by Nancy Chase
Contents
Books By Nancy Chase
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Epigraph
Illustration 1
Chapter 1
Illustration 2
Chapter 2
Illustration 3
Chapter 3
Illustration 4
Chapter 4
Illustration 5
Chapter 5
Illustration 6
Chapter 6
Illustration 7
Chapter 7
Illustration 8
Chapter 8
Illustration 9
Chapter 9
Illustration 10
Chapter 10
Illustration 11
Chapter 11
Illustration 12
Chapter 12
Illustration 13
Chapter 13
Illustration 14
Chapter 14
A Note From the Author
Free Book
Acknowledgements
About the Author
About the Artist
Books by Nancy Chase
The Seventh Magpie
Signs & Oddities
The Leprechaun Trap
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THE SEVENTH MAGPIE
Copyright © 2015 by Nancy Chase.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and events either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
For information contact: http://www.nancychase.com
Published by CreateSpace
Illustrations and cover art by Katrina Sesum
Cover design by Nancy Chase and Brian Leavitt
Book design by Nancy Chase
ASIN B00TCOUP1E
ISBN-13: 978-1507754832
First Edition: February 2015
For Robin,
who taught me to count magpies
One for sorrow, two for joy,
Three for a girl, four for a boy,
Five for silver, six for gold,
Seven for a secret never to be told.
—Traditional magpie counting rhyme
Once upon a time in a castle overlooking the wild, cold sea, there lived a beautiful queen and a stouthearted king who did not love each other. The disappointed king took up quests and rode about the country conquering his enemies. The queen tried to comfort herself by dabbling in magic, but often, when no one was watching, she just shut herself in her bedchamber and wept. Nevertheless, she did her best to be a good and dutiful wife, and in time she gave birth to a daughter, whom she named Catrin.
“You are a princess,” the queen told the babe as she held her for the first time. “You will wear silk gowns the color of peacocks and cardinals and canaries. You will never have to do anything you don’t want to do, and you will never be unhappy.”
“You are a princess,” the king told the child on her fifth birthday. “It is a great responsibility. You will have treasures and lands at your command, and you will marry the richest prince in the world.”
He sat on a throne shaped like an enormous eagle with yellow glass eyes. It had been carved all in one piece from a single oak tree and was polished smooth as a sword. Catrin kept her head lowered because her maid had warned her that one must show respect for the king, even if one was a princess, but she could see out of the corner of her eye how his black beard wagged when he talked.
The queen stood beside Catrin and took her hand. “I hope,” she said to the king in a cold voice, “that she will marry the prince that she loves the most. For a woman, marriage without love brings great misery.”
“I know that.” The king’s lips tightened, and his beard bristled. “For a man, too.”
Catrin pulled her hand from her mother’s too-tight grasp. “Papa?”
“Tell Papa you won’t marry any prince except the one you love.” The queen laid her cool, narrow hands on Catrin’s shoulders and squeezed hard enough to pinch.
“I want what is best for the child! How dare you encourage her to defy me?” The king thumped his fist on the eagle’s carved wing. “Do you teach her to hate me, too? Do you hate your father, Catrin?”
“Don’t shout at me!” the queen cried.
“Answer me, Catrin. Do you love your father?”
Catrin opened her mouth, but her mother’s nails dug into her shoulders, so she closed it again.
“That does it,” the king said. “Next you’ll have her riding my warhorse, or believing in magic. It’s time she began her education, learned what it is to be a princess. I will send her away, somewhere she can learn behavior fit for a king’s daughter, not this wild foolishness.”
“Away? Where? You can’t take my child from me, she’s all I have!”
“Then perhaps you should have thought of that before you—”
Catrin tore herself out of her mother’s grip and ran from the throne room. Heavy green tapestries billowed on the walls as she passed, but her small feet barely stirred an echo on the wide stone floor. Guards and footmen turned to stare at her because a princess was not supposed to dash headlong down the passageways, but Catrin didn’t care.
She let the heavy oak door of her room bang shut behind her. Megan, her plump, red-haired maid leaped to her feet, dropping her mending to the floor. “Moon and stars, child, what ails you? Is the castle a-fire? Have pirates attacked the harbor?”
Catrin flung herself onto her bed and curled up into a tight ball with her arms wrapped around her knees. Megan tilted her head sideways and propped two pudgy fists on her broad hips. “Ahh. Is Her Majesty throwing candlesticks at the king again? By the Seven, child, you made me nearly run the needle through my finger, and all for that?” Sucking on her injured finger, Megan bent to retrieve her tumbled sewing. Once settled back into her cozy chair, she puffed a stray lock of hair out of her face and resumed stitching.
Catrin rocked back and forth on the bed. She was being sent away. Banished. She squeezed her eyes shut, but she didn’t cry. Catrin never cried, and she never laughed. From time to time, Megan glanced over at her and shook her head sadly.
It was several hours later when the queen finally swept into the room. Her cheeks were pale, and her voice was husky from weeping, but her eyes were like ice. Megan gave an audible sniff of disapproval but curtsied deeply all the same.
“Well, Little Bird,” the queen said to Catrin, “you are going on an adventure. You are going all the way across the sea to live for a while at an abbey, where they will teach you reading, and writing, and—”
“I don’t like the sea,” Catrin said, muffled against her knees.
“You won’t live in the sea, Little Bird, you will live at the abbey, with good, kind people.”
“I don’t like the sea!” Catrin shrieked, hitting at her mother. “I won’t go away! I won’t! I won’t!”
“Be quiet, Catrin! Do you think you can have everything you want? You are a princess, and that means you will be made to suffer and endure many hardships to keep your station.”
Megan bounced to her feet, pulled the flailing princess away from the queen, and hugged her tight. “Begging your pardon, Your Majesty, but she’s only a child. She’ll be frightened, sent off all alone like that.”
“She is a princess,” the queen said, straightening her gown. “She must learn to act lik
e one.”
Scowling, Catrin squirmed away from her maid. “I don’t want to go.”
The queen turned toward the narrow window. A thin, bright rectangle of sunlight gilded her yellow hair and sparked the diamonds on her rose-colored gown. One slender hand gripped the velvet drapery until Catrin thought it would tear. She took a deep breath before she turned around again. “Catrin, listen to me. I am a queen, and even I am not happy. I cannot bear to think of you growing up to be as miserable as I am. Perhaps leaving here will be a good thing for you.”
In a small voice, Catrin asked, “If you are so sad, Mother, why don’t you go away too?”
The queen touched Catrin’s hair, and her mouth softened. “I have thought about it, Little Bird, but I do not think I would be welcome at the abbey. I do not think the nuns would approve of me.” She gave a bitter laugh and held out her hand. “Come. You and I will go for a walk, and I will give you your birthday gift.”
Catrin followed her mother down a narrow side stair and out the castle gate to the twisting path that led along the top of the cliffs. Above them, gulls cried and wheeled in the pale sky, and below, the dark sea boomed against the rocks, sending white curtains of spray bursting upward. Clinging to her mother’s hand, Catrin flinched whenever the droplets fell near her.
“Are you afraid?” the queen asked, but she was not listening for an answer. She shaded her eyes and looked out to sea. “Look. Do you see that island out beyond the harbor?” Toward the hazy horizon where sky blended into water, a sharp crest of land jutted up and cast a wavering reflection across the wrinkled waves. “On that island live seven Magpies, and very magical birds they are. They can change into anything they want: soldiers, or serpents, or seven notes of music. They know the answer to every riddle, the color of every flower, and the words to every song. They keep all the lost and secret things that others have forgotten, and it is from them I got the gift I am going to give you for your birthday.”
Catrin’s eyes widened. “Do the Magpies give you whatever you ask, Mother?”
“No,” the queen replied. “This gift will cost me a great deal. It is a very valuable thing, worth a king’s ransom. Or a queen’s.”
She opened the pouch that hung at her belt and took out a little golden book not much bigger than her hand, but heavy with jewels. “I should wait until you are older, but since I may not see you again, at least for a long while, I will give it to you now.” She turned the book so Catrin could see the rubies, emeralds, and sapphires sparkling on the cover.
“The book itself is worth a kingdom,” the queen said, “but what is inside is worth a hundred times more. It is the Best Story in the World. I know you cannot read it yet, but you will learn.” She spoke very seriously. “This not just a pretty toy, Little Bird. It is powerful magic, and it can be very dangerous. Once it is yours, you must never lose it, for if you do, you will surely die. Do you understand?”
Catrin was not sure she did understand, but the book shone like honey in the sunlight. She had never seen anything so pretty. It seemed just shaped for small hands to hold. Sucking in her breath, Catrin reached out. As she touched the cover, pain like stinging nettles prickled her fingers. The sky suddenly seemed intensely blue, and the grass felt softer beneath her feet. She heard larks singing above the hillside and smelled honeysuckle on the breeze. She gasped, but she didn’t drop the book.
“Shh,” her mother said. “Look, on the castle wall, it’s a Magpie!”
On the top of the stone parapet a large bird perched, a bird such as Catrin had never seen. Its head and chest were glossy black, its belly and shoulders were white as moonbeams, and its tail gleamed iridescent green. The bird flicked its wings and bobbed its head saucily, almost like a nod of greeting. Delighted, Catrin stepped closer.
The Magpie peered down at her sideways and called in a rasping voice:
“Twice fortunate, Princess, thou art:
A golden book, a joyous heart.
But read only one page a day,
Or we will steal them both away.”
“It talks!” Catrin exclaimed. “It told me a riddle! What does it mean, Mother?” She turned back, but the queen was no longer there. When Catrin looked up again, the Magpie was gone as well.
The castle was in an uproar for days. The king alternately shouted at servants and paced the halls in gloomy silence. Search parties of men on horseback rode in and out of the castle gates. Rumors flew: The queen had been kidnapped. The queen had been bewitched and turned into a stone or a rabbit. The queen had gone mad and wandered off disguised as a beggar. In the midst of it all, maids and footmen were packing Catrin’s belongings and sending them down to the great ship that waited in the port.
Catrin watched all the confusion, wide-eyed, with her book clutched to her chest. She heard Megan tell Hobb the horse keeper that the queen had probably leaped into the sea and drowned. Catrin pictured again the high cliffs above sharp rocks dark and slick with spray, the cold rushing sea, deep enough to swallow even a queen.
She didn’t cry once, even when the king set her in front of him on his white horse and started down the wide, cobbled road to the harbor. The green meadows sloped toward the sea on either side, and linnets sang in the hedgerows. When the tall masts of the ship came into view, the king reined in his horse. He had changed so much in the past few days that Catrin barely knew him. His hollowed cheeks threw his cheekbones into sharp relief, and his eyes were red-rimmed and weary.
“A king’s life is not an easy one,” he said. “I will miss you, Little Bird. You will be a young woman before I see you again. I hope you will grow up to be good and wise and serene, as a princess should, and I will be so proud of you.”
After the king bid her farewell, Megan, weeping so fiercely that her freckled nose grew as red as her hair, carried her on board the ship and set her down.
“Aren’t you coming with me?” Catrin clung to Megan’s skirt.
“Nay.” The maid choked back her tears. “And me being a lady’s maid and all? Have I nothing better to do than to forever look after a little child? Come back when you’re a real princess.” She patted Catrin’s hair and scurried back down the gangplank with her handkerchief pressed to her face.
The ship set sail. Catrin stood alone on the deck and stared back toward the hill where her father sat on his white horse, watching him grow smaller and smaller until he was out of sight. Then she ran to a corner and was sick.
One of the cabin boys found her huddled beside a pile of rope. He took one look and set down the pail of water he was carrying. “Don’t worry,” he said, patting her arm, “everybody gets sick their first time at sea.”
“Even princesses?” Catrin was too ashamed to even look up at him.
“Kings, even. And emperors, too, I bet. I got sick on my first voyage, but I don’t anymore, ’cause I’m a real sailor now. I like the sea. It goes on forever and ever.” He sat down beside her. “But I guess you’re not used to that, living in a castle and all. You’ll probably miss your folks, and your home.”
Catrin nodded woefully. “I’m going to an abbey to learn to read and write.”
“That’s not so bad, surely? We make this voyage twice every year. Once you’ve learned, you can write letters to your father, and I will bring them to him.”
Catrin sat up. “Would you? Do you promise?”
“I promise,” he said.
When the ship came into port and Catrin spied the dirty, bustling marketplace filled with beggars, half-naked children, and ragged men selling rugs or spices or pretty songbirds in little wicker cages, she lost her courage. She flung her arms around the sailor boy’s neck and held tight, begging, “Don’t leave me here!”
Three grown sailors first coaxed her, then tried to pry her loose. The tallest one stifled a curse when she sank her small teeth into his forearm. At last they were too strong for her. As soon as her hold slipped, one of them picked her up and slung her over his shoulder. She barely kept her grip on her golden book a
s he carried her down the gangplank.
For a moment, she saw the sailor boy leaning over the rail before the bustle of the marketplace enveloped her. Dogs barked as she passed, and beggar children laughed and pointed at her struggling form.
Beyond the market loomed the gray stone walls of the abbey. When the sailor reached the gate, he turned Catrin upright and set her on the ground. Before he could pull the bell cord to announce their arrival, one of the nuns was already gliding along the path to greet them. Through the iron bars of the gate, Catrin glimpsed several neat green squares of gardens, orderly herb patches, rows of fruit trees, and a small cluster of stone buildings.
The sailor nodded to the nun and touched his forelock respectfully. “Delivery for the abbess, ma’am. The Osprey has just put into port, and we’ve brought the princess, safe and sound. The abbess will be expecting us.”
The gray-cloaked nun nodded slightly and unlatched the gate. “The child may come in.”
Catrin shrank back against the sailor’s leg. He glanced down in surprise, then smiled and tousled her hair. “Pardon me, ma’am,” he said to the nun, “but she’s been rather frightened. I’d like to see her into the abbess’s care myself.”
The nun’s breath hissed between her teeth. “That is not allowed. No men, no visitors, no exceptions.” She seized Catrin’s arm, yanked her inside as if pulling her to safety, and slammed the gate shut.
“Good luck, Princess,” the sailor called after her. “You’re a corker and no mistake!”
“Shocking!” The nun hurried back along the path, dragging Catrin behind her. Catrin saw only the gravel path, three stone steps, a door, and a section of hallway before she found herself in a small, paneled room. A stern, gray-haired woman sat behind an ebony desk writing numbers in an account book. Beside her, six wax candles blazed in a gold candelabra. Catrin’s nun waited to step forward until the large woman paused to dip her quill pen into the silver ink-pot at her elbow.
