Princess Juniper of Torr

by Ammi-Joan Paquette

  “Where’s all them goodies, then?” said Tippy, a quaver in her voice.

  “It don’t look half normal out there,” said Leena under her breath.

  Now that they drew her attention to it, Juniper immediately saw that they were right. The crowds were there aplenty, cut through with jugglers and entertainers and, of course, the ubiquitous guards. Merchants wandered around with tiny table-fronts strapped to their shoulders, boards that yawned out flat and held lunch meats, breads, and sweet pastries. Others circulated with an ornate jug in one hand and a pewter mug in the other, with a wiping rag discreetly tucked in a back pocket.

  But one thing that was hugely, glaringly absent was the extra-long table crammed with free food for the masses. Tippy started hopping foot to foot in distress, as though jumping higher might help her locate the missing treats.

  “What is with all the merchants roaming everywhere?” said Root.

  “Hmm,” said Leena. “Something dastardly is afoot.”

  Dastardly was a bit strong. But one thing was very clear: The tables of free food were nowhere in sight. In their place, apparently, were a slew of merchants brought in from the Bazaar to sell their own wares—and at quite a high markup, if Juniper was any judge. A little boy in front of them reached chubby hands out for a pewter mug, but the waxy-faced matron with the lemonade jug rubbed her fingers together to show that he wasn’t getting something for nothing. The child started to cry, and a weather-beaten farmwife behind him looked embarrassed and yanked the boy away by the arm, clearly unable to pay the drink merchant’s fee.

  “It’s all supposed to be free,” said Juniper faintly. “It’s our gift to the people! The feasting is the very heart of Summerfest. I don’t understand!”

  She did, though. How could she not? This was not her father’s Summerfest. This was the new kingdom of Malvinia Lefarge. The Mantis had fought for her wealth and power, and she evidently would not relinquish one drop more of it than she had to.

  Juniper patted her skirts and pulled out two gold coins. “Tippy,” she whispered. “How would you like to put your sneaking skills to good use?” She bobbed her head toward the crying boy, now draped over the shoulder of his faint-looking mother.

  Tippy’s face lit up. She swiped the coins from Juniper and ducked through the crowd, skittering over feet and under elbows and across sketchy puddles of goo. Reaching the disheveled pair, Tippy dramatically bumped into the farmwife so that she tripped over her own feet. It was a bit over-the-top, Juniper thought, watching out of the corner of her eye, but the woman didn’t seem put out. Tippy picked herself up, acting out an elaborate apology, then scurried off into the crowd.

  It took a long few minutes before the woman’s face turned a violent red, then she blanched. She brought her hands up and peered at them intently. Immediately she jumped up and started scanning the crowds. She looked again at her hand, disbelieving, then shoved it into her pocket. Tucking her child firmly under her arm—he’d now fallen asleep—she pushed off through the crowd.

  “A good meal for her now,” said Leena with satisfaction. “Well done, Your Majesty.”

  “Don’t call me that!” hissed Juniper. “Not here, where anyone might hear.” She pulled the hood of her cloak down farther over her face. Haircut and disguise notwithstanding, her face was nearly as familiar as the king’s. If anyone recognized her, it was all over.

  “Look at her, though,” said Erick. “She doesn’t look to be going for food at all.”

  Sure enough, the determined farmwife was plowing through the crowds, studying every face and turning from side to side in a brisk, businesslike fashion.

  “Oh, no,” said Juniper. “She’s looking for the Tipster, isn’t she?”

  Erick sighed. “She thinks Tippy dropped those coins by mistake. She wants to give them back.”

  “I think she’s spotted her,” said Leena.

  The woman now picked up speed and started to yell over the crowd, waving her hands in visible distress.

  “She’s drawing attention,” said Erick.

  Tippy had noticed now. She seemed rattled, unsure what to do at this unexpected pursuit. Changing course, she began, disastrously, to beeline it back in their direction.

  “No, you fool!” Leena groaned, though of course Tippy was too far off to hear. “Juniper, she’s leading them straight to us.”

  Tippy was nimble and speedy, but the woman was a force of righteous restitution. She simply barreled through all obstacles and kept up.

  Juniper suddenly knew what she had to do.

  “You grab Tippy,” she whispered to Erick, tugging him along with her. “I’ll handle the do-gooder.”

  Juniper melted after Erick into the crowd, where she saw him enfold Tippy in both arms and magic her into a throng of energetic high-kick dancers. Just ahead the woman stopped, blinking, to look around. Her gaze was steely and determined.

  She wouldn’t give this up. Juniper sighed. So be it.

  Juniper stopped abruptly, and the woman came up short to keep from crashing into her back. The farmwife was a touch taller, so Juniper had to tilt her head slightly to look up into the lined, careworn face. Leaning in very close, Juniper pushed her hood back a smidge.

  The woman first frowned, then opened her mouth, then her face went pale. “You—but you—are you—”

  “Shhh,” Juniper said, raising a finger to her lips. “The coins were a gift from me. For you to keep.”

  The woman’s head whipped from side to side, and Juniper thought she couldn’t have looked more obvious if she’d tried. “But aren’t you away in—” She couldn’t seem to form a complete sentence.

  “I need your help,” said Juniper desperately. “Can I trust you? Nobody must know I am here. Nobody. You can’t say a word about me—do you hear? Not to anyone.”

  The woman’s eyes widened and her mouth gaped like a fish. She shifted the sleeping child to a better spot on her shoulder.

  “Take the coins, please, with my blessing. Buy some food and drink for yourself and the boy. And then”—she swallowed—“then you should go home. I don’t know exactly how things are going to unfold here. It may not be safe. But whatever you do, you must not tell a soul that you have seen me.”

  With that, Juniper pulled her milky cloak tighter around her shoulders and ducked sideways into the crowd. When she glanced back over her shoulder, the farmwife still stood rooted in place. A single tear coursed down her cheek.

  23

  EVENTUALLY, THE FRIENDS FOUND THEMSELVES tucked safely in the Bobcats’ garish wagon. Alta, Toby, Sussi, Filbert, Roddy, and Oona were all very busy stretching and squatting and limbering up, so that Juniper felt like she’d fallen into a bin of living yo-yos. Egg was introduced to the Bobcats, and in her characteristic way she blended easily into the group, studying their warm-up moves with visible delight. To her own joy, Juniper found that a great portion of the roof was made of strong, supple leather, and could be folded all the way back through a system of bars and levers. With the ceiling opened wide to the glorious blue sky, and a large bowl of coriander-spiced popped corn to munch on, things quickly started looking up.

  “Do you think that woman will keep quiet about seeing you?” Alta asked.

  “You saw that, did you?” said Juniper, her lips twisting.

  Alta shrugged. “I was on the lookout. I don’t think it was noticeable enough to draw a wider view, though.”

  “Still,” said Erick, “it wasn’t a safe thing to do, Juniper.”

  “We’re just lucky no one saw,” said Leena. “The crowd is full of poor people who can’t afford the treats for sale. If you go about outing yourself to all of them, they’re going to be a lot worse off in the long run.”

  “I know,” said Juniper. “I didn’t mean for it to happen. It’s just—that little tyke looked so dejected. I couldn’t stand by and do nothing.” She sighed. “At any
rate, it’s behind us, and what will be will be. If it comes to the worst, we’ll deal with it then. Now, how goes the show, Bobcats? What remains to be done?”

  “Not a single thing!” said Sussi, beaming with delight. “Only, you should see our act, Princess Juniper. Only, you should see it!”

  “She will see it, you dolt,” said Oona, but her tone was gentle. “That’s the whole point of this, innit?”

  Sussi colored. “Well,” she said lamely.

  Root pulled the satchel off his back and handed it to Alta. “The final materials are in here.”

  Juniper lowered her voice. “You will find it all just as we discussed, Alta. Keep to the planned timing on your side with the performance, and I think we can pull this off. You have heard the Monsians are on the way?”

  “It’s the only thing anyone’s talking about,” said Toby. “You’d think that would turn the people against this impostor, but . . .” He shrugged.

  “Never underestimate the power of the masses to follow blindly,” said Erick.

  “So, the show is ready,” Juniper said. “We Goshawks know our places and are ready to spring to action. I daresay . . . we may have done all we can do.”

  Alta nodded briskly. “We are fifth in the performance lineup, which is due to start at any moment. That puts us—what? Two hours in?”

  “Probably less,” said Roddy. “I’ve been roving and listening—most of the shows run no more than a quarter of an hour.”

  “Very well,” said Juniper. “We’d all best get in our places, then. Shall we?”

  “Let the war begin,” whispered Oona, her eyes gleaming.

  “To the war, to win!” said Egg in a loud, clear voice. As she looked challengingly around the circle, Juniper couldn’t tell if Egg had misread Oona’s lips, or if she’d changed the call deliberately.

  Either way. “To the war,” whispered Juniper, and lifted her hand high in the air.

  “To win!” chorused the group in one joint whispered promise.

  • • •

  While the Balancing Bobcats began changing into their costumes for the coming show, the Goshawks leaned up to the narrow wagon windows and watched the goings-on outside. The first performance was from a group of family singers: a father, mother, grandmother, and no fewer than eight children, ranging from teenagers down to a bowlegged toddler, all draped across the stage in order of height. Each brandished their own instrument, from viola to sackbut to triangle to a memorably off-key kazoo. Several of the group sang throatily; others warbled as the group made its way through six resounding numbers. It was a feast for the eyes, if not always the ears, and that was as much as Juniper could say about that.

  They were followed by a mediocre magician; then a storyteller who had some great yarns to spin but couldn’t project his voice, and so the crowd yawned and shifted in place; and lastly a trio of clowns—Larabelle, Rainbow, and Silly Lillie—whose brightly painted faces and wildego ways had the onlookers in stitches. They were a hard act to follow, but the enthusiastic response had drawn the whole crowd close to the stage, which Juniper noted with approval from her viewing window.

  “Be ready,” she whispered to Alta. “We don’t want any time to pass between them and us. We can’t lose the crowd.”

  “I’ve got this,” said Filbert, and Juniper looked in surprise at the stolid boy with the earnest face.

  “All right, then,” she said. “Goshawks—let’s head out and leave the Bobcats to their spotlight.” The crew gathered up their necessary items and slipped into the crowd.

  • • •

  The stage had been set up with a large, ornate throne on its far left side, so the Mantis could have an uninterrupted view. Juniper half expected Cyril to have wrangled a way onto the stage next to her, but she finally spotted him in the first row of the audience. Tiny tousle-haired Artie bobbed on his shoulders, clapping chubby hands in loud delight at the show.

  The moment the clowns left the stage, to uproarious applause, Team Bobcat was ready. Alta, Roddy, Filbert, Toby, Sussi, and Oona had changed into tightly fitting costumes, each more eye-poppingly bright than the last. The tunics came up high in the neck and ended in matching gloves and booties with built-in toe grips. Juniper was frankly impressed as the group took the stage lugging a variety of chairs, ladders, planks, hoops, and a giant basket stuffed with still more colorful garments.

  Juniper grinned. This was going to be one for the books! She was just glad that her current part in the drama involved the offstage action.

  As he’d promised, Filbert took the stage first. Reaching into the basket, he solemnly took out a heap of scarlet and purple, which he shrugged over his shoulders to form a sort of feathered shawl. It fell over his arms like wings. He then tugged a yellow cap on his head, pulling it down so it covered the lower half of his face, jutting out into a bright yellow beak.

  Juniper clapped a hand over her mouth. She hadn’t seen this in their practice sessions!

  Filbert’s huge announcer’s voice boomed out of the beak-opening: “Ladies and gentlemen, I am delighted to present for your pleasure the Balancing Bobcats’ Birds of Paradise.” He bowed deeply to a scattered applause. “While my fellow Bobcats set up for the show, I shall begin . . . with a song.” With no further preamble, Filbert opened his mouth.

  And the world fell away. The voice that rose from him was a clear, high soprano, projecting through his beak like the crystal sound of a viola on its highest strings. It was an old court song, a mournful ballad about a king who went off to war to save his true love, only to find she had betrayed him for another. King Regis had loved this song, and Juniper fought back tears.

  To keep focus, she studied the crowd, but there was no need for concern: They were enraptured, swaying to the sound of Filbert’s a cappella magic. The Mantis was unmoved by the performance, and something about the narrowed pinch of her face, the way her gaze flicked ever so slightly toward the glimmering Glassroom, told Juniper that they should be careful. Too much about the virtue (and betrayal) of kings could easily push this performance in the wrong direction. But her expression didn’t devolve further, and minutes later, the song was over.

  The ramshackle balancing structure was now set in place. Sussi perched high on one side and Toby on the other, with Alta and Roddy holding the bases steady, and Oona standing proudly on the ground between them.

  Team Bobcat’s performance began.

  24

  THERE WAS NO DOUBT ABOUT IT: THE BALANCING Bobcats were spectacular. Juniper had seen fragments of their practice sessions during the day—and from a distance during their tryouts—but nothing had prepared her for the full range of their skills. The tricks were simple, Alta had declared, variations of the training she herself had undergone in learning her soldiering skills, only shot through with a lot more climbing, balancing, and whirling through the air. They’d had some lessons from the costume-merchant-turned-squid-trawler, too; it seemed he had been something of an amateur tumbler. All of this Juniper knew, but she was still unprepared for how vivid they looked in their colorful feather vests, swirling and toppling and hurtling through the space as though they themselves were made of air.

  It was breathtaking.

  Through all this, Juniper and Team Goshawk stayed firmly wedged in the crowd. Every few minutes, Oona scurried to the edges of the stage, reaching into a thin leather satchel hooked around her waist to toss out a handful of wrapped candies. The eager onlookers pushed in closer each time, and Juniper and the others did their best to encourage the rush, while still staying as far back as they could.

  On her throne, the Mantis stifled a yawn behind one languid hand. She flicked her gaze toward the fountain’s timepiece, apparently less enchanted with the performance than were her subjects. She crooked a hand and an attendant scurried over. She leaned to speak in his ear. Juniper caught Oona’s eye. She closed her hand into a fist. Oona nodded impercept
ibly.

  It was time for the final act.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” said Filbert a moment later in his booming voice, “we are proud to present you with our final number.”

  Oona tossed the last two handfuls of sweets into the crowd. Then she doffed her empty pouch, bowed grandly, and pulled a second, nearly identical pouch out of the costume basket. This pouch was not empty but full, bulging tightly and secured firmly at the top. Juniper flexed her aching fingers at remembering all the frantic work that gone into preparing it.

  With a flourish, backed by the final spins and twirls from the others, Oona tied the bag to a long, flexible pole, which she passed to Filbert and he hefted up straight.

  “Gather in close, my good audience,” he said in a merry singsong. He lifted the pole and began to twirl it dramatically, while the other Bobcats pirouetted and tumbled nearby on their own supports. It was a grand sort of dance, heightened by the musical drumbeat that Filbert now provided as he worked his part of the routine.

  The audience pushed in closer, hooting and cheering.

  The Mantis raised an eyebrow; maybe the crowd seemed a touch too enthusiastic for her liking? She motioned to her guards. They began to gather around the edges of the crowd, jostling to get closer to the stage. In Juniper’s peripheral vision, she saw Cyril tug Artie off his back and twist away with him.

  Filbert raised his voice to a higher pitch, which sent the audience into a frenzy. Someone let out a shriek.

  “Enough!” The Mantis jumped to her feet, flashed a hand at her attendants, and spun to leave the stage.

  This was it: the moment of truth.

  From behind Juniper came the barely audible sound of a twang. Egg melted into the side bushes, and Juniper knew her bow and arrow would already be tucked safely back into the holster beneath her cloak.

  Meanwhile, the slender arrow cut through the air, arcing over the heads of the crowd to pierce the center of the bulging bag, which still spun in circles on the end of Filbert’s stick.