The white horse turned for a second pass, but there was no need. King Edwin’s guard had followed behind to engage in battle as well. The band of ruffians was already in disarray from Sir Goldmayne’s attack, and it broke apart at this new threat, each man for himself.
One man braver than the rest charged toward the white knight. Wildfire broke into a run and Duncan swept his enemy from his saddle with the halberd. The pair came to a stop very near the original skirmish.
King Edwin’s soldiers were in the process of arresting the rogues who had not fled in time. The king himself had his eyes fixed upon Duncan.
“Good Sir Knight!” he called, and he waved him over. “A word, if you please!”
“Hold on,” Wildfire muttered. He reared heroically, and Duncan raised one hand in farewell. Then, they bolted away across the countryside with blatant disregard to the shouts for them to stop. Two of the soldiers tried to follow, but Wildfire lost them as easily as he had lost all of the brigands before.
They took a circuitous route back to the ruined abbey, careful that they were not followed. The sun was setting as Duncan stripped the heavy armor from his person and replaced his sheepskin wig atop his head. A few words from Wildfire turned the pile of armor back to its steely grayness. The horse, too, shifted again to his usual appearance.
“That was quite exhilarating,” he remarked.
“I’m glad you enjoyed it,” said Duncan dryly.
Wildfire tossed his head. “Oh, do cheer up. At least you got a new halberd out of it. We both know how much you prefer long weapons over short swords.”
“This halberd can’t fit in the hollow under the tree,” Duncan replied. “What am I supposed to do with it?”
Wildfire always had an answer for everything. “Wrap the blade tight and hide it in the abbey ruins. There are some rooms still intact, and no one ever comes here.”
“You think no one ever comes here,” Duncan muttered. Just because no one ever appeared while they were there didn’t mean the place was as deserted as the horse assumed.
“Tie it up in the tree, then, or carry it back to the stables. You can claim you found it lying on the road.”
He was reluctant to give the halberd back, because they were likely to run against ruffians again while he sojourned in Midd. “I’ll put it in the abbey,” he said, “but if anyone finds it, they’re going to start looking for Sir Goldmayne around here. That would be bad.”
“Disastrous,” the horse agreed cheerfully. “Hide it behind some rubble or something.”
Twilight had descended and shadows swathed the crumbling old building. Duncan navigated his way into its depths as carefully as he could in the thickening darkness, the cloth-wrapped halberd in his hand. He stowed the object at the back of a pitch-black room and stumbled out into the night air again.
“Safe and sound?” Wildfire asked.
“I’ll check it the next time we come back. I couldn’t see anything in there, but there were rocks and blocks all over the place to trip me.”
“Well, now that your mother’s feeling better, we’d better return to the castle, don’t you agree?”
He did. Together they followed the path back to Midd.
They passed through the same back gate in the castle wall and headed toward the stable. It was suppertime for the servants, so the grounds were nearly deserted. He almost jumped out of his skin when a voice spoke to him from a patch of trees.
“Hello, Scurvyhead!”
Duncan wrenched around in surprise to discover, to his dismay, Princess Bellinda. She had been sitting on a bench in the shadows, but she rose and stepped forward now.
“Y-your Highness,” he said, and he nervously ducked his head.
“How’s your mother feeling?” she asked.
“Better,” he lied. “How did you—?”
“How did I know you’d gone to visit her? Bertie sent for you. Gardener told her where you’d gone.”
Duncan’s heart plummeted. Of course Princess Alberta would summon him on the very afternoon he left the castle grounds. “I’m sorry,” he said.
Bellinda waved a careless hand as though to brush away his guilt. “Don’t be. Her business can wait until morning. Did you have any trouble on the road?” She asked the question with such contrived nonchalance that Duncan thought she might suspect something.
“No,” he warily replied. “No trouble. Why do you ask?”
“Father met Sir Goldmayne this afternoon!” she announced with a sudden, eager smile.
Duncan stared, for he knew not how to answer this. It only made sense that King Edwin would tell the afternoon’s tale, but he had not anticipated it coming to him.
Princess Bellinda didn’t seem to mind his silence in the least. She continued, “He says he rode a fine, snow-white steed and was clad entirely in pristine white armor! He mowed through a hundred villains that have been pestering the countryside, and then he disappeared into the east! Isn’t it exciting?”
“Y-yes,” said Duncan uncertainly.
Princess Bellinda recoiled at his lack of enthusiasm. She even looked a little hurt by it. “Aren’t you excited? Sir Goldmayne actually exists! Father saw him with his own eyes, and he’s put out a proclamation to offer him a reward!”
“A reward?” Duncan repeated, and his skeptical brows drew together. “What for?”
“Why, for vanquishing a horde of villains, of course,” said Bellinda in a mystified voice. “Father’s offering Sir Goldmayne a trophy purse of a hundred gold crowns!”
He eyed her dubiously. “If Goldmayne has hair made of pure gold, why would he need any more of the stuff?”
Bellinda frowned at this. “Huh. I hadn’t thought of that. Father probably didn’t think of it either. Anyway, he’s probably just trying to lure Goldmayne out of hiding. He wanted to speak with him this afternoon, but Goldmayne rode off on his horse before Father got the chance. But isn’t it exciting?”
“Yes, certainly,” said Duncan, but his spiritlessness bled through this attempt to appease her.
“It is exciting,” she insisted. “Why aren’t you more excited? You told all those stories about Sir Goldmayne, and you seemed to enjoy yourself then.”
“But they’re only stories,” Duncan reminded her.
Her pretty face screwed up into a look of disgust. “You’re almost as bad as Alberta!” she declared. “She hates fairy tales! I thought you would be excited to hear a new story, so I waited here especially for you to return—”
“It’s just unbelievable,” he interrupted on impulse. “I mean—of course it’s exciting that he really does exist, but my mind can’t quite grasp it. I’m a simple man, you know, and I’m used to simple things. Fantastic things are meant to be in stories, not in real life.”
“He’s real,” Bellinda said firmly. “Father wouldn’t lie.”
“Yes, I believe you. It is very exciting, will be very exciting to hear more stories of Sir Goldmayne and his talking horse—did his horse talk to your father this afternoon, by any chance?”
“Of course not!” cried Bellinda. “The horse only talks in stories.”
Duncan nodded sagely. “Wouldn’t it be nice if he could talk in real life too, though? Maybe he could tell me what my horse is thinking.”
They both turned to look at Wildfire, who observed this conversation with quiet dignity. The white horse snorted and looked away.
“I’d better go put him back in his stall,” said Duncan apologetically. “He’s probably tired after having to carry me to and from Mother’s house in one afternoon.”
“Where does your mother live?” Bellinda asked curiously. “Is it very far?”
“No, not very.” He waved a vague hand back the way he had come. “You’d probably better head back into the castle before anyone notices you’re missing, too,” he added.
She eyed him with growing suspicion. “Are you trying to get rid of me?”
“I would never,” said Duncan innocently. “I’m just a servant.”<
br />
His words seemed to jar Princess Bellinda back into remembrance of her station. “Well,” she said reluctantly, “I thought you would want to know.”
“Thank you,” he told her.
“Good night, then.”
“Good night, your Highness.”
He watched her turn and head back toward the castle. When she was sufficiently far, he oriented himself toward the stables.
“I think she likes you,” said Wildfire as he trailed behind.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Duncan replied with a strange twist in his heart. “She likes stories of Goldmayne. It’s nothing more.”
Wildfire snorted. “Well, that’s for the best, I suppose. Margaret and Alberta stand in the way of Bellinda marrying any time soon.”
“My head full of gold stands in the way of me marrying ever,” said Duncan, “as does your curse. I certainly wouldn’t ensure my own happiness while you still suffer.”
This answer pleased Wildfire, though he tried to hide it with a prosaic sigh. “I suppose so. What a forlorn pair we make, you and I!”
Chapter 16
The following morning, the tale of Sir Goldmayne had spread throughout castle. Duncan heard it three times before breakfast alone, and by the third telling it had grown to ridiculous proportions: Sir Goldmayne had trounced an entire army of Borealian mercenaries and saved a cartful of orphans in the process.
Luckily, the morning ahead was to be a busy one. All the castle servants were making final preparations for the advent of the Earl of Peltingham’s son, who was due to arrive that afternoon. It was generally known that he was coming to curry favor with Princess Margaret, and most of the servants disapproved the match. He would one day hold a title of great influence even if he didn’t marry the princess, though, so they prepared nonetheless.
Amid the flurry of activity, a page boy appeared to issue the expected and much-dreaded summons to Duncan: Princess Alberta wanted him in her rooms immediately. He left behind the hedge he was trimming and obeyed.
To his astonishment, he found her standing at the window, her back to him. She turned and glanced over her shoulder as he entered. “What took you so long?” she scolded.
“Sorry,” he apologized. His gaze darted around the room. In the corner, true to the servants’ rumors of the past week, sat a collection of curiously shaped glass containers on stands—the still they had deplored, currently not in use. He didn’t see any signs of the concoctions she had made, but he supposed that those would be in some cool, dark place, probably under the bed or in the closet.
“You look like you have something on your mind,” Alberta said abruptly, and he realized with embarrassment that she had been observing him.
“No, nothing,” he said quickly.
She scrutinized him. He actually scowled back.
“All right,” she declared after a tense silence. “I’ll give you half a minute.” She looked down to study a tiny clock that was pinned at her waist. Duncan had never noticed it before, but it made sense that she would wear one. She always seemed to have some comment on how late he was or how much time he took to accomplish a task.
“What?” he asked, confused.
“Half a minute,” she said again. “On my mark, you have exactly thirty seconds to say whatever you want, and I promise not to hold it against you.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m bored, and because you so often look like you’re holding back some nasty remark that I’d much rather have said aloud. Ready? Begin.”
He frowned at her, wary of some sort of a trap.
“You’ve wasted five seconds,” she said, her eyes fixed on the tiny clock face. “Ten now… fifteen. Really, Scurvyhead, I don’t give this opportunity to just anyone, so you shouldn’t squander it.”
“Should you be standing?” he blurted. “I thought the doctor gave you three weeks of bed rest.”
“It’s been ten days. I’m fine. And… your time’s up. You do realize that you could have called me any number of abominable names. Don’t you feel like you missed an opportunity?”
He didn’t answer this. She favored him with a thin smile.
“I called you up here because I need you to do something for me,” she said, and she picked up a jar that sat on the window sill. “If you do it, you can consider your debt to me repaid.”
“What is it?” he asked suspiciously.
“Take this.” She proffered the jar, which he stepped forward to receive. “Roderick of Peltingham is to sleep in the second room down the next corridor. They should’ve made his bed by now. I need you to sprinkle some of that powder on his pillow, inside the cover, preferably.”
Duncan’s heart thudded uneasily. “What is it?” he asked.
“Never you mind that.”
“No,” he said, and he thrust the jar back to her.
She looked first at it and then at him in surprise. “Excuse me?”
“I’m not going to sprinkle some unknown substance on a nobleman’s pillow,” he clarified. “This could be anything—poison, ground up glass. I don’t want to hear that someone died or went blind because of something I did.”
“It’s talc,” she said bluntly.
“And?” he prompted. He knew perfectly well that talcum powder could be a vehicle for any number of other agents.
“And lilac,” Alberta replied. “It’s perfectly harmless, I assure you.”
Duncan frowned at the bottle. “Lilac in what form? Didn’t your sister say the Earl of Peltingham’s son was allergic to most pollens?”
Alberta snatched the jar back from him. “Your memory is a bit too good, you know that?” She swept past him to the door; he noticed a limp in her steps as she walked. “Bella!” she called into the hallway. “Bella, come here this instant!”
Princess Bellinda came running. “Bertie, get back on that couch this instant!” she cried in return. Then, she looked past her into the room. “Oh! Hello, Scurvyhead,” she said with a pleasant smile.
“This fool refuses to dust Peltingham’s pillow,” Alberta told her. “I need you to do it.”
“What?” cried Bellinda. “I can’t get caught going into his room any more than you can! Why don’t you just use whoever you used last time?”
“Because I’ve already gotten rid of her,” Alberta said through clenched teeth.
Her sister stared. Slowly, her brows drew together as she pondered this statement. Epiphany struck and manifested in suddenly wide eyes. “You wicked creature!” she exclaimed. “You don’t mean Lizzie?”
Alberta refrained from acknowledging this. “Will you do it, or will I have to?” she asked instead.
“You wicked creature!” Bellinda repeated. “How long were the two of you in league? I had no idea!”
“We weren’t in league. We traded favors. Now, would you like to dust the Honorable Roderick of Peltingham’s pillow with lilac powder, or would you prefer to seduce him?”
Bellinda blanched and snatched the jar from her sister’s hand. “I’d rather kiss a toad than seduce him,” she said, “and you know how I feel about toads!” So saying, she stalked away down the hall, presumably to accomplish her task.
Alberta turned malevolent eyes upon Duncan. “There,” she said. “It gets done anyway, dog. Don’t think I’ll forget your insubordination, either.”
He said nothing still, expecting her to dismiss him.
“How many people did you tell about the items you fetched with my sister last week?” she asked him instead.
“N-none,” said Duncan, startled.
“None, really? You didn’t mention it in the servants’ dorms one night? I hear you all swap stories about me down there.”
“I sleep in a garden shed,” Duncan replied. “I don’t know what the other servants talk about in the evenings.”
She scowled at this piece of information but persisted. “You really told no one?”
If she wanted to blame him for all the rumors flying around the castle, she was barking
up the wrong tree. “My horse is the only other soul that knows what we retrieved that day,” he said. Wildfire wouldn’t have told anyone either, but that didn’t bear saying out loud.
Alberta grunted unhappily. “You’re smarter than you pretend to be,” she remarked. “Mind that you keep the tale of the lilac powder under your wig, too. Roderick of Peltingham always gets terrible hay fever when he visits us at the castle. Everyone knows that. Shall I give you another thirty seconds to express aloud the feelings that just chased across your face?”
He didn’t want to play any more of her games today. “That’s terrible,” he declared.
“I know,” Alberta coldly replied. “Every story needs a villain, Duncan. Don’t you forget it. You’re dismissed.”
She stood rigid as he passed into the hallway and beyond. Something about her words troubled him. He knew he should report directly back to his gardening duties, especially amid all the chaos of the day, but instead he turned his feet toward the stables. There, he poured out the tale of the morning’s events to Wildfire, who listened with uncharacteristic attentiveness.
“I think it’s safe to say that Princess Alberta and Princess Bellinda really are intentionally running off every suitor that comes to woo their sister,” he concluded, “but I haven’t the faintest idea why.”
For fully a minute Wildfire said nothing. His prolonged silence made Duncan check self-consciously over his shoulder for any eavesdroppers, but the stable boys had been apportioned jobs elsewhere, and this corner of the building was deserted.
“Have you thought about asking outright?” the horse quietly inquired.
“She’s not just going to tell me,” Duncan retorted. “I don’t have standing to ask her either—if there’s one thing I’ve learned from working here, it’s that servants are supposed to bow their heads and stay silent.”
“Did she tell you that?”
“Gardener’s drummed it into me, into all the under-gardeners, every morning since I arrived.”
Goldmayne: A Fairy Tale Page 19
