My Contrary Mary

by Cynthia Hand

  Her face filled with heat. It seemed so silly now, how shy they’d been about it, how naive. The way they’d acted like they had all the time in the world.

  She remembered them jumping on the bed.

  Francis lying on the bearskin rug, his face flushed with sleep, his blue eyes laughing up at her.

  That spectacular kiss on their wedding day.

  So this is going to be fine, she thought. Maybe even more than fine.

  It might be a little awkward when she appeared at the palace again and said, “Oh, I’m sorry, dear, for my sudden disappearance, but I’m back now. Let’s go make a baby.”

  But that was just what they’d have to do.

  For Scotland.

  “Uh, Mary?” Flem said.

  Mary cleared her throat. “I’m sorry to ask you to travel again so soon. But I need to get back. I’ve already been gone too long.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty,” said Bea, and without another word she became a raven and fluttered into the sky over their heads. Flem nodded glumly and then barked. Hush flashed into her stoat form. Liv dropped the three overstuffed saddlebags she’d been lugging onto the ground and bent to fold and put away the others’ dresses.

  “All right,” she said, when she was ready for the change herself. “Stand back, Your Majesty.” She flashed Mary a dimpled smile. “I’m glad to be going home.”

  “I know.” Mary grinned back.

  She was helping Liv out of her dress when a voice called after them.

  “MARY! MARY, WAIT!”

  The two girls turned to see James puffing down the palace stairs. He ran up to them, then bent over his knees and caught his breath.

  “James, you can’t talk me out of it,” Mary said impatiently. “You’ll be a fine ruler by proxy. You’ll see.”

  “No, it’s . . .” James gulped in a breath. “I’ve had news . . . Big news . . . News that . . . concerns you.”

  “What news?” Mary asked, frowning.

  “About . . . the king . . . of France. He’s dead.”

  Mary scoffed. “I know all about that already. Henry died in a jousting accident. That was weeks ago. Really, James, you need a better E∂ian message network if you’re only hearing about it now.”

  “No.” James straightened. “Not Henry. Francis.”

  “What?” Liv asked sharply. “That cannot be.”

  “What . . . cannot be?” Mary still did not understand. She had a feeling of time slowing, like she’d been thrust into a deep pool and was staring up at her brother through hazy water, only half hearing him. Because she couldn’t have heard him correctly.

  “King Francis is dead,” James said, his eyes full of pity. “According to my source, it was caused by an ear infection. He’s always been a bit sickly, right? There was that dreadful portrait.”

  Mary began to tremble all over.

  “You’re saying King Francis died of an ear infection,” Liv said slowly. “When?”

  “Yesterday. My source flew here the moment it was announced. The rest of the world will know in a few days, at most.”

  Liv turned horrified eyes to Mary. “Oh, Mary,” she murmured. “I’m so sorry. Mary? Mary?”

  But Mary didn’t hear her at all. She had fainted dead away.

  THIRTY-FIVE

  Ari

  Queen Catherine had been very specific in the directions she’d laid out for Ari. She had given her money. “Not much,” she had said, because she wanted them to have the “authentic” peasant experience. But when she handed Ari the bag of coins, the poor girl could barely lift it.

  “I’m afraid if I give you more, it will make you stand out,” the queen had said.

  She had also given Ari a detailed map to the hovel she was now standing in front of. It was a small white structure with a rectangular footprint and a thatched roof.

  Ari tied her horse up near some tall grass. “Eat up, Beau,” she said. The horse hadn’t come with a name, but Ari felt it distinctly rude to ride astride an animal without calling it by a name, so she named it Beau, which meant “handsome.”

  During one of Francis’s human moments, he’d mentioned the horse was a mare, but she’d kept the name Beau anyway.

  Francis was on the ground beside her. After he’d nearly been squashed by the box earlier, she’d decided it was better if he remained unencumbered by tight quarters.

  “Shall we look inside?” Ari said.

  Francis ribbited. The interior of the hovel was quite empty, other than a hearth with a fireplace, a small table with two chairs, and a bed in the corner. Just the one bed. Ari blushed, but she’d think about that later.

  With a flash, Francis turned into a man. Ari whipped a sheet out of her satchel and held it between herself and Francis.

  “Wrap yourself up, Your Majesty,” she said. It was a phrase that up until a week ago she’d never have imagined herself saying. But she was getting used to it.

  Francis took the sheet and wrapped it around his lower half. “You don’t have to call me that. I guess I’ve been deposed.” He sat on one of the chairs.

  “That’s going to take some getting used to, if I ever get used to it.” Ari thought grimly about her father and Greer. Would Ari ever see them again? She had a feeling the answer was no. But what choice did she have?

  Francis’s pale face also looked paler than usual. “I’m famished,” he said.

  Ari instinctively reached for the jar of flies and then stopped. “I’ll get some more human food soon.”

  “Where are we?” he asked.

  “Calais.”

  “I know. But why?”

  “Well, that’s not what you asked. I don’t know why. But your mother was very specific in her instructions.”

  “My mother.” Francis scowled and looked away. “I’ve been poisoned and kidnapped.”

  “I suppose,” Ari said slowly. “But when Queen Catherine tells you to do something, you do it.”

  Francis continued scowling.

  Catherine had given Ari a letter for Francis to read, but Ari decided now was not the right time, because she’d read the contents, and there was no way Francis was in the right state of mind to understand and process it.

  Maybe she’d wait until he was a frog again.

  “So, what now?” Francis asked. “Did my mother’s instructions include what in the world we’re supposed to do here?”

  “Well, first off, I think I should go get supplies,” Ari said. She’d always dreamed of advising King Francis, but the dreams had never really involved her grocery shopping.

  “Did she give you any money?”

  Ari opened one of the satchels and hoisted the giant bag full of coins onto the table. The table legs creaked under the weight.

  Francis’s eyes widened in horror. “That’s it?”

  Ari snorted. Aristocrats, she thought. “It’s more than enough for our needs.”

  “Yes, but for how long?” Francis asked, clearly panicking now.

  “In our current situation, this amount of money would last two or three lifetimes.”

  “Just how long are you going to keep me here?”

  Ari sighed, feeling sorry for the former monarch. “I don’t know. It’s not like Queen Catherine can bring you back from the grave.”

  Francis was quiet for a moment. “And what about Mary?” he said at last.

  Ari hesitated. “Well, she’s gone to Scotland.”

  “Yes, but won’t she hear that I’m dead?”

  Ari bit her lip. “Try not to think about that right now. After all, we just got here.”

  He walked over to the bed and threw himself on it, draping an arm over his face.

  Ari took her chair over. She awkwardly patted his knee. “There, there,” was all she could think to say.

  “Oh, what do you know of it?”

  Ari closed her eyes for a moment. “Well, I, myself, am also separated from . . . someone. Multiple someones. I wouldn’t be here myself, but your mother has taken my father hostage.” />
  “It’s the worst feeling in the world,” Francis moaned.

  Ari was beginning to think he could be a bit dramatic about things, because he’d said traveling by horse as a frog was “the worst thing in the world” and eating a fly just as he turned human was “the worst thing in the world.”

  But about this, she believed him.

  “If Mary were here, I’d know what to do. Mostly because she’d tell me. But still. That’s all I want. Mary here. And for me not to be a frog. And not to be kidnapped.”

  Ari winced. Yes, she would definitely wait to read him the letter.

  A little while later, Ari was wandering the Calais market, where the news of the king’s death was everywhere. Flyers were posted on every community board, and mournful sentiments touched everyone’s lips (along with the occasional, “Well, he never seemed very kingly anyway”). She bought bread, cheese, dried meat, lard to cook with, and several different herbs and spices, and every time she went to pay, the merchant would give her the change and say, “The king is dead, long live the king.”

  For entertainment purposes, Ari imagined saying, “He’s not dead. He’s a frog.”

  Then she remembered that her father had predicted a frog on the throne of France and her mind was blown for a little while.

  But then she tried to focus on what she and Francis would need for nourishment. Most of her cooking had been of the concocting-potions variety, but she was sure that given enough practice, she would get the hang of it. As she meandered through the busy streets and alongside the canals, she tried to picture this as her new home. Where she would live in a hovel. With the former king of France. As brother and sister. Indefinitely, or at least until they received further instructions from Queen Catherine.

  If they ever did at all. Ari couldn’t understand it. She knew the queen was ambitious. And she knew the queen adored playing tricks on her enemies, and even some of her less-likable allies. But how could a mother cast off her child so easily? Take away his kingdom? And turn him into a frog, on top of all of that?

  And then there was the letter . . .

  Ari reached into her pocket and touched it, to be sure it was still there. And then her fingers found the small piece of parchment next to it. Liv’s message. Ari wondered if she was safe, and if Liv thought of Ari as much as Ari thought of her, and if they’d ever see each other again.

  Too many ifs. Ari wanted nothing more than to write a message back. But she didn’t know any bird-type E∂ians who could deliver it. Or any E∂ians at all, apart from a certain frog.

  “Watch it, lad!” A man hauling a cart of barrels ripped her from her own thoughts.

  One of the barrels was labeled verbena, and suddenly Ari knew what to do next.

  “Excuse me, monsieur, but do you know where the apothecary is?” Ari asked.

  The man jerked a thumb behind him. “Half a block, on the right.”

  Ari scurried off and found the place, but once inside, she was deeply disappointed with the lack of supplies. Who didn’t have mugwort? What was this, the fifteenth century or something?

  This would never do.

  If she were going to make her own laboratory, a real laboratory, she would have to go in search of the ingredients herself.

  She returned to the hovel with fresh food and other items that would keep for a long time, and a blanket and some straw that could make do for another bed. Probably for her, as Francis would undoubtedly insist upon the real bed.

  Francis was on the real bed now, in frog form. She wasn’t sure if frogs’ faces were permanently sad or if it was just Francis’s face.

  Then she noticed the fireplace. Where it had once been empty, now there were two logs, neither of them touching the other, both placed flat on the stones. There was no tinder, no kindling. But pieces of flint and iron were lying sadly to one side of the hearth.

  Ah. It seemed as though Francis had tried to light a fire, his first, from the looks of it. Now she understood the super-sad frog face.

  “It’s all right.” Ari turned to Francis. “You had the right idea. But you have to chop the larger pieces of wood into kindling and tinder, and light those first. I’ll show you how.”

  She opened the fly jar next to his face and his tongue whipped out and snatched a fly. He ate it fast enough, although he seemed thoroughly unimpressed by the experience. Ari fed him another one. He ate it, too, and then turned his body around with a ribbit that sounded distinctly like a humpf.

  Ari pulled a folded parchment out of her pocket. “Now that I have your attention, Your Highness, I have a letter from your mother.”

  Francis did a full-body turn back toward Ari.

  Ari unfolded the letter.

  “‘My dearest boy,’” Ari started.

  It was met with a ribbit that sounded like a belch.

  “‘You are probably confused and angry right now. But I can’t worry about that.’”

  Ari really wished she could edit the letter, but if she tried to make it nicer, it wouldn’t sound like Catherine. Plus Francis could read.

  “‘I have to worry about the future of France instead of a son who clearly doesn’t want to be king and is not suited for the job. So, in a way, I am granting your deepest desire. You will not be king, and you will have all those choices you so desperately wanted.’”

  Francis licked his eyeball. Ari had to assume that was the frog in him, and not something Francis had secretly always wanted to do.

  The next part of the letter was the part that Ari was dreading reading the most.

  “‘Rest assured, dear Francis, that the kingdom is in safe hands. You are to live out your days as a peasant. Ari will see to your needs. Do as she says, for she was barely more than a peasant when we took her in. She’ll know what to do.

  “‘But you must remain hidden, for at least the next three to five years, until you have faded from the memory of your subjects. Few of them would recognize your face, of course, but there was that one unflattering portrait going around.

  “‘I shall try to visit you. But I shall be very busy running the kingdom.

  “‘And don’t worry about Mary. My sources tell me that she is in Scotland, where I think we can both agree that she belongs, and it will be easier for everyone if she believes you are dead as well.

  “‘You may disagree with my methods or my decisions, but of all the new choices available to you, changing this course of action is not one of them.

  “‘Your dear mother,

  “‘Queen Regent Catherine, Mother to King Charles IX.

  “‘PS: Accept it.’”

  THIRTY-SIX

  Francis

  Francis was in no way going to accept it.

  Of course, he was currently a frog, so for the time being, he gave a loud croak and tried to convey his utter displeasure at the note his mother had sent. If Ari interpreted his mood, she didn’t respond.

  “I’ve been thinking about some rules.” Ari folded the note and placed it on the bed beside Francis. “Your Highness.”

  Francis gave a quiet ribbit. He didn’t want to think about rules. He wanted to mope about Mary, who he was never going to see again. Because she thought he was dead.

  “Rule the first,” Ari began. “No leaving the hovel.”

  Francis blinked at her. She’d left the hovel already today.

  “You, I mean,” Ari clarified. “You’re the former king of France. Even if the people won’t recognize you, you still act like a royal. And you’re supposed to be dead—”

  I’m not supposed to be dead, Francis thought, but he was currently a frog, so the words came out only as an annoyed “ribbit.” I don’t want to be dead, real or pretend.

  At that very moment, a knocking came at the hovel door. Ari leapt to her feet and opened the door just a crack. “Yes?”

  “Midnight vigil for poor dead King Francis,” said a woman. “It’s BYOC.”

  “BYOC?”

  “Bring your own candle.”

  “Ah,” Ari s
aid. “For poor dead King Francis, you say?”

  “Died of an ear infection,” said the woman. “A dreadful thing, so soon after his father. But long may Charles the Ninth reign.”

  “Indeed,” Ari said weakly.

  “Well, I’m off to the next hovel. The vigil will be at the lighthouse, if you want to come. And remember, BYOC.”

  “Thank you,” Ari said, and shut the door. She came back to where Francis was still sitting on the bed, a frog, decidedly not dead. “That is why you can’t be seen around town. That exactly.”

  Francis gave a sad little croak.

  “Well, yes, I’ll probably go to the vigil,” Ari said. “I need to make friends around this place, and she seemed nice enough. I suppose I’ve got to find a candle. . . .”

  “Ribbit?” Francis asked.

  “No, you can’t go. You’re a frog.” Ari folded her arms over her chest. “Rule the second: no spending money.”

  Francis gave a deep croak, and his throat expanded. Well, that was new.

  “I’m in charge of the money.” Ari nodded to herself. “This is the only money we have, and I won’t have you spending it on silks or hunting hounds or whatever you royals like to buy.” She continued nodding, agreeing with herself. “Yes, I’ll have to manage the money, because I don’t see how you’d be able to keep us living within our means. Unless you wanted to get a job, that is.”

  Francis licked his eye.

  Not on purpose. That was just how frogs do.

  “Right,” Ari went on. “And you can’t get a job because of your face, not to mention that my potion is still in your system. You might not be able to control you form until it wears off all the way.”

  Francis blinked at her. He couldn’t get a job because he might turn into a frog or, more likely, because he had no commoner job skills. He also couldn’t spend money because he couldn’t be trusted and he couldn’t get a job. They would almost certainly go broke within a matter of days. Hearing all of this, it really sounded like Catherine de Medici was actually trying to kill him, just slowly and from a distance.

  “Rule the third,” Ari said. “No sending letters to the palace or anyone else you used to know. This is basically witness protection.”

  Francis gave a confused croak.