by M. A. Larson
“Is this it?” came a voice from up ahead. “I think this is it.”
They entered a large chamber strewn with bales of straw. The earthy smell of alfalfa filled the room. Stagnant water pooled in various parts of the uneven floor. Dust swirled through beams of light that came in through holes in the thatched roof. There were candles lit along the walls and strange items strewn randomly about. A hand mirror. A spindle. Several rusted knitting needles. A leather purse. It looked to be more rubbish room than classroom.
“I don’t understand,” said Basil. “Is this some sort of stable? Why is it inside a keep?”
“Are you sure this is the right place?” said Idonea.
“This is where Copperpot’s schedule said to go,” said Sage.
“Well,” said Demetra, strolling around the room, “we might as well pull up a bale.” She plopped down on one, sending a fresh plume of dust into the air.
Evie walked over to join her, but Nessa sat down first. Liv took a spot on the bale next to them.
“Oh, sorry,” said Demetra, realizing what had just happened. “Uh, Evie, you’ve met Nessa and Liv, haven’t you?”
“Hi,” she said, shaking their hands. “We sort of met on the first day.”
“Very nice to meet you,” said Nessa with a smile.
“They’re from the two kingdoms beneath the Blackmarsh, can you believe it?”
“Yes,” said Evie. “So you said.”
“We’ve heard a lot about you,” said Liv. “It’s a pleasure to be in the same company as the Warrior Princess.”
Evie smiled politely. She couldn’t help feeling strangely wary of these two.
“There’s an open spot right there, Evie,” said Demetra, pointing to another bale nearby.
“Thanks.” She gave Nessa and Liv a smile, then went and sat on the empty bale. Maggie sat next to her. They didn’t say a word, though they did exchange a look. Evie could tell immediately that Maggie was bothered by Demetra’s new friends as well.
“Where’s the instructor?” said Cadet Rillia. “Princess Whatsit?”
“Ziegenbart,” said Kelbra. “And after dodging limbs and rain all morning, I’ll be happy if she never turns up.”
Basil pulled a bale down from a stack and created a little pillow from some loose straw, then sat back, put his hands behind his head, and closed his eyes.
“Come on,” said Cadet Rosamund, formerly of Goosegirl Company. “If this is meant to be a classroom, then let’s make it a classroom.” The other Leatherwolf cadets began to rearrange the bales to create more seating.
“I’m giving it five more minutes,” said Kelbra loudly. “Then I’m going back to the barracks for a nap.” She and Sage hovered near the door.
“Listen!” said Basil, sitting up suddenly. “What’s that?”
As the conversation around the room began to fade, the rest of them heard it as well. It sounded like the type of iron bell a farmer would fashion for a cow or a sheep. It even had the loping rhythm of livestock. Clang-clang . . . clang-clang . . . clang-clang.
Kelbra peered outside. Then she turned back with a bemused smile. “Wait ’til you see who’s come to join us.”
The bell clanged closer, and then a grayish-brown goat ambled through the door. She was a doe, with white hair running down from splayed ears all the way to her muzzle. Her legs were short, and her body was thick and square, with a belly that sagged to her knobbly knees. A gray beard poked down beneath her chin. She wore a sparkling silver tiara atop her head.
The cadets stood to look, muffling laughter as the goat traveled through the assembled straw bales toward the far end of the room. Suddenly, it leapt atop a stack of bales and wheeled to face them.
“Thirteen witches,” said the goat in the voice of a middle-aged woman. “Thirteen of them slinking through the mist to kill me.” The goat turned and jumped atop an old wardrobe with no doors. “I knew I had no chance, yet my courage did not fail me.” She skittered along a beam in the ceiling like one of her mountain brethren might, tiny hooves needing only inches of purchase to support her bloated body. “The battle raged. They got me with a curse, as you can see . . .” She landed on the ground with a crack of her hooves, her eyes bulging out from the sides of her head. “But not before I took seven of them from this world.”
The goat stood there in front of the shocked cadets. Heavy rain hissed against the stone outside.
“Those vile creatures have millions of ways to attack us. Shape-shifting, levitation, attack spells, even livestock making, apparently. Witches’ magic can take many forms, depending on what they stir into their wicked pots.” She shook her head, causing a great clanging of her bell. “My name is Princess Ziegenbaaa-a-a-a-a-agh-agh-agh!” Her tongue thrust out of her mouth as she bleated loudly, then devolved into a coughing fit. “Ahem. Princess Ziegenbart. And this is Theory and Practice of Witch Systems, or as I like to call it, Killing Witches Is Fun.” She jumped again, this time landing on what must have been her desk, though it looked more like a rickety pile of wood that had been hastily cobbled together. “I’m going to tell you all about what it’s like to go out there and meet the enemy face-to-rotting-face. Now, since you’re second-class cadets, the time has come for you to think about what sort of princesses you’d like to become. Will you be one of the Towersitters, protecting a kingdom from those slinking slimies?” With two deft hops, she was once again up in the rafters. “Roughly ninety percent of Pennyroyal graduates are Towersitters. Royal balls, royal weddings, royal everything, but plenty of action as well! Witches lurking outside the walls and only you there to stop them.” She puffed out her chest and stared into some imagined distance where true heroism lay. Then, with three more sharp clacks she was back on the floor in the middle of the classroom. “Or will you join the Salty Sovereign? The coastal brigade!”
Evie startled. She’d heard that name before. The Salty Sovereign. But where?
“Oh yes, my dears, there are witches at sea as well. Mountain witches, wood witches, water witches. Plenty of hags for us all!” She leaned over and chewed a bunch of straw from a bale. Cadet Rosamund yelped and pulled her dress away to keep it from being eaten. “I spent eighteen months aboard a cog with Princess Middlemiss and Princess Kätharina once. Hoo, did we see some salt witches out there, let me tell you. But I digress.”
That’s it, thought Evie. Princess Middlemiss was in the coastal brigade. She’d read the stories many times over the summer as she’d hidden from her sister near the pond.
“Then there are the Cursebreakers. That’s the more scientific branch of the service. Not my cup of meat, but very important nonetheless.” Her mouth worked in circles to mash the straw. “Those ladies are on the cutting edge of witch research. The Cursebreakers have chapters in many of the larger kingdoms across the land.” She took another bite off of Rosamund’s bale. “They keep us up to date on all the latest witch curses and spells, and are forever looking for new ways to combat them. A fine and noble calling, the Cursebreakers.” Then she made a face and pretended to whisper, “If a bit boring.”
She continued through the room. As she walked past Basil, Evie could see her hair brushing against his leg. He held his fist tightly over his mouth to keep from laughing.
“Then you’ve got the reserves, the Sleeping Beauties. You maintain your training with monthly sessions, but are generally free to return to civilian life unless you’re called up for battle. Which you will be. I’ve yet to meet a reserve who hasn’t faced off with at least one witch in her life.” Ziegenbart walked past Evie, her eyes protruding and her beard fluttering. “Another option is to train for a position here at the Academy. Haven’t managed to think of a clever name for that one yet, but it’s quite an important job, training the next generation of warriors. Don’t discount it.”
She reached the back of the classroom. There was a pause. Heads slowly turned to look at her. She was
eating again. Then, suddenly, she wheeled and began bounding from bale to bale. Demetra and Nessa screamed as she landed between them. In seconds she was back at the front of the room. “And finally there is the most dangerous, most thrilling, most adventurous branch of the service. The branch in which I proudly served.” She reared up and put her front legs on an empty bale so that she looked like she was giving a speech behind a lectern. “The Cauldron Tippers. The witch hunters. The girls with no home, no kingdom to call their own. They spend their days traveling to the darkest parts of the forest in search of witches. The Cauldron Tippers have the highest casualty rate and the highest stone-turn rate in the whole of the princessing service. But curse me if it isn’t fun,” she said with a smile. “Going into their cottages and hovels, rooting them out where they live . . . There’s nothing like it, ladies!”
As the goat started to explain how the knights must also specialize in their final year, Evie’s mind began to wander. A witch hunter. Roaming the land tracking them down, one by one. Her heart thumped as her imagination took her to the depths of a distant forest. Shadows and mist and ghostly yellow eyes. Could she do it? Could she devote her life to places like that, hunting down and doing battle with wicked witches? Or should she think about joining the Salty Sovereign? When she’d first laid eyes on the sea at the Blackmarsh, something profound had awakened inside her. She’d never seen anything so boundless and deep before. It spoke to her heart. The rhythm of the waves was the rhythm of her blood. Was that where she was meant to be? Or should she just hope for placement in a good kingdom and protect innocent people, which is what a princess is supposed to do? Her head was spinning, and it was only the first day.
“I already know where I’ll be,” said Demetra, sitting cross-legged on her bunk. “Princess Demetra of the Blackmarsh, understudy to the great Princess Camilla.”
“I can’t believe you’re disparaging the Blackmarsh,” said Maggie. “That’s one of the most sought-after Towersitter postings in all the land. I’d take it in a heartbeat.”
“It’s yours. Nessa and Liv both have Pennyroyal graduates for older sisters as well. The three of us can be the understudy brigade.”
Once again, Evie and Maggie exchanged a look. Every time Demetra mentioned Nessa and Liv, something bubbled in Evie’s stomach. They seemed like perfectly nice girls, but she couldn’t help wishing Demetra would just stop talking about them.
“How about you, Evie?” said Basil, sitting on Demetra’s footlocker. “Goat patrol?”
“I dunno,” she said with a sigh. “We’ve got all year to figure it out, haven’t we?”
“Yes, but it’s good to start thinking about it now,” said Maggie. “It is the rest of your life, after all.”
Evie cringed at that. The rest of my life. I only started my life last year. How am I meant to decide the rest of it already?
“They’ve got testimonials and fact sheets on all the branches in the Hall of Princesses. I’m going tomorrow before lunch to start researching, if any of you would like to join me.”
“Don’t need to,” said Basil. “I already know what I’m doing.”
“Oh really?” said Demetra with a sly smile. “Cauldron Tipper, I suppose?”
“Certainly not. My plan is to get discharged long before I have to decide.”
“I may be there with you, Bas,” said Maggie. “Especially with that bloody rooster clucking about—”
“Attention!” Princess Copperpot’s shrill voice echoed through the barracks, and Maggie’s skin went gray. Everyone leapt from their bunks and stood tall and straight. Evie could see Maggie swaying out of the corner of her eye. Lance’s soft clucking was the only sound as he searched the bearskin rugs for stray crumbs. Copperpot lurched forward and slung a heavy canvas sack to the ground. “It has been a particularly trying day for parchment hawks. I certainly hope the post doesn’t continue to be this . . . voluminous.”
“Buhgawk!” squawked Lance.
Maggie collapsed onto her footlocker.
“What was that?” chirped Copperpot. “Who made that noise?”
“I’m sorry, Princess,” said Maggie, trying to stand. “I’m suddenly feeling a bit faint.”
“By all means, stay seated, then.”
“Are you all right?” whispered Evie. Maggie didn’t respond. She was doubled over with her forehead in her hands.
Copperpot, meanwhile, leaned down to open the sack. Her two left hands struggled awkwardly with the cinched rope. Finally she worked it free and removed a small bundle of parchments. Evie looked at the bag, marveling that everything inside had once been a bird.
“Cadet Kelbra.” Kelbra hurried to the front of the barracks and took her letter with a smile.
“It’s from my sister.”
“Quiet!” said Copperpot. “No commentary, please.”
Maggie audibly held her breath as Lance strutted closer.
“Cadet Wittelsbach. Cadet Pilsen. Cadet Frieda.” Those three came forward to claim their letters. Then Princess Copperpot reached down and picked up the heavy sack. “The rest are for you, Cadet Evie.”
Evie blinked once, unsure if she had heard correctly. Around the room, other cadets began whispering to one another.
“Well? Would you like them or shall I put them in Lance’s cage?”
Evie sidled past Lance to get to the front of the barracks. The walk seemed endless with everyone staring at her. Finally she reached the front, and Copperpot handed her the sack.
“Good night, girls,” said the House Princess as Evie returned to her bunk. “And let me remind you, as I will every night, that tomorrow you must be more a princess than today.”
“Yes, Princess,” they said.
“Come, Lance!” she shouted.
“Buhgawk!” He flapped his wings and ran after her to the House Princess’s quarters, which were walled off from the rest of the barracks in a private apartment. The door slammed shut. From all around the barracks, girls were watching Evie to see what was in the sack. But she was more concerned with Maggie, who was still hunched over on her footlocker.
“Are you all right?”
Maggie sniffled and wiped tears from her eyes. “I’m fine.” She stood and came over to join Basil. “What have you got in there?”
“You’re sure you’re all right?” said Basil.
“Yes, of course,” said Maggie with an embarrassed smile. “That rooster just gives me such anxiety. Go on, Evie, what’s inside?”
Evie pulled open the drawstring and upended the sack onto her bed. Dozens and dozens of parchments spilled out, all covered in ink and colored wax seals. Maggie and Demetra began sifting through them.
“Unbelievable,” said Demetra.
“What? What is it?”
“Evie, d’you know what these are? They’re letters from your admirers.”
“What?”
“Listen to this: ‘I heard about you from our town crier,’” read Demetra. “‘I never thought about being a princess before, but now I can’t want to enlist. Only three more years!’”
“This one’s from a father in a village near the sea,” said Maggie. “He says he hopes one day his sons can meet you.”
Now Basil began riffling through the parchments. “This one’s done a picture of you. Look!” He held up a charcoal sketch done in a child’s hand. It was a princess standing atop a tower with bright magic pouring from her chest. “‘I hope you like this drawing I made of you, Princess Evie. I don’t know what you look like, so it’s probably wrong. Maybe if I meet you one day I can try again.’ Blimey, that’s sweet.”
Evie was dumbstruck. All she could do was stare at the pile of letters strewn across her bed and try to contain the swirl of emotions inside of her. Confusion. Self-confidence. Gratitude. It was all there.
And amidst all those emotions ran one fleeting thought. I can’t wait to tell m
y mother.
OVER THE NEXT few nights, this strange occurrence repeated itself. Scattered cadets would receive a letter from home, while Evie would trudge back to her bunk hauling a sack full of adulation. By the end of the first week, she had shoved all of the letters beneath her bunk until there was no room for any more. She was starting to worry that she would give Princess Copperpot a bad taste in her mouth for not keeping her area up to regulation.
It was Basil who’d suggested keeping them in one of the trees outside the barracks. “Now, the secret is in the wrist. If you don’t snap your wrist correctly, you’ll just frighten the parchment and its talons will clench. One of my brothers had them go clean through his arm once.” He snapped his wrist and the parchment sprouted legs and wings and a head. It flew up into the tree and perched on a limb. “When you want to send one, you can either scratch out what’s there and use the same bird, or you have to wait for them to molt. The only other option is to find a blank one. The tawny ones are blank. The ones with black stripes have writing on them.”
Evie tried to do it, but most of hers fluttered back to the ground, still in parchment form. So Basil did them, one after another, until nearly every branch was covered in hawks, the inky words creating black lines in their feathers. An entire tree dedicated to the realm’s love for Evie.
Meanwhile, the early mornings in the kitchens had already started to take their toll. “At least last year we woke up with the sun,” said Demetra as Leatherwolf Company dragged themselves across the frosty Green. “I can’t bear being awake when it’s still dark.”
“They’ll start mucking up soon,” said Nessa. “Then there’ll be fewer and fewer of them, and we can get our hour of sleep back.”
“That’s a horrible thing to say!” said Maggie. “You shouldn’t wish anyone being sent home!”
“Except for me,” said Basil. “I can always dream of that.”
