The arrow sank through the thin hide.
The bag . . . exploded.
Juniper dropped to her knees in the crowd and threw her cloak over her head. She hoped the other Goshawks had been in time to do the same. Through her crouch she heard the loud, wet squelch of an overfull container bursting in midair and midswing. Then with a gentle burp, the contents disgorged.
This bag was not full of candies. This bag was jam-full of something much wetter, much slimier.
Much more useful.
Juniper stayed hidden as the noises around her went from shock to alarm to a series of faint thuds. Then she jumped up. Faces and arms of the bystanders all around her were spattered in goo. The empty bag now hung, deflated, at the end of the pole. Raucous crowd and overbearing soldiers alike—all of whom had pushed in so close to the stage—had been generously pelted with Rogett Ceward the Spymaster’s scarlet valerian sleeping potion. Each person was now slumped over, insensible, one atop the other, all comatose limbs and uncoordinated bodies. On the stage, Malvinia Lefarge lay sprawled as well. Team Bobcat—with their gloved hands and masked faces—were the only ones in motion, wiping gunk from their outfits and clambering off the stage in her direction.
Juniper felt a pang for all these innocent sleepers, but they would come around in a few hours, with nothing worse than a mild headache and cramped limbs from being sprawled out in a heap.
This Juniper knew from experience.
Her biggest concern right now was to seize the moment and do what they were here to do. She looked around quickly. Every soldier on duty in the Small Gardens had been either guarding the Mantis or patrolling the crowd. Every one was now down for the count. Thank goodness for small glories! Of course, there were plenty more soldiers inside the palace.
They needed to move quickly.
The few villagers and merchants who had been far enough back from the stage to escape the slumber-potion were scurrying away toward the castle gates, just as fast as their legs would carry them. It looked like all the nobles and dignitaries had used their stations to acquire front-row seats; none of them had come through unscathed.
Then a loud voice cut through Juniper’s thoughts. “GUARDS! What in the name of nightfall is going on here?!”
To her horror, Juniper turned back to the stage to see the Mantis rising to her feet, face crimson and shoulders shaking with rage. She’d started walking away just before the bag burst, Juniper remembered. She’d had her back turned. And with the thickness of her robes and headdresses—of course. The Mantis hadn’t gotten more than a sprinkling of the potion: enough to make her momentarily drowsy or dizzy. But now she was wide awake once again, and on the warpath.
The one person they needed to subdue had been missed entirely.
“GUARDS!” the Mantis roared. “To me!”
25
HALFWAY DOWN THE STAGE HEADING TOWARD Juniper, Alta froze in place. She looked back toward the Mantis. She looked at Juniper. What should they do—push forward, or retreat? How much could they hope to accomplish if the Mantis was not unconscious along with the others? If they all ran now, Juniper reasoned, they could probably make it out of the castle grounds and hide away well enough to plot a proper escape.
But then what? If they failed at their mission, if they couldn’t reclaim the palace, couldn’t save her father, what was left to do?
Juniper spun in a quick circle. The rest of Team Bobcat had begun picking their way across the felled bodies toward her. The scattered Goshawks were still dragging themselves up off the ground or wriggling from under fallen townspeople. All seemed awake and in motion. Egg slunk out of the far edge of the maze and stood surveying the wreckage, hands on her hips.
Well. In the end, it was a choice that made itself. Why else were they here, after all? Were they the type of fighters who gave up after one setback?
Bringing her fingers to her lips, Juniper let out one earsplitting whistle.
They certainly were not.
The piercing sound caromed across the eerily silent square. Once Juniper had all her settlers’ attention (including a stiff wave for Egg), she brought both hands high in the air.
“Phase two!” she yelled, and everyone sprang into motion.
“What IS going on here? GUARDS!” Malvinia bellowed again.
But . . . no guards were coming. Not yet, anyway. The ones within earshot were all down for the count.
Juniper nodded to Alta, who sprang back up onto the stage. As she went, Alta snagged one of the long, flexible balancing poles, which she brandished at the Mantis like a very dull, bendy sword.
Then Juniper felt a thump on her back. Before she could register what was happening, there was a warm, squirming bundle in her arms. Cyril jogged her shoulder. “Watch this little gimlet for me, will you? I’m off to do something foolhardy.”
Without giving Juniper a chance to reply, Cyril sprinted over, across, and through the sea of felled bodies. He reached the stage and vaulted to the top, flinging up his cloak to expose his scabbard. With one smooth swish, his sword was in his hand. He arced it around and pointed it straight at his stepmother.
The Mantis had not so much as blinked an eye at Alta’s affront, but now her eyebrows met her hairline. “Cyril?” she said. “What are you about? What is that sword for?”
“This sword,” said Cyril bitingly, “is for your attack on the country of Torr, for your betrayal of your rightful king, and for your thinking to dispose of my father in the same callous way.”
She started to shake her head, but Cyril snapped, “Don’t even bother denying it. We’re not here to talk, Stepmother. Alta, would you mind terribly if I took over here? It’s gotten rather personal, you understand.”
Alta nodded and grabbed a length of rope. “I’ll go take care of the guards. We don’t know how much of the potion they got or when they’ll start coming around.”
“Ceepee!” came a burble from Juniper’s arms, and she looked down, aghast. She’d been so caught up in the activities onstage that she just now realized she was holding an actual breathing child.
“Oh, lands!” she groaned. “Cyril left me his half brother. What in the name of everything am I going to do with a baby?”
“Ceepee!” sang Artie.
“Hiya, pal!” chirped a voice behind her, and Juniper wilted in relief.
“Tippy, you lifesaver! Will you ferry this little gobstopper somewhere safe and as far from here as you can? He might want some food, too.”
“Sure thingummy,” said Tippy, sweeping the drooling, apple-cheeked toddler into her arms. “Who’s a good boy now, Artie-poo? Who wants a good warm bun from the oven? Come on now with your very best and only Tippy.”
Artie looked intrigued. “Ceepee?”
“Teepee,” Tippy corrected. “Can you say that? Tee. Pee. That’s me!”
And they warbled off across the square.
With that taken care of, Juniper turned her attention back to the field. Oona and Sussi had joined Alta in tying up the guards, while Filbert, Toby, and Roddy were dragging the rest of the fallen soldiers up from the crowd onto the stage. They began lining up the sleeping soldiers in neat rows like so much bundled cordwood.
The rest of Team Goshawk—Erick, Root, and Leena, as well as Egg—converged on Juniper as they awaited their next instructions. Juniper beckoned them toward the front of the fallen crowd, and headed that way herself.
Up on the stage, the Mantis had stopped calling for guards and had apparently decided to ignore Cyril altogether. She turned her full attention on Juniper, her gaze raking like claws. “Who are you?” she hissed. “I could almost swear that I’ve—”
Juniper didn’t give her the chance to pursue this train of thought. Brushing aside Erick’s grip on her arm, she vaulted three piled-up schoolboys and a portly merchant whose dozing frame held no fewer than five portable timepieces. In a bound, she
was onstage—much like leaping onto the back of a horse, come to think of it.
The rush was the same, too: that is, if the leap was to bring you face-to-face with your archenemy and the tyrant who had overtaken your entire country and imprisoned your royal father.
Cyril shifted so his sword hovered just below Malvinia’s breastbone. She clicked her tongue impatiently but stopped moving.
Juniper clambered to her feet and yanked at the pull-tie of her cloak. With one grand gesture, she threw it across the stage. She straightened her stance, jammed her hands onto her hips, and stared the Mantis down, glare for glare. The royal position felt unfamiliar around the rough-sewn trousers and knee-high boots she was packed into. Without her cloak, the wind blew fresh currents of air through her shortened curls and down her back.
Cyril lowered his sword and stepped back, letting his stepmother look full in Juniper’s face.
“You!” Malvinia’s eyes widened in recognition. “The little Torrence brat? But how . . .”
That was all Juniper needed. It had been an indulgence, that moment of big reveal. She’d have been better off going straight for action. But sometimes you just needed to pause long enough to give audience reaction its due. That accomplished, Juniper sprang to action. She strode across the stage and let her voice ring out loud: “Malvinia Lefarge, you are a traitor to the crown of Torr. I am hereby placing you in custody.”
Malvinia curled her lips in a sneer. “You must be joking. The crown of Torr is mine. It’s my due and my right. You and your puny band of playacting kiddies don’t stand a chance.”
Juniper had said all she needed to. Now she nodded at Cyril, and at Alta, who had used the lull to fetch her own sword, and now stood in a mirror pose to Cyril on Malvinia’s other side. “Please restrain the impostor,” said Juniper. “Gently, but double-check those knots. She’s a slippery one.”
“You’ll regret this,” Malvinia hissed. “Every single one of you. I’ll make sure of it.” She spat at Cyril. “And you most of all.”
At this, Cyril looked thoughtful. Then, making sure that Alta had her sword fixed upon Malvinia, he leaned in closer.
“Stepmother,” he said conversationally, “there’s something you should know. I have been replacing each of my father’s food trays for the past three days. As well as providing him with extra purifying and fortifying medicines, which I got for him myself from the Bazaar. You will be gratified to hear that this morning he regained consciousness at last. He’s not fully lucid yet, but I expect that by tomorrow or the day after, he shall have some very interesting tales for us.”
Malvinia’s eyes widened, then narrowed to two hateful slits.
Cyril caught a round of rope that Roddy threw him and set to work tying her up. Beginning with a firm gag across her mouth.
Across the stage, the woodpiling of the guards continued. Erick had joined the group and was instructing the others in arranging them in groups of two: back to back, hands tied tightly to hands and feet to feet. It was a creative bit of knot-work, in which Erick seemed to take an almost artistic delight. Or maybe it was just the joy of enacting something from one of his beloved instructional volumes.
Finally the guards were taken care of, and the Mantis was tightly bound and gagged and seated back on her makeshift throne. Her eyes, though, spoke of violence to come.
“You brought this on yourself,” Juniper said to her. “My father will pass judgment on you just as soon as we’ve freed him. Which is what we’re on the way to do next. Surely you can see that you’ve lost this battle.”
The Mantis jerked her head forward into a violent head butt, which Juniper barely dodged. “Tsk, tsk,” said Juniper, and leaned in to check the woman’s waistband. A moment later, her fingers closed around a heavy key chain. “I’ve got it!” she called.
Malvinia growled low in her throat. Her shoulders shook with rage.
Juniper spun around and placed the key ring in Alta’s hand. “Can I leave this part in your capable hands? Take Root and Filbert with you. We need reinforcements, and we need them now—I have no idea how long it will take for other palace guards to get wind of what’s happening and come against us. We need to get control of the palace in the next quarter hour or the whole thing is lost.”
“Understood,” said Alta, but she hesitated.
“What?”
“You know it’s going to be near impossible to get into that dungeon, don’t you? It’s guarded head to tail.”
“I know, but we need it done,” said Juniper simply.
Alta nodded and signaled to Root and Filbert. The three left without a backward glance.
• • •
And right then was when Juniper heard the loud sound of a horn. The low rumble of castle gates being drawn open. The clackety-clack-thump of horses’ hooves and marching feet stamping along a packed gravel road.
“What on earth?” she said, spinning in place. Then Egg was at her side, and Juniper realized she hadn’t been on the stage while they’d been dispatching the Mantis and her guards. Now Egg’s breath came in quick bursts, and two spots of red burned in her cheeks.
“The Monsians,” she scribbled in a rush. “They have arrived.”
Seeing this, Juniper froze. It was not even sunset—how on earth had the Monsian delegation covered so much ground so fast? They weren’t supposed to be here for hours yet! By tomorrow morning—or a few good hours from now, even—the Queen’s Basin team would have broken all the soldiers out of the dungeons; they’d have retaken the castle; they’d have freed King Regis.
The battle would have been over and the gate guards under their control, if only the stupid Monsians could have come when they were supposed to.
Instead, what would the Monsians find when they came around that bend in just a few minutes? A group of kids playing keep-away, that was what. A tied-up ruler (impostor though she might be) and a stack of log-piled guards.
Juniper and her friends wouldn’t last a hot minute.
What she really needed was to know whether Paul had gotten through safely, whether even now there was a counterforce of Anju heading in their direction. Now that she thought about it, the timing instructions she’d given Paul weren’t nearly specific enough. If there was just one thing Juniper could have asked for in life, it would have been for things to happen right when they were meant to. A schedule, for crying out loud! Was it too much to ask that all future battles submitted a specific schedule to her first for approval?
“How many men are with them?” she asked Egg.
Egg flashed her hands out, fingers splayed, five times.
“Fifty men? Soldiers?” Juniper asked.
Egg nodded.
“Are they armed?”
Egg nodded.
Juniper felt her knees weaken. To think that a fighting band of fifty armed Monsians could just waltz in the front gates of Torr Castle! With a dull rush, Juniper realized her error in not sending all her forces to secure and close the front gates. Yet what would that have accomplished, other than alerting the guards stationed there to come to Malvinia’s rescue? Well, there was nothing to do now but roll with whatever was coming their way. “Let’s get things ready here, then,” she said grimly.
From her spot on her throne, the trussed-up wannabe queen of Torr skewered them with her gaze. Despite her bonds, the Mantis managed to remain both haughty and condescending, as though she were just waiting for this playact to be over so the naughty rebel children could be put to bed without their supper.
Well. They would see about that!
Juniper and the crew claimed the stage as their standing ground. With Alta, Filbert, and Root gone, as well as Paul, they were low on fighting power, but what the rest of them might lack in brawn, they made up for in raw fierceness.
“Anyway, you’ve got me—what else do you need?” said Cyril, flashing a cheesy grin.
Juniper rolled her eyes at him.
“All them soldiering lessons Alta gave us in the Basin are gonna come in handy now, aren’t they?” said Leena with tremulous glee.
The others didn’t seem quite as excited, but at least nobody was turning to run from the Monsians, whose clanking armor and clattering wheels now rang through the courtyard like a thunderstorm looming to break.
Sussi passed around the Bobcats’ balancing poles, the longer of which Roddy cracked neatly in half to arm as many of them as he could. Egg pulled out her bow and held it at the ready. She and Cyril were the only ones with true weapons but, honestly, Juniper wasn’t kidding herself. If it came to an actual fight, they had lost already. Raw fierceness aside, the only chance they had was making this into a battle of wills and wiles.
And so they stood their ground. Nine kids against an invading army. A hand upraised against the enemy flood, as though by sheer force of will alone, they might save Torr.
Who else was there to do it?
26
THE NEXT TEN MINUTES OR SO PASSED IN TENSE silence, as the clatter of the approaching army mounted ever louder in their ears. Juniper stood at the front center of the stage, trying to look tall and stern and regal. In truth, she knew that she looked short and scrubby, about as unroyal as humanly possible in her chopped-off hair and sweat-stained britches.
But attitude? That she could put out in wagonloads.
Cyril stood directly in front of his captive stepmother, sword drawn as though daring anyone to approach. Leena and Roddy stood guard over the gaggle of guardsmen, some of whom had started to show signs of awakening—for all the good it would do them when they did. Egg had disappeared again, bow and arrows and all. Erick, Oona, and Sussi were circulating among the fallen crowds. Here and there, a head popped up and a voice croaked out a loud expression of alarm. To each of these confused wakers, one of them would run up with a quick explanation of what had happened and instructions to stay quiet and move to the edges of the square.
Princess Juniper of Torr Page 16
