“Why, Tippy! Who wouldn’t remember you?”
Tippy scoffed. “You say that now, Your Stouthearted Royalty, because we’re of the Queen’s Basin and we traveled together, and also I’m such a sparkling character and all. But out there in the palace? It’s not like that. I’m kitten’s paws out there.”
“What about Cyril, though? He’d know you sure enough.”
“That prig? He won’t come within sixty snoozes of the kitchen. Anyway, I know how to stay out of sight. Not a person will know me for one of your team, I promise it,” Tippy said. “Scrubbing’s the worst of jobs; everybody hates it. They jumped at the chance for an extra pair of hands. I’ll weasel myself into the palace, find a spare set of keys if they are to be found, get as close to the dungeon as I can. I’ll get you all the information there is, Your Majesty, I swear it. I’ll get it for you, and for Elly most of all.”
Before Juniper could decide what she thought of this, Tippy planted a moist kiss on her cheek. Then the newest palace underscrubber stood ramrod straight, pinched her thumb and index finger together at the side of her lips, and twisted as though turning a key in a lock.
“Not a word from my lips till I get us what we need,” Tippy whispered. She spun theatrically in place, half tripping over her tangled skirts, then ducked behind a baseboard and disappeared from sight.
12
THE REST OF THAT DAY PASSED IN A ROUTINE that was growing uncomfortably familiar: busy, yet heavy with the syrupy sense of moving without getting anywhere. Early afternoon found the group scattered across the Aerie floor like a passel of limp dishrags. This whole spying/mayhem-making business was taking more energy than they’d expected. They’d seen a certain amount of success—tensions were high in all areas of the palace—but as for how or even if it was advancing their plan, that was a lot less certain.
Brushing self-doubt aside, Juniper turned to Tippy, whose visible air of spizzerinctum suggested she had news to share. “Tipster?” she asked.
Clapping in delight at being called on first, Tippy leaped to the center of the room (carefully avoiding the trapdoor, though it was shut tight), where she executed an awkward pirouette. When all eyes were on her, Tippy stopped whirling and gave a deep bow. “My fellow Goshawks,” she said gravely. Then she cracked up, slapping her knee and sinking to the floor in unbridled laughter. “Never mind all that. Only I’ve got some premium news, and thought I might take the chance to show off my newest dance move first. Didja like it?”
“What news, you insufferable child?” said Jess.
Tippy shrugged, yawned, and stretched. “Only that I’ve been in to see the king.”
The room erupted. Juniper flew nearly halfway across the room before she got hold of herself. Not for the first time she was very glad of the Aerie’s height and isolation from the rest of the palace, as the tumult rose to the (very high) rafters. Finally Juniper waved her hands, stopping just short of her trademark piercing whistle. That would bring folks running, no doubt!
“Tippy,” she said instead, “be reasonable and stop preening. What do you have to share?”
“’Tis all just a day in the life of an underscrubber,” said Tippy airily, wallowing in the attention. Then she grinned and got serious. “All right, I haven’t quite seen him to his very royal face. Only, I’ve been looking for a way to jailbreak my sister, Elly, right you know it. So this has taken me to a lot of hanging about the entryway to the dungeons, chatting up the guards and such.”
Leena groaned in exasperation. “Have you no sense, you gosling?”
“You said you were to be safely stowed in the kitchen!” said Juniper, aghast.
“My sister is under lock and key!” Tippy exploded. “And a whole wagonload of fathers and mothers and more right along with her. If I’m in a place where I might do something, how could I not? At any rate, most everyone around here has a friend or family member in lockup. It’s the most natural thing in the world for me to be gadding there all curious-like.”
Juniper didn’t know about that, but she nodded for the little girl to continue.
“Anyway, I did it smart-like. The kitchen maids take in big lumpy pots of stew and the like with a heap of pewter plates for the prisoners’ suppers. But they also have a separate covered dish what goes careful-carried in the door each mealtime. For their extra-special prisoner, don’t you know it? Anyway, with all this stuff, they need extra hands, and sometimes I get myself brought along to help lug the flatware.” She shrugged. “Us kitchen gals don’t get inside the dungeon doors, the guards take the stuff from us. But it’s a reason to hang around. So I did. I just kept on asking the guards about Elly and finally . . .” She fluffed her hair. “Finally the main guard told me to get lost and stop causing trouble, or he’d lock me up with her.”
Oona gasped. Juniper felt sick to her stomach.
“Wait, the story’s not over! So I went all a-wail, as you know I can do.” Oh, Juniper knew! “Then the other guard started yelling at the first, and the third trotted over to yell at the both of them, and what in all the ruckus did I do? I grabbed the key and yanked the handle and bipped myself inside.” She waved a hand at the blank faces before her. “Only for an eye’s blink, you understand. They’re ever so brisk and efficient, those guards. But I got away down the staircase afore they nabbed me. I didn’t see which cell Elly was in, for my deepest sadness. But I did see the king, just as clear as day. He’s stuffed in a big, lighted center cell, all the way down the stairs and far inside the main quadrant. He’s just as locked up as you could imagine: bars clear to the roof and surrounded by all the guards in the world.” Her shoulders slumped a bit. “But he’s there and he’s safe. So there you have it. That’s my news.”
This report slammed into Juniper with such mingled hope and desperation that she felt faintly overwhelmed. So much so that she completely tuned out as the conversation carried on around her with equal parts shock and upset and admiration, all of which Tippy lapped up with pride. Finally Juniper shook herself long enough to wag a finger at the girl. “You can’t ever pull another stunt like that, Tipster! Do you know how dangerous that was?”
“I do know,” said Tippy. “Them guards were sore as bees on a bottom! I had to bring out all my weeping tears to pacify them, and even that barely worked. I know ’twas foolish, but—” She clenched her jaw, suddenly looking a good deal older than her age. “But if we’re not here to do what needs doing, then what is the point of us? I won’t take unnecessary risks, Your Very Juniperest, but we’re all here to save the day. And sometimes, the day just won’t save itself without our giving it a good shove.”
This was far too close to Juniper’s own train of thought, so she let the subject drop and turned to the news gathered by the rest of the spy team: a heated argument overheard between Cyril and his stepmother, he accusing her of not spending enough time with his father, and she threatening to bar Cyril from the sickroom if he didn’t pipe down. Lefarge himself had yet to regain consciousness; he didn’t even know his son was back in the palace. And so much the better, Juniper thought firmly. Cyril deserved no sympathy right now, even if she knew how it felt to have a father out of reach.
The news reports carried on: There was a big renovation project going on in the Glassroom (a round growing-room with walls made all of glass, which housed the king’s most rare and prized flowers; the whole chamber was fixed to a fat stone column and could be slid up or down upon the gardeners’ whims). The guests seemed to have all arrived—except the Monsian contingent—but less than half the usual guest suites were filled. Was it happenstance or a deliberate slight to the new impostor queen? And were all these nobles solidly on the Mantis’s side if they came to her shindig? Or could some be pure rubberneckers, here to see which way the dross was blowing? Or, worse, gossipmongers looking for the latest in the sordid saga of Torr Castle?
It was anyone’s guess, and pondering it made Juniper’s head hurt. When t
he telling finally died down and everyone went quiet and looked to her for what came next, all she could think to say was, “We know where my father is. Tippy’s laid eyes on his very spot. That means we need to act. We need to get into that dungeon.”
“But her report makes it clearer than ever. His Majesty is locked up tight,” said Leena.
Erick looked at Egg, who was sitting next to him. He touched her shoulder and pointed to her lap, which was scattered with assorted metallic doodads, then asked, “How is your work going?”
“I am still working,” said Egg. Her hands flashed along with her spoken words, and Juniper noticed her fingers looked dull and dusty gray. Her fingernails were chipped and cracked. What on earth could she be doing?
“Oh, do tell us more,” said Oona. Then she shifted her body into Egg’s line of sight and repeated the words, blushing a bit.
Egg shook her head. “It is going slowly,” she said aloud, apparently unwilling to stop her work long enough to write on her armband. “I need more time.”
“Time?!” Leena yelped, and Jess cut in, speaking her words as she signed them: “We’re running out of time, you know that!”
Egg tilted a stubborn chin at each of them in turn, till she’d come around the circle back to Juniper. “I can do this,” she said. “My device will get us into the dungeon. Now let me be until I am ready.”
With that, she waved an arm to show the subject was closed, and redoubled the speed of her lap-work. Her gaze, though, stayed focused on the conversations around her.
“Ah, er,” said Erick. “Ahem. I have some news of my own as well.”
“You do?” said Juniper.
Erick nodded. “I have something to share. I wasn’t sure it was of much use—it’s a bit of a tangent, you’ll see. But now I see there could be, ah, some connection.”
“Oh, do stop yammering and get to the point,” said Jess.
“Er. So I was in the library earlier today,” Erick said, then quickly added, “I was hidden in the Pockets, truly! . . . All right, I did venture out into the stacks, but only for a moment.” He scooted a pile of books farther behind him. “At any rate, there was a committee meeting being held in a back room: a discussion to do with the entertainment.”
“Team Bobcat!” cheered Tippy.
“My thoughts exactly,” said Erick. “The group was discussing a list of those who were seeking to perform during Summerfest. They didn’t exactly say they needed more performers, for they had a fair number. But some of their comments make me think they aren’t too happy with some of the quality. They could use better talent. In fact, they’re putting out one last open call for new performers, tomorrow afternoon.”
Leena looked doubtful. “If it’s talent they want, I’m not sure that our Bobcats will—”
But Juniper felt excitement jolt through her. “This could be the very ticket! We’d thought to have Team Bobcat gadding about for the crowds, to provide a distraction and escape notice, then creep in the palace some sneaking way. But imagine if they could bring their show into the castle grounds! Officially! Only think of the opportunities.”
“Precisely,” said Erick.
“But the Bobcats don’t know about the open call,” said Oona.
“They don’t know about it yet,” said Juniper. “It looks like we’ll need to plan an excursion to carry out the news.”
Oona perked up at this, and Tippy shot a fist into the air. “Yes! ’Tis the night for us to sneak out and party, innit?”
“Most certainly not to party!” said Leena, shocked.
Around them, tantalizing smells were already wafting through the big, wide-open Aerie windows. Tomorrow was Summerfest Eve, and the Bazaar was packed. Every food stall was now set up and fully steaming, sizzling, and sparking for a chance to help hungry fairgoers celebrate.
But Juniper grinned. “Not party as such. But we have worked awfully hard. We need to meet up with Team Bobcat and get them that info quick as ever we can. Then we’ll nail down the details of our plan along with them and get all our ducks in a row. But”—she shrugged—“once all that’s tended to, if we stumble on a nibble of entertainment as we walk? I shan’t be one to turn aside.”
“Fun and food,” said Tippy. “What with all our cooking for the palace guests and feeding all those prisoners, there’s not nearly enough grub to go around in them kitchens.”
Juniper froze in place. “What did you just say?”
Tippy gave her an odd look. “Huh? What with the cooking for the palace guests and—”
“Never mind,” said Juniper quickly. “Only—you got me thinking about what you said earlier, about the food that goes to the dungeons. That special dish that’s carried in every mealtime. That has to be for the king.”
“Well, sure. But I don’t see—”
“Tippy!” Juniper gasped, jumping up to grasp the little girl by the shoulders. “If I gave you something—a very small something—could you slip it into one of the dishes meant for the king? Bury it in the food all sneaky-like, so no one else sees?”
Tippy wrinkled her brow. “Would it, um, be clean, this something? If it’s going in the king’s food . . .”
Juniper grinned. She pulled Odessa’s blue stone out of her pocket and turned it so it twinkled in the window’s light. “We’ll make it clean as can be, you marvelous child. Now, let’s get ourselves out into the fresh air, shall we? The Bazaar awaits.”
13
IN THE END, BOTH EGG AND JESS DECIDED TO stay back at the palace. Egg was too busy with her solo tinkering mission, and Jess was either helping out or perhaps using her spy skills to raid the Mantis’s stash of beauty supplies. And so the haze of late afternoon found Juniper, Erick, Leena, Oona, and Tippy creeping down through the Pockets toward the Great Hall.
“How shall we get out of the castle?” Oona had asked before they left the Aerie. They’d first planned to exit the same way they came in: sneaking through the back cellars, distracting the guard, and so on.
But Leena said, “What’s the best way to avoid notice on a day like today?”
Juniper jumped on this. “Hide in plain sight, you’re thinking.”
Leena nodded. “Summerfest is a madhouse. Tippy here is already part of the kitchen crew, and from all my spying, I think there are so many new helpers and cleaners and pot scrubbers, there’s no way for anyone to keep track of who they all are. If we’re inside the palace, and we go to leave it, who’s likely to stop us?”
“We’ll need to keep our heads down, especially knowing that Cyril’s a-prowl. But I agree. That should work.”
“I can get us back in, too,” said Tippy. “They’re asking us all to find more helpers for the fest. We can give that excuse to the guards at the gate and come back in just as ever the way we left.”
And so the friends made their stealthy way through the Pockets, sliding out one by one to join the army of workers fanning through the palace in a blur of soapsuds and dust brushes and lemon-scented floor polish. In the hubbub, it was easy for them to look busy, then make their quick way out through the wide front gate and down the long road toward the bustle of light and noise that was the Bazaar.
• • •
“How can such a place exist?” whispered Oona as they reached the fairgrounds, reunited after their successful escape. They’d seen the clatter and construction going on in the field from the Aerie windows, of course. They’d inhaled countless delicious scents. But being up close like this, within it, was another matter entirely. By now the booths were all up and running, every bit of ground jammed with interesting things to see, hear, and smell. And occasionally taste, too, as friendly merchants shared samples of their treats and talked up their work in hopes of luring in more customers.
At one point, Juniper grabbed Erick’s arm. “Look over there!” She could have sworn she saw, melting into the crowd just ahead . . . “Cyril,” sh
e said under her breath. “Or someone very like him. Did you see?”
Erick said he hadn’t, and though they pushed through crowds and scanned every vendor in sight, Cyril—if he had been there at all—had fully disappeared. As they stood surveying the crowds, a pungent smell caught Juniper’s attention. They stood next to a rough-looking stall labeled APOTHECARY BY AGNES. Rough bundles of herbs hung drying from the stall’s awning, and a long table was crammed with small pots and jars and stoppered vials. The overpowering odor was herbal and medicinal, but there had been something else—a whiff of something strong and sharp, just for the barest moment, that seemed familiar.
Then it was gone, and an enthusiastic shriek drew Juniper’s attention: The rest of the group had come upon Root. As Juniper and Erick caught up with the others, Oona tackled Root in a full bear hug, only to pull back bashfully. (A little late for that, Juniper thought.)
“Hi,” Oona said.
“Hi,” replied Root.
The others rolled their eyes at the awkward ways of young love, or whatever this was. Then Root shook himself and addressed the rest of the group. “Come on,” he said. “I’ve got the Bobcats, and they’ll be very glad to see you.”
They followed Root as he navigated them around carts, under low tent awnings, and between hastily assembled booths, until they finally reached a wagon with extra-large mint-green wheels. The body was painted a vibrant purple and emblazoned with huge letters proclaiming THE BALANCING BOBCATS! along with an assortment of poorly sketched felines in various distressing poses.
“This?” said Leena doubtfully.
Juniper studied the image. “Are they meant to be . . . ?” Then she trailed off because, for the life of her, she couldn’t imagine what they were meant to be doing.
“Balancing, I think,” whispered Root. “The creatures are supposed to be bobcats. It’s, er, symbolic. Or perhaps ironic?” He shrugged.
Princess Juniper of Torr Page 8
