It’s a busy street, she thought, but then she reminded herself, There’s no busy street near our house. The sight inflamed her imagination, and she ventured still closer and closer to the scene. It’s like crawling out of a small cave, she thought. Then her mind raced to the many stories she’d read about children who had stepped through a hole or mirror or doorway and wound up in a magical land. Her heart beat excitedly as she thought—hoped—that maybe it was about to happen to her. Perhaps she would get to see something wondrous; perhaps she was going to enter a fairy tale.
At the edge of the darkness, she glanced up and realized she was no longer under the porch. The coarse planks of plywood and the two wheels directly in front of her and two wheels directly behind her made her think she must be under a wagon. More startling was that the porch, the trellis, Johnny, and even her house had disappeared.
A man shouted, “Yah!” and snapped leather reins, and the wagon moved away from her. She stayed still, afraid she might get caught under the wheels, but they didn’t touch her. In a moment she was crouched in an open space, sunlight pouring down onto her. People were crowded around, and she stood up with embarrassment on her face, certain they were wondering who she was and where she’d come from.
A man grabbed her arm and pulled her quickly into the crowd. “You’d better get out of the road, little lady,” he warned. “Do you want to get run over by the procession?”
Besides that, no one seemed to notice her. But she noticed them. Her eyes were dazzled by the bright colors of the hundreds—maybe even thousands—of people lined up on both sides of the avenue. Trees sprung out from among them like green fountains. Tall buildings stood behind them with enormous columns and grand archways. Maddy blinked again. The colors seemed too bright somehow, much richer than the colors she was used to seeing. Then she smiled to herself: They looked just like the colors in so many of the illustrated stories she’d read.
She noticed that some of the people clutched flags and banners, while others held odd-looking rectangular-shaped hats to their chests, and a few carried children up on their shoulders. What struck Maddy most were the peculiar garments everyone wore. The women were in long, frilly dresses, not unlike Maddy’s own peasant dress but far more intricate in their design, billowing out at the waist like tents. The men had on long coats and trousers that only went to just below their knees. The rest of their legs were covered with white stockings. On their feet they wore leather shoes with large square buckles. The men had ponytails, she noticed, and hats that came to three-pointed corners.
The scene reminded her of the last Fourth of July, when she had stood along Main Street with the rest of the townspeople for the big parade, followed by fireworks and picnic food in the park. Some of the people in that parade had dressed the same as the people she saw now. It was the style of clothes worn when America won its independence.
Unlike the parade back home, however, this parade didn’t seem very happy. Most of the people stood with stern expressions on their faces. A few looked grieved. Several women wiped tears from their eyes. Maddy suspected she had formed the wrong impression of what she was seeing. Maybe it wasn’t a parade; maybe it was a funeral procession.
“Did someone die?” Maddy asked the man who’d pulled her from the street.
He gazed at her thoughtfully and replied, “Our nation, little lady. Our nation.”
A regiment of soldiers now marched down the avenue. The men were dressed in the same outfits as those in the crowd, but all were a solid blue color, and they had helmets on their heads and spears or swords in their hands. They broke their ranks and spread out to the edge of the crowd.
“The king is coming, and we want you to be excited about it,” one of them said gruffly.
“He’s not our king!” someone shouted from the thick of the crowd.
The soldier held up his sword menacingly. “You can be excited or arrested,” he threatened. “The choice is yours.”
The soldiers moved off to stir up other parts of the crowd. Across the avenue, a fight broke out, and Maddy watched in horror as three soldiers began to beat and kick a man they’d knocked down. They dragged him away while the rest of the soldiers stood with their swords and spears at the ready.
What kind of parade is this, she wondered, where the people are forced to enjoy it or be beaten? As if to answer her question, Maddy remembered the stories her father told of the Russian revolutionaries who demanded that people parade and salute even when they didn’t want to.
Halfhearted cheers worked their way through the crowd as a parade of horses approached and passed, soldiers sitting erect on their backs, swords held high in a formal salute. Then a large band of musicians with woodwinds and brass instruments came by, playing a lively song of celebration. Next came several black open-topped carriages, each with people dressed in colorful outfits of gold and silver that twinkled in the sunlight. The men wore white shirts with lacy collars. The women wore hats with brightly colored feathers sticking out of the backs. They waved and smiled at the crowd.
Maddy noticed one man in particular who seemed almost as unhappy as some of the people in the crowd. He had a pockmarked face, unfriendly eyes, a narrow nose, and thinning, wiry hair. Unlike the rest of the parade, he didn’t wear a colorful jacket but one of solid black—as if he, too, were mourning something. Occasionally he lifted his hand in a wave, but Maddy was struck by the look of boredom on his face. It seemed to require considerable effort for him to be pleasant to the crowd.
At the end of this particular procession came the largest carriage of all. The carriage was gold on the outside; its seats were made of a plush, red material. A man sat alone on the rear seat—propped up somehow to raise him higher than he normally would have been—and waved happily at the crowds. He was a pleasant-looking middle-aged man with ruddy cheeks, big eyes, and wild, curly hair.
“I was wondering if he’d wear that stupid wig,” someone muttered nearby.
“It’s no worse than that coat,” someone else commented.
The man’s coat displayed the colors of the rainbow and had large buttons on the front. Maddy smiled. It made him look a little like a clown.
“I can’t bear it,” a woman cried as large tears streamed down her face. Even with the tears, she waved a small flag back and forth.
“What’s wrong?” Maddy asked the woman. “Why are you crying?”
The woman dabbed at her face with a handkerchief. “Because it’s the end of us all,” she replied with a sniffle.
“Aye,” an elderly man behind her agreed. “When the barbarians parade down the streets of Sarum, it’s the end of Marus.”
Suddenly a group of soldiers who had been following the golden carriage with muskets slung over their shoulders spread out to the crowds, thrusting flags and banners into their hands. “Take these and follow us to the palace,” they commanded.
“Only after I’ve had my brain replaced with a beetroot,” the elderly man said defiantly.
A soldier hit him in the stomach with the butt of his musket. The man doubled over in pain. “You’ll follow no matter what kind of brain you have!” the soldier growled.
“Leave us alone!” a woman shouted. “Why don’t you go back to Palatia where you belong?”
“And deprive our king of his spoils?” another soldier called back. “That wouldn’t do.”
The man who’d been hit recovered his breath, grumbled something Maddy didn’t understand, then stepped out onto the avenue to follow the soldiers. Maddy was swept along with him and the rest of the crowd around her. Before she knew it, the man’s flag—a small, rectangular cloth of red with a single star in the middle—was in her hand. He smiled at her. “You’ll enjoy waving it more than I will,” he suggested with a pained expression on his face. Eventually, she lost him in the crowd.
Worried that she might get in trouble, Maddy held the flag up and swung it as she walked. It didn’t occur to her that she had no idea where she was or if she could find her way back to h
er porch. If this was a dream she was having or, better still, a magical place she’d found like Alice in Wonderland, she was curious to see what would happen next. “Dreamy Madina” was like that. But she wasn’t too pleased about the nasty soldiers or the unhappiness of the people.
Maddy followed the crowd up the avenue until it joined yet another broad street. They seemed to walk for miles. Because she was surrounded on all sides by the crowd, she couldn’t see much of the city. Only occasionally did a large building poke skyward beyond someone’s head or shoulder. She wished she could stop to look longer at the great pillars and round towers or to read the names on the statues of men in brave and noble postures. Otherwise, she caught only glimpses of shops and homes made of brick and stone.
Just as Maddy’s legs started to ache from the long walk, the crowd slowed to a halt. Then, after a moment, it slowly moved forward again, now through a large gate made of wrought iron and gold posts. She found herself in a parklike area with level grounds and manicured grass. A single driveway curved around in a half-moon shape and stopped at the double front doors of a palace. At least Maddy assumed it was a palace, for she’d never seen such a majestic building in her life.
The front door stood at the center of two wings, made of yellow stone, that spread out to the left and the right. There were three stories, each with rows of tall windows that reflected the day like jewels. Maddy’s eye was drawn to a gold rotunda over the center section, where the front doors were. On top of the rotunda was a statue of something that looked to her like an angel.
The crowd was instructed by the soldiers to sit down on the grass. The man in the golden carriage stood up to address the throng. His voice was deep and booming but still hard to hear since he was some distance away.
“I, King Willem, declare a national holiday for my subjects, the people of Marus,” he declared.
“We’re not your subjects!” a man shouted from somewhere deep in the crowd. Soldiers instantly moved in to find the culprit.
The king ignored him. “Let this be a time of celebration!” he continued. “A time of feasts and banquets unlike anything seen in your lifetime!”
“As if I ever expected to see a Palatian king on the throne in my lifetime,” an old man with a craggy face growled softly off to Maddy’s right.
“Let the musicians make music, let sweet drinks flow, and let the food fill our bellies!” the king called out. “From this day forward, Palatia and Marus are intertwined, united by fate and by victory.”
“It’s our fate thanks to his victory,” the same man muttered sarcastically.
The king continued, “And now I beseech every man, woman, and child to join me in celebrating my marriage to one of your own, the pure and gracious Annison!”
With this, a woman stepped out through one of the palace’s front doors. Maddy gasped. The woman had raven black hair and a slender face, with a smile that seemed to light up everything around her. It was the most beautiful face Maddy had ever seen.
“It’s the princess from my dream,” she said out loud to a woman next to her.
The woman grunted and turned away.
Maddy craned her neck to see better. Annison wore a beautiful red-velvet dress that highlighted the redness of her lips and the blush of her cheeks. She looked shy and slightly embarrassed to be standing in front of so many people. Lifting her hand, she gave an awkward wave.
Though it was a slight gesture, the crowd came alive now, with all the people leaping to their feet to cheer her. They cheered in a way they hadn’t cheered for the king at any point in his procession—wildly and exuberantly. He didn’t seem to mind, though. He stretched out his hand to her, his face filled with pride.
“I can’t believe she’s marrying him.” A woman nearby sneered in the midst of the shouts and cheers. “She’s a Marutian. She should be ashamed.”
“She’s an orphan girl,” another woman said with a shrug. “Who knows what her lineage is? For all we know, she’s a Palatian herself.”
“She may be our only hope,” an old man observed thoughtfully. The two women looked at him uncomfortably and shut up.
Maddy didn’t understand what any of it meant. All she knew was that the princess of her dream was real in this strange world, and now she’d lost sight of her because of the crowd.
“You must come and help me,” the princess had said in the dream.
And Maddy had promised she would. With that thought in mind, she pressed herself forward through the crowd. She was determined to get to the front door of the palace—and Annison.
The king, who had resumed his speech while Maddy worked her way to the front of the audience, had just finished when she reached the edge of the lawn and the gravel driveway. The wheels of the golden carriage were within her reach. The king stepped down from the carriage, allowed Annison to put her arm through his, and walked with her into the palace. The large doors closed. Maddy was overcome with disappointment.
The soldiers began urging the crowd to disperse. Maddy stood alone where she was, her eyes fixed on the front doors, unsure of what to do next. She wanted—needed—to get to Annison. The feeling stabbed at her heart. She didn’t know why it was so important, yet the longing, the yearning, demanded that she make good on her promise to help Annison. But how could she get inside the palace?
The answer came from a stern-looking, matronly woman who suddenly appeared at her side. “You, child,” she said.
Maddy looked up. “Me?” she asked.
“Didn’t I see you with the choir?”
“Choir?”
“Stop answering my questions with questions. Are you with the choir or aren’t you? If you are, you should be inside with the rest.”
Maddy decided not to risk the wrath of this woman by asking what she was talking about. Besides, if joining the choir meant she might get to see Annison again, she was glad to join the choir. “How do I get in?” she inquired.
The woman grunted as if she had known all along that Maddy wasn’t where she was supposed to be. “That way,” she said and, taking Maddy’s arm, led her to the double front doors.
A servant opened one of the doors before they reached it. He lifted a quizzical eyebrow.
“She’s with the choir,” the matronly woman explained.
He nodded and took Maddy’s other arm, gently pulling her away from the matronly woman and into the front hall. It was an ornate foyer filled with paintings, statues, and a wide marble staircase. The walls were trimmed with gold-leaf borders. A set of chandeliers hung like large diamonds on each side. Up above, Maddy saw that the inside of the rotunda contained frescoes of angels all around.
“I do wish you children would stay together,” the servant said impatiently. He took Maddy down a grand hallway lined with more paintings and small alcoves with statues. Eventually they reached another double doorway. “They’re preparing to rehearse here in the Great Hall,” he said and nudged her inside.
Maddy’s jaw dropped at the sight of the room. It truly was a great hall, with high walls of carved wood, cornices, ornately framed portraits, and mirrors. The tall windows she’d seen outside were ablaze with the daylight, which flooded the room. Dozens and dozens of tables were set up and being laid by more servants than Maddy could count. At one end of the hall was a small stage where a group of girls and boys stood, dressed in smart gray outfits.
Maddy navigated her way past the tables and servants and approached the group cautiously. “Are you the choir?” she asked a girl with reddish hair who shifted uneasily from foot to foot.
“Yes,” she replied. “We’re going to sing for the king and his bride-to-be at the banquet tonight. My name is Sarah. Who are you?”
“My name is Maddy.”
“You’re not part of our choir,” Sarah observed, then looked her over. “You’re not in uniform.”
“I know that.”
“Then what are you doing here?”
“A woman outside told me to come in.”
“To join
us? Can you sing?”
“A little.”
“I can sing, too.” Sarah smiled. “I have a solo.”
Maddy looked around, hoping to catch sight of Annison again. “Do you know where the princess—I mean, Annison—is?”
“She’s probably in her chambers now,” Sarah replied. “I think she’s beautiful, don’t you?”
“Yes, I do,” Maddy said dreamily, then asked, “Do you know who she is?”
“She’s Annison. You just said so.”
“But who is she?”
The girl didn’t seem to understand the question and shrugged.
Maddy decided to try a different approach. “I’m a stranger here—”
“Where are you from?”
“I come from the Midwest.”
“Is that in Marus or Palatia?”
“It’s in America.”
Sarah looked puzzled, then shook her head. “I don’t know where that is. But my father said that people were coming from all over the world for the wedding.”
Maddy pressed on. “What I’m trying to say is that I’m a stranger, and I don’t know anything about this place or your king or—”
“Oh.” Sarah lowered her head a little and said softly, “Well, for one thing, he’s not really our king.”
“He isn’t?”
“No. He’s not from Marus. He’s from Palatia.”
“So?”
Sarah looked at Maddy impatiently. “They beat us in a war and killed our old king—King Jarrod—and now Willem says he’s our king, even though a lot of people here don’t like him. My father says he’s trying to turn Marus into Palatia.”
“Then why don’t the people throw him out?”
“We’re not strong enough.”
Maddy understood now. It was a little like Russia, where one side beat the other and took over everything. Something still didn’t make sense, however. “But Annison is from Marus, isn’t she?” she asked.
The Marus Manuscripts Page 30
