh. She turned to her loyal subjects with a dazzling smile and waved to them as she crossed the parapet. In contrast
to her sisters’ cool unresponsiveness, Bellinda was gracious and captivating.
Duncan caught his breath as she passed, and his heart fluttered strangely. She really was beautiful, all poise and amiable charm. Just the mere sight of her stirred within him an odd sort of happiness that such an enchanting creature could even exist. He suddenly understood why people gathered in the street here to catch a glimpse of her.
His gaze shifted to her two sisters just in time to see Princess Alberta roll her eyes heavenward and pass into the second tower on Margaret’s arm. Duncan frowned. There seemed to be no love lost between the two elder girls and the youngest.
The crowd continued to cheer for Bellinda, who had paused to wave and blow kisses at them. She had a wonderful smile, one that could probably bring a man to his knees if used properly. Her every move was graceful and lovely.
Her interaction with the crowd was interrupted when Princess Alberta suddenly reappeared and dragged her along into the second tower. Bellinda somehow managed to maintain her poise despite the rough handling. She blew one final kiss to the crowd as she moved out of sight.
“Count on Princess Alberta to spoil the moment,” John Bowman said grumpily.
A cluster of three women nearby overheard this remark. “You’re not kidding,” one of them replied. “They say she’s been on a rampage the last couple of weeks, more so than usual, and poor, sweet Bellinda gets the brunt of her bad moods.”
“It comes from being the second-born,” said another with a knowing nod. “She’s not the heir, and she’s not the baby everyone adores. She can’t claim to be the prettiest or the most poised, so she acts out. I’ve seen it before. I pity the man she marries.”
“She’s not marrying anyone until after Princess Margaret does,” John Bowman responded, though he did not argue with the woman’s assessment.
“I’m starting to wonder if Margaret ever will marry,” the woman remarked.
“Not if Alberta has her say, she won’t,” piped up the third in the cluster, darkly. “I’ve heard she’s been cursing all the suitors with black magic. If she can prevent Margaret from marrying, she can secure the throne for herself.”
Her friends were scandalized by such a blunt statement. “Oh, Mary!” cried one reproachfully. “You’re still bitter about that business with your nephew last year.”
“He deserved it,” said John Bowman, and all three women glared at him. “He did,” he repeated defensively, and he turned to Duncan for support.
“What business was that?” Duncan asked naively. He didn’t often get the chance to participate in local gossip circles, and he certainly couldn’t be expected to know the tales of a city he’d never before visited.
The three women eyed him suspiciously and decided to move on their way, with the rest of the dispersing crowd. Duncan didn’t mind in the least.
“I’ll tell you the story,” said John Bowman, and he took Duncan’s arm to lead him further up the street, toward the castle. “A little background first, though: Princess Margaret had her heart broken years ago, when the man she loved jilted her. She was always a sober child, but this seriousness of hers really stems from that incident. Her father did her a very nice service by letting her mourn for a period of two full years—twice what anyone else in the same situation could’ve expected. After that, the suitors started arriving at the castle: princes and noblemen and knights. There was a regular parade of them, but Margaret couldn’t get past the pain of her first love, or so we were told, so she rejected them one by one.
“I say that she rejected them,” he added, “but there’s a good chance that they rejected her as well. It can’t be easy to woo a girl who’s so very solemn all the time. Anyway, after parading every eligible suitor in the land up to the castle over the course of two years, the end result was an unmarried princess who never so much as cracked a smile. Her father decided to take drastic measures and declared that any man in the kingdom who could make her laugh could have her to wife, and the kingdom as his reward.”
“All he had to do was make her laugh?” Duncan asked dubiously. “That doesn’t seem like a very good way to choose the next king.”
John Bowman’s eyes rolled heavenward. “You’ve sense enough to know that, it seems. It wasn’t a good method, as you say. Every jester and fool in the kingdom showed up to march past the window where Princess Margaret sat day after day. She stayed as somber-faced as if she’d been carved from stone. After a month or so, one of the local boys, Tommy Taper, thought up a way to get her to smile, though. He paid a witch across the pond to enchant a goose so that he could say a phrase and whoever was touching it or him would be stuck fast.
“With goose in hand, he paraded through town and collected a motley crew of people hanging on behind him, hopping, jumping, cursing up a storm. Every time someone tried to help the victims, they added to the group.”
He rubbed one hand absently, which prompted Duncan to ask, “Were you one of them?”
The man favored him with a rueful look. “Yes,” he said tersely. “The whole city was in an uproar as he dragged us all behind him toward the window where Princess Margaret would sit every day. There’s no way she wouldn’t have laughed too, so absurd a spectacle we made.”
“What happened, then?” Duncan asked. They had reached the end of the street, with the wall high above them.
John Bowman pointed solemnly upward. “Just as Tommy was turning into the courtyard, Princess Alberta appeared at that corner of the wall, snatched a crossbow from the soldier stationed there, and shot the magic goose through the heart. She killed it in an instant. The enchantment broke then, of course, and instead of a princess and a kingdom, Tommy Taper got a well-deserved beating from us folks he’d humiliated.”
Duncan stared. “She just killed it, without a second thought?”
“Heartless, that one is, though I must admit I’m grateful to her for that particular incident. The castle paid Tommy for the goose and the cost of the enchantment, and King Edwin discontinued his little contest right then and there. We still get suitors coming to town from time to time, but they’re not nearly as aggressive as before. There was one up last week, in fact, a duke from the south of the country, but he went away again in a hurry only a few days after he arrived. Strange business happens beyond these walls, Scurvyhead.”
Duncan’s brows arched, but he said nothing. The happenings of the castle were none of his concern, aside from the brief distraction they gave him from his boredom. What he really needed was a job, and he thought that John Bowman might be able to steer him in the right direction. Before he could ask, a voice hailed the man from behind.
“John Bowman, is that you?”
John Bowman and Duncan both turned to view the newcomer, a boy of about thirteen.
“My mom told me to find you and pay you for the job last week,” said the boy, and he held up a small bag of coins. His eyes strayed to Duncan and the hideous sheepskin wig. “Who’s he?” he bluntly asked.
“Newcomer in town, Jimmy,” said John Bowman as he took the payment. “Folks call him Scurvyhead.”
“That’s a funny name,” said the boy. “You really got scurvy?”
“Something like that,” Duncan replied. “My scalp’s unsightly.”
“Must be, if you go around in that wig.”
“I was just telling Scurvyhead about the castle-goings,” John Bowman interjected. “Jimmy works as an under-gardener,” he added for Duncan’s benefit. “There was a suitor up for Princess Margaret last week, wasn’t there, Jimmy?”
The boy burst out laughing. “The pompous duke! He broke out in a rash all over his body on the second day and left in humiliation. The curse strikes again!”
John Bowman clicked his tongue in disapproval. “There’s not really a curse. You know that.”
“How else is it that every suitor undergoes some sort of calamity, then?” Jimmy fired back at him.
“Not every suitor,” the older man protested.
“No,” the
boy agreed. “The ones who don’t have something terrible happen to them all fall in love with Princess Bellinda and have to leave the castle heartbroken. Princess Margaret’s cursed never to marry, and most of the castle staff figures Princess Alberta’s the one to blame. She’s been on a tirade lately,” he added with a frightened little shudder.
“So we’ve heard.”
“She sacked one of our under-gardeners yesterday for no good reason,” Jimmy continued. “Ran the poor fellow out with threats that if he ever so much as showed his face at the castle again she’d have him strung up from the main tower.”
“He must’ve done something to deserve such treatment.”
Jimmy shrugged. “He’d stop his work to watch Princess Bellinda go by, but half the men on staff do that. No, she was just in one of her foul moods and took it out on him, the poor fool. That leaves us one man short.”
“There’s a job for you,” said John Bowman to Duncan. “Do you know how to garden?”
“I know some,” Duncan replied, and he thought uncomfortably on his days as caretaker to Dame Groach’s poisonous, overgrown flowerbeds.
Jimmy eyed him skeptically. “You’ve worked with plants?”
“I grew up on a farm,” Duncan replied.
“Ah,” said the boy with dawning comprehension. “A bumpkin. Come along then. I’ll take you to Gardener myself. We’ve all had to pick up the extra slack since Gilly got the sack.”
Duncan looked to John Bowman questioningly. “Go on,” the man urged. “You’ll have no finer fortunes than working for the castle, if you can survive the crazy people that live there.”
His eyes then shifted to Wildfire for approval. To his astonishment, the white horse mutely nodded for him to follow the boy.
“Right,” said Duncan politely. “It was nice to meet you, John Bowman.”
Goldmayne: A Fairy Tale Page 12
