At the foot of the long staircase up to the back kitchens, Juniper said, “The palace is riddled with secret rooms and back passages. It was a hobby of mine growing up to find as many as I could. Pockets, I call them, and they’re pretty much all connected.” She paused while Jess caught up with her sign language interpretation, then went on. “I can get us to the Aerie using them and staying altogether out of sight—but first we have to reach the entry point.”
“Where is that?” asked Tippy.
“The nearest is up these stairs and down the hall. Not too far, but it’s in the pantry—and we’ve got to go through the back kitchen to get there.”
Leena widened her eyes at this.
“What?” asked Oona.
“The kitchens are sure to be all aflutter this time of day. ’Twould be on any old day—we’re coming up near noontime, if I’m not mistaken—but with the Summerfest so soon?” She shook her head.
It was true. Even from this far down, they could hear the rattle of banging pots, clomping feet, and barking voices. How on earth were they going to get to the Pockets without being seen?
“I can cause a distraction,” Egg said, signing a more lengthy explanation to Jess and then marching up the steps.
Of course. Egg didn’t have to remain hidden.
“Come on,” said Jess. “Egg will act quickly, so let’s all be ready to bolt when she does.”
Juniper wished she could call her thanks to Egg for so quickly taking charge, but the girl’s back was already turned as she sped up the cellar stairs. Juniper grabbed Jess’s arm. “What is the sign for ‘thank you’?”
Jess raised her flat hand to her lips and brought it out and slightly down, almost like she was blowing a kiss but without moving her lips. She gave a nod as Juniper copied her, then said, “Come on. There’ll be time for sign lessons later.”
At the top of the stairs, Egg pushed the door and stepped through, leaving it cracked open behind her. The others were already partway up the stairs, and Juniper hurried after them. From the hallway they heard a slip and then a shriek—not Egg’s—and then a clamor of voices and stamping feet heading away down the hall.
The others paused at the door, and Erick peeked around the side of it. He waved a hand vigorously back at them, and they all scurried up the rest of the way. The coast was clear!
Through the corridor they flitted, then into the emptied-out back kitchen. There, a whisk still vibrated slightly in a bowl of fluff; a pot bubbled merrily on the stovetop; an enormous loaf of bread lay half sliced and steaming hot on the countertop. Despite the rush, Juniper couldn’t help reaching out and snatching one of the middle slices from the loaf, then nudging the rest back into shape around it. How she had missed the rich, nutty warmth of fresh-baked bread! Then they were through to the far side of the room, where the kitchen opened into the pantry.
They just had to make it through here and—
“I don’t know what to do with that girl,” came Cook’s blustering voice from the hall—just up ahead and moving fast in their direction. “She goes about all quiet and innocent-like, but I could swear there’s more to her than . . .”
Juniper looked wildly around. The six of them had made it into the walk-through pantry, and Juniper could see the trapdoor grate that led to the nearest Pocket—a small holding room behind the kitchen walls.
But they had no time.
Dashing to the edge of the room, she whipped open the grate and pushed Tippy inside. Jess followed close behind, then Oona, then Erick. Leena was nowhere to be seen, and Juniper spent a frantic second scanning the room, unable to call out under the rapidly approaching footsteps, until she saw that Leena had ducked behind a bag of flour nearly as large as she was. This was clearly a room the girl knew well.
Juniper turned back to the grate, only to nearly jump out of her skin at a voice just around the corner.
“Melody!” Cook bellowed. “Get you in here sharpish!”
In the last half second before Cook rounded the doorway, Juniper flattened herself against the far wall covering the grate, pulling her snow-white cloak tight around her and yanking the hood low over her face. Then she held her breath and made herself perfectly immobile in the gloomy half-light.
Cook blew through the pantry, still yelling for her helper. Without so much as a glance around, she vanished into the kitchen.
Juniper let her breath out in a whoosh. She knew that Cook had just been distracted—why should she be on the alert for stray princesses in her pantry, after all? But a small, secret part of Juniper couldn’t help remembering what Mother Odessa had said when she’d given the cloak as a parting gift. It had been Juniper’s mother’s cloak, and when she’d worn it, Odessa had said, she’d always felt invincible. Odessa had given Juniper a bright blue stone, too, which she squeezed now in a silent pulse of thanks.
If there was any strength to be drawn from the ghosts of the past, Juniper thought, she was open and ready.
With the pantry empty once again, Juniper and Leena ducked inside the secret trapdoor, reuniting with the rest of the gang in the Pocket behind the kitchen. Their destination—the Aerie—was clear on the other side of the palace, and several stories up to boot. Egg was long gone, presumably on her way there through the regular aboveboard channels. But Juniper knew these Pockets like the back of her hand. She quickly plotted a map in her head and led the others from one dark, narrow space to another. Sometimes they had to turn sideways to fit through cramped cubbies and around tight turns. A few times they had to get down on all fours and crawl.
Partway along, the gasps and wheezes from behind Juniper—not to mention her own constricting chest—made her wave her hand in the universal gesture for Let’s take a break, all! She knew they were up on the living quarters floor, which should be mostly empty, but she didn’t want to risk speaking aloud. With a finger to her lips in the half-light, Juniper crept toward the wall of their narrow hiding spot. There was a peephole at about shoulder height. Through the tiny gap she could see one of the palace’s dozens of guest rooms, impeccably made-up but clearly unoccupied, with dust covers draping all the visible furniture.
Good. They could talk without fear of being overheard.
“We need to split up for a bit,” said Juniper in a low voice, leaning in close to the others. “You can easily reach the Aerie by following this wall-ladder up, then just scooting along that passage to its end. When in doubt, go higher. But I’ve got a stop I want to make first. Erick—will you come with me?”
Erick gladly agreed, while the others seemed content to head for the Aerie. Only Tippy looked torn between staying with Juniper and wanting to try out her climbing skills on the metal prongs arranged into a makeshift ladder leading straight up the wall. The wall-stair won, as Juniper had figured it would. She wondered if Tippy, too, was thinking of the Climbing Tree back at the Anju village. For a moment Juniper was distracted by the thought of someday making her very own climbing area, right here on the palace grounds. Why not?
Then she briskly boxed that idea away. There would be time for recreational improvements in future, but that time was not now. Securing the palace was her only goal. Everything else would have to wait.
Juniper and Erick turned right, and the others turned left.
“So where are we heading exactly?” Erick whispered as they scrambled around a corner and pushed farther into the second-floor Pockets.
“We’ll hear all about what’s going on in the palace, just as soon as we can get the full story from Egg. But first there’s someone—” She shook her head. “Someplace I just have to see.”
“Your father?” said Erick. “But how—”
“They’d have him locked up in his rooms, wouldn’t they?” Juniper’s heart was thundering in her chest now. She was surprised Erick couldn’t hear it. “And the Royal Suite has more Pockets than a billiard table. If we can get the lay of the land
in there, we’ll be able to spirit him out in no time.”
8
THE ROYAL SUITE TOOK UP THE WHOLE SOUTH wing of the castle. The best-situated peephole—and the largest—looked out from the main sitting room’s fireplace. Thankfully it was summertime, so the hearth wasn’t in use and they could spy in safety.
This room was the largest in the Royal Suite. It was crammed with bookshelves, balconies, comfortable seating nooks, and even a large harpsichord. The ceiling arched high overhead in a flare of brightly painted frescoes. It had always been her father’s favorite place to relax, and the nearer they got, the more Juniper’s mind was flooded with moments they had shared within its walls.
Creeping along in the darkness now, a world and more away from that one, Juniper pressed her palms hard into the walls as she passed them. Keep it steady, she told herself. One foot in front of the other. Sneak and stealth are what will win this fight.
As they approached the suite, Juniper could hear the sound of raised voices echoing through the Pockets. Her pulse skyrocketed, but the next moment, it plummeted to the depths. This was not the authoritative rumble of her father’s voice. Nor was it the deferential murmur of guards on duty.
One voice was sharp, strident, and female. The other voice was familiar as an old toothache: It belonged to Cyril.
Of course it did.
“—long has he been like this?” Cyril’s voice was tight with anger.
The eyehole was set low on the wall—barely thigh-high—and Juniper had to crouch on the dusty floorboards to reach it. She scooted over to make room for Erick next to her. Looking through the long, narrow slit, Juniper could see Cyril’s legs and tall, pointy-toed boots (polished to a glossy sheen, obviously), set wide apart on the carpet. He stood directly in front of her father’s favorite stuffed armchair. Someone was sitting there—someone who was not King Regis. But who was it? All Juniper could see was a waterfall of silk skirts pooling across the floor.
“Cyril. Dear boy.” The woman’s voice was all honeysome now, the kind of overwrought ooze that made Juniper shudder on Cyril’s behalf—and she didn’t even like him anymore. Who was this creep occupying her father’s chair and outvillaining their number one villain? And what had been done with her father? This mission to locate him had been a failure, but now that they were here, she had to stay and find out more.
The woman went on: “Your father just needs time and rest. Your absence on that jaunt of yours has been a blessing, truly. The dear man hasn’t had to worry about a thing.” A powdered white hand stretched languidly out and hung quivering in space for a bare second before a maid scurried over, nearly tripping in her haste. The maid wedged a porcelain teacup into the hollow of the woman’s open hand. Cup was brought leisurely to lips.
Good grief!
“Hasn’t had to worry?” Cyril stormed. “My father is delirious. He’s been sick abed for weeks! It seems to me that we should be worrying about him.”
“I’ve secured the very best care for dearest Rupert after his accident. You know this. The physician has been tending him twice daily, and I myself leap to his every need.” The hand wafted out again. The maid darted over with a faint gasp and caught the teacup just as the pale hand opened carelessly to let it go. The skirts rustled as the armchair diva let out a long-suffering sigh. “You do trust me, don’t you, Cyril dear? After all these years together?”
Of course. Details clicked in Juniper’s mind, and she knew who the impostor was. From the quick intake of breath, Juniper knew Erick had just made the same connection. “It’s Cyril’s stepmother,” he mouthed.
Juniper nodded, her mind racing. Malvinia Lefarge was the wife of Rupert, her father’s chief adviser and the man whose betrayal had first let the Monsians breach Torr Castle. Now it sounded like Rupert himself was badly sick and out of action—at least temporarily. This could be good news for their efforts!
But the question still remained: Why was Cyril’s stepmother in the king’s chambers?
Juniper had met Malvinia Lefarge only a few times. She was a rigid, supercilious woman who spent most of her time in her northern mansion, visiting the palace only for parties and grand occasions of state, even though her husband lived here year-round. Yet she now seemed very much settled and at home in the royal chambers.
Alta and Jess had warned them that the Lefarges had taken over the rule of Torr. Apparently, that included taking over the ruler’s living quarters, too.
Back inside the sitting room, Cyril gave a little snort. “You’re changing the subject,” he said.
His stepmother’s voice hardened. “Maybe the subject needs further changing. What have you been up to these many weeks? Your father and I were assured of receiving regular letters and reports of what you learned while away. But I saw no such missives.”
Juniper knew Cyril had intended to spy on her for his father, but it still stung to hear it said aloud. She saw Cyril’s hands clench, but all he said was, “As you might imagine, Stepmother, my means of communication were limited. I have a full report ready to be delivered to my father.” He paused meaningfully. “Just as soon as he is awake and on his feet again.”
Malvinia sighed. “I have no idea what game you’re playing at, Cyril. But surely you have some information you can convey to me in the meanwhile. You see that I’m doing my best to keep things running while your father is indisposed. Tell me you managed at least to notice in what condition you left the former princess. Does she know what has gone on here?”
Now it was Juniper’s turn to ball her hands into fists. Former princess?! Oh, if she could just topple this dividing wall and pop both traitors a roundhouse kick to the jaw! Why, oh, why hadn’t they managed to cow Cyril before he got back to the palace? He might not know their up-to-date plans, but he still knew so much.
Cyril’s response was breezy, and he started pacing the room again. “Ah, you know our flighty little Juniper. She is aware of the transition, in broad strokes, though how much she cares in the long run is hard to say. I shouldn’t be surprised if she moves her puny group to attempt some little skirmish back here, but I should not worry on that overmuch.”
“Hmm,” said Malvinia noncommittally. “Has she plans to return this way, then?”
“Well, the last I heard—”
Suddenly, there was a light creak behind Juniper, then a pair of small hands grabbed her eyes. “Guess who?!” The whispered words in Juniper’s ear were scarcely above a breath, but coming unexpectedly as they did, Juniper toppled headfirst into the peephole, mashing her nose badly and seeing stars for a good few seconds.
“Gadzooks!” came Tippy’s low gasp behind her. The little girl’s yen for mischief was legendary, but this was going too far!
While Juniper struggled to pull herself together, Erick swept Tippy up and dragged her bodily, though stealthily, back down the corridor. Tippy wrung her hands and made small flaps of apology, but Juniper’s full attention was on the other side of that wall. Tippy’s murmur was near inaudible, but Juniper herself had fallen hard. Could they have heard?
Faint with dread, clutching her throbbing nose, Juniper eased back to the peephole. The room had gone silent, the former conversation abandoned.
“Did you hear—” Malvinia began.
Then Cyril said, “Oh, Artie, not again!” He turned toward the doorway that led farther into the suite. His stepmother stood with an exasperated sigh and strode past him across the room, her skirts swishing in her wake. The maid scurried at her heels. A moment later, Juniper could hear a strange sort of—muttering? cooing? what was that sound?—coming from the far chamber.
Alone in the sitting room, Cyril stuck his hands in his pockets. He paced the room, turning in a full circle and then coming to stand directly in front of the fireplace that was her hiding spot. For several long heartbeats, they stood, each one motionless on their own side of the brick façade. Juniper wished the viewing slit
weren’t set so low, that she could see his expression and have some sense of what might be going through his head.
Could he suspect?
Then Cyril let out his breath and kept moving. A few moments later, he followed Malvinia into the far chamber. The door shut behind him with a click.
Knees cramped and aching, Juniper tottered to her feet. She backed slowly down the narrow passageway and made her escape.
9
“THAT WAS TOO CLOSE A CALL,” SAID JUNIPER. Even now, a full half hour later, her fingers trembled faintly. If Malvinia or Cyril had heard—well. The Pockets weren’t exactly a palace secret. They were impractical for the servants to bother with, and too uncomfortable for the average grown-up. Juniper herself had noticed that the ceilings and walls were a lot closer than they’d been a few months ago, and lanky Leena looked like a blackbird squeezing into a wedge of pie. No, they wouldn’t be tripping over any rogue palace staff inside the Pockets.
But if there was ever any sign of intruders, that would be a different story. The Pockets, then, would be the first place searched. Once the hunt began, it would quickly end in discovery, and that would mean imprisonment for the lot of them. Bam! Their mission would be over before it began.
Juniper’s shoulders slumped. Her nose felt bruised and mushy.
Next to her, Tippy hiccupped loudly.
“You’d no cause to come barreling after us like that, Tippy,” said Erick. This was just the tail end of a lecture that had been going on for some time. “You could have banjaxed everything.”
“I’m awfully sorry,” Tippy whispered. Her cheeks were wet, and her collar looked damp and sticky. “I was being ever so stealthy—not a sound nor a word said I! But I couldn’t stay away. It’s just, what if you needed me to save the day? And I never bothered to come?”
Princess Juniper of Torr Page 5
