by Cynthia Hand
“That’s all. Well, maybe solve world hunger in the process,” Francis added thoughtfully. He grabbed her hand. “If you help me, I promise that when I have my crown again, you and your family will always have a place in my court.”
Catherine had underestimated Francis, Ari thought. She hadn’t seen any strength in him. But Ari saw it now. She also saw that this could be the solution to both of their problems. After all, Liv was in Scotland, too.
“All right,” she said, and smiled breathlessly. “I’ll help you. I’ll go.” She began to move swiftly around the room, tucking various vials into a small chest. “I just want to bring a few things that could come in handy.” It would be a shame to have to start her laboratory all over again again.
Francis grinned and pulled three satchels from under the bed. They were packed, bulky with the few clothes she and Francis owned and a good portion of food and other supplies.
“I guess you anticipated my answer,” Ari said with a laugh. “I’m the one who’s supposed to be able to see the future.”
“I’ve come to know you a little,” Francis said. “But speaking of the future, have you had any visions that could help us?”
Ari hadn’t. She doubted she would now, but it was worth a try. She held a sprig of peppermint in front of her nose and let her eyes roll back. Miraculously the world melted away. “I see trouble at the castle gates,” she murmured.
“Elizabeth?” Francis asked.
“I don’t know. But there are guards. So many. We’ll have to use trickery . . . Maybe a fireproof cloak? A wheelbarrow? Something about a pirate . . .” Ari’s voice trailed off as she came to. “I’m sorry. That’s not very helpful, I know.”
“We have to go.” Francis hefted the bags. “Pirates or no pirates. First, we should hire the best ship in the harbor—”
“Absolutely not. We can’t afford that.”
Francis huffed. “I counted the coins last night. I think we can just make it.”
Ari shook her head. “No! We have to make the money last for the rest of our lives.”
“Not after I get back my crown, remember? Then we’ll be living like royals again.”
Oh. Right. But they were still going to need money when they got to England, Ari reasoned. They shouldn’t blow it all on one fancy trip across the channel. “Here’s what’s going to happen,” Ari said firmly. “You’re going to turn into a frog, and I’m going to buy passage on the cheapest ship I can find. I’ll buy a ticket for one. You’ll be a frog. And then, when we get to Dover, we’ll look for the public carriages heading to London—”
“Public transportation?” Francis looked aghast. Ari assumed he’d never traveled via public transportation, not once in his life.
“It’ll get us there,” Ari said, “and it won’t throw us into utter destitution.”
Francis dragged his hands down his face, but Ari was sure it was simply for dramatic effect. “Fine,” he said at last.
Ari shut the chest with her potions in it and snapped the clasps into place. “Come along, frog prince. We don’t have all day.”
Francis glared at her, but there was a burst of white light and he changed into the frog. Good. At least he was listening to her. No more of this insisting that they’d need a bigger boat.
“What’s the frog for?” asked the inspector at the docks, peering into Francis’s box.
“I’m an apothecary,” Ari explained.
“What’s that mean?”
“A potion maker.” When the man still looked confused, she went on. “I could make you something to help your gout. Or constipation. Or even an unsightly rash.” She couldn’t help glancing at his neck.
The man blinked. “What’s that have to do with your frog?”
“Oh.” Ari smiled tightly and shut the box. “I like fresh ingredients.”
She could feel Francis shudder.
“Don’t worry,” she whispered as they walked away. “I’ve never used fresh frog legs.” Not specifically the legs, but he needn’t know that.
Soon enough, they’d finished crossing the channel, and before they disembarked, Ari found a small cabin where Francis could change back into a human and get dressed.
Moments later, they were standing on the docks, looking for where to go next.
“There!” Ari pointed at carriages lined up on the road. “Surely one of those will take us straight to London.”
But Francis was looking elsewhere, at a small sign tacked to one of the message boards. The paper was decorated with dozens of sketches of animals, everything from a horse to a bird to a ferret. “Look at this.” She followed as he drifted closer to read the text in the center.
It was in four different languages, including French. It read:
Attention!
Are you an E∂ian refugee fleeing persecution in your Verity country? Do you need assistance settling into England to live a life without the threat of your imminent and untimely death?
Well, you’re in luck! Queen Elizabeth has a plan for that.
Refugees are welcome. Come to the House of Rescuing Subjugated E∂ians, located at 27 Market Square.
Francis pointed. “Look! It’s a sign!”
“Yes.” Ari tilted her head. “It certainly is a sign.” Like, a literal sign.
“We need to go there right now,” Francis said. “They know the queen. They can get word to her, especially if they have lots of E∂ians going in and out. There must be someone who can carry a message for us.”
“I don’t know . . . ,” Ari started.
“I don’t have to be the one to stop Duke Francis and Cardinal Charles. Not personally,” Francis insisted. “All we need is for the queen’s guards to prevent them from entering the palace. Besides, public transportation is so slow.”
Ari pressed her mouth into a line. Francis was still talking like someone who had the protection of being in a position of power. “Who are these people, anyway?” she asked. “What assurances do we have that they work for the queen? There’s not even anything about being an official department or ministry. It just said House of Rescuing Subjugated E∂ians. Do you know what that shortens to?”
Francis tilted his head. “No . . .”
Ari pointed to the English version. “Look. It says HORSE. What kind of official government agency shortens to HORSE?”
Francis shrugged. “I think we should try it. We can catch one of these carriages to London after, if they refuse to take the message or it seems like they might kick us in the heads. But we can’t know if we don’t ask.”
Ari sighed loudly. “Fine, but you’re carrying the trunk the whole way there. The last thing we need is for anyone to recognize you. You’re supposed to be dead.”
“Fortunately, I look nothing like myself.” Francis was still wearing his scratchy peasant clothes, and Ari had to admit he was really doing a good job of not looking like the king of France. Plus, he was in a completely different kingdom now.
They walked to the House of Rescuing Subjugated E∂ians. It was a big building, made of white stone, but the thing that really struck Ari was just how many books waited in the lobby when she stepped in.
“I think we found a library,” Ari said. “Are you sure you got the address right?”
But they had. There was a line of people winding up to a desk. It was impossible to see the person sitting there, thanks to the precarious tower of books, but Ari caught a woman’s voice, and a flash of red hair. In a room off to the side, a chestnut-haired man spoke with a family—or a group Ari assumed was a family. Only two were human. The other three were a duck, a kitten, and a small black bear.
“Next!” called the woman behind the desk. The line shuffled forward. There were at least ten people ahead of them.
“Let’s skip the line and demand an audience,” Francis said, but Ari laid a hand on his shoulder.
“We have to wait our turn. We’re no one important here, remember?”
“But our message is important.”
She nodded. “I know, but we’re still incognito. Plus, all these others need help, too.”
So they waited as a boy with a wolf friend went ahead of them, then a sparrow, and a fox. All were directed into different rooms to speak to their new advocates. Finally, Francis and Ari were next.
“Hello!” said the small, red-haired woman behind the desk. “Welcome to HORSE. I’m Jane. How can I help you?”
THIRTY-NINE
Francis
Francis lurched forward. “I need to send a message to the queen right away. It’s a matter of life and death. Namely, her life.”
Jane’s eyes widened. “What? What do you mean?” She spoke perfect French, which made Francis realize he hadn’t switched when he’d meant to.
“I mean,” Francis said, sticking to French since she clearly understood, “I’ve come across some information. Queen Elizabeth is in danger. You must get word to her at once.”
Jane tapped her desk a couple of times, then sighed. “Gifford!”
The man in the other room excused himself from the group of E∂ians he was talking to, then approached the desk.
“Gifford, I presume,” Francis said in English.
“Call me G.”
“Ah. Very well. G.” What a strange name that was.
G turned to Jane. “You bellowed, my love?”
“Yes.” Jane stood. She was tiny, as short as a child. “This young man says he has information. He says that Bess is in danger.”
G frowned at Francis. “And who are you? How did you come by this information?”
“I’m—”
“No one,” Ari said. “He’s no one important.”
Jane blinked a few times. “No, I know who you are.”
“No, you don’t,” said Francis.
“Yes, I do. You’re King Francis. You’re supposed to be dead.”
Francis and Ari exchanged uneasy glances.
“Um,” said Francis.
“I knew it!” Jane cried. “I thought you looked familiar. I recognized you from this book I read.” She started to pry a book out of the tower on her desk. G raced to steady the rest of the tomes, to stop them from falling. “It’s called How to Recognize Monarchs in Five Easy Steps. It has pictures. The one of you . . .” Her mouth twisted into a frown. “Well, it’s not very flattering, I must say.”
“None of them are,” Francis said.
“Ha!” Jane pointed. “You admit it. You are Francis.”
“You’d already figured it out!”
Ari was just shaking her head at him. “This is embarrassing.”
Jane grinned as she looked around the lobby. It was empty, but she waved them to another room. “Come into my office where we can have some privacy.” She placed a small sign on her desk, which read, “Be Right Back.”
They all moved into the small room, and Francis gave them the short version of everything that had happened leading up to his arrival at HORSE.
“So your mother turned you into a frog,” Jane said thoughtfully. “And now everyone thinks you’re dead. And these de Guise people want Queen Elizabeth dead.”
She and G looked at each other, and G nodded.
“I’ll raise the flag,” he said, then left the room.
“I know something about becoming queen against your own will,” Jane said quietly, after a few minutes of uncomfortable silence. “Not everyone who sits on the throne is meant for it.”
Ari sat up straight. “Wait, you’re—”
“Jane Grey. Well, Jane Grey Dudley. Gifford is my husband.” Jane smiled. “Yes. I do have some experience in the area of escaping the throne—and imminent death—by discovering the E∂ian inside.”
“As do I.” A young man walked in, trailed by G. The newcomer nodded to Francis. “Edward Tudor, at your service.”
Francis was reeling. “You’re here, too?”
“Of course.” Edward smiled. “I’ve heard a lot about you, Francis. I was sorry to hear about, well, everything.”
“It’s been an ordeal,” Francis admitted. “Lots of scheming.”
“Assassination attempts.” Edward quirked a smile.
“Some successes on that front,” Francis said soberly.
“You being a frog at French court is hardly ideal,” G said.
“Far from it,” Francis agreed.
“And there’s been weddings,” Jane added.
“Just the one,” Francis said. “And I mean to win her back.”
G touched Jane’s shoulder. “We need to help them.”
“Of course,” Jane said. “Edward, will you—”
“Yes.” Edward glanced at G. “I’ll fly to London immediately. Francis, I can carry you, if you wish.”
“Oh, no,” said Ari. “He stays with me. He was put in my care, and I won’t let him out of my sight.”
“You and Jane and I can follow behind,” G said. “We’ll be there soon after, if we hurry.”
“I don’t like it, Francis,” Ari said.
Francis nodded. “I know. But I release you from your obligations to me. My mother had no right to demand that you give up your entire life to take care of me, and I certainly cannot ask you to do even more. If you want to return to France, then you may.”
Ari’s brow furrowed, but after a moment, she said, “I’m still going with you.”
“Oh good,” Jane said. “Let me just tell everyone here that we’re going to be gone for a while. HORSE can run itself, of course. I just like to be here. It makes me feel useful.”
“Jane likes feeling useful,” G said. “Almost as much as she likes books. Edward, Francis, we’ll be along shortly. Just get to Bess in time.”
Francis and Edward went upstairs and into a room with a large window and open wardrobe, which was filled with several different kinds of clothes.
“Just leave your things here,” Edward said. “There will be more on the other side. I have a room—Well, you’ll see it. For now, just”—he waved his hands—“go ahead and change. I’ll carry you there.”
“Won’t that slow you down?” Francis asked. (No, Francis wasn’t having second thoughts. Why do you ask?)
“Do you want to wait here?”
“Definitely not.”
Both former kings vanished into white light.
Frogs were not meant to fly. Jumping, sure. Even jumping long distances. But flying? Nope. If they were in the claws of a raptor, they were most likely dead.
Francis would have screamed if he could have. As it was, he just ribbited a lot as the world zoomed below. Everything was tiny, trees and roads and waterways. Francis felt paralyzed, unable to move as the air rushed by him. He knew the wind was cold, but the only thing he felt was terror.
Just as the River Thames was coming into view, it happened. Light exploded around him. Francis—human, naked, and frozen to the bone—plummeted toward the earth, taking the kestrel with him.
Francis screamed.
Edward screamed.
The wind screamed.
Frog, frog, frog! Francis thought. The trees were getting closer, bigger, and the ground had never seemed quite so deadly.
A part of Francis knew that he should let go of Edward, so that he didn’t kill them both, but he couldn’t make his fists unclench, and it also seemed impossible to let go of the thing that could fly.
Come on, frog! Francis thought.
The ground rushed toward him as they dropped below the tops of the tallest trees.
Flash!
Francis became a frog again, but he’d come untethered from Edward’s talons. He kept dropping, faster and faster, and then he was heavy for a moment as talons closed around him and dragged him upward, toward the clouds again.
Francis thought perhaps Edward would want to land and take a break, for both of them to catch their breath (even if they’d have to be naked for it, which would have been deeply uncomfortable), but the former king of England kept flying, faster and faster toward London.
At last, the city stretched before th
em. Francis caught glimpses of houses and boats and bridges spanning the river, and then, the Tower of London. Edward dove toward an open window in the White Tower and deposited Francis on a pile of blankets in the corner.
Both boys became human, and while Edward hurried to find clothes in the wardrobe, Francis huddled in the blankets and shivered. (Frogs, as we know now, are cold-blooded, and don’t generate their own heat, so Francis’s body temperature had dropped a lot while he was flying.)
“Here you go.” Edward, dressed now, dropped clothes next to Francis. “Are you all right? You really had me scared there.”
“Y-Yes.” Francis couldn’t stop shivering. The idea of flight had seemed fun back in Dover, but he was completely over it now. “I’m still learning to control my form.”
Edward gave a sympathetic frown. “This is new to you, isn’t it?”
“I didn’t even know I might be an E∂ian until a few weeks ago. I’ve been practicing, but . . .”
“I understand.” Edward walked toward the door. “I’ll give you some tips later, when we have time. Get dressed. We’ll check the throne room first. She’s probably holding court.”
Francis shoved his legs into the trousers, his arms into the shirt. The clothes were nice—not so fine as what he’d worn all his life, but they weren’t scratchy by any means—and fit decently well. He and Edward were of similar size.
A minute later, both of them were rushing through the halls, down the stairs, and into the throne room.
It was packed. Elizabeth was indeed holding court. Nobles stood elbow to elbow, watching their queen. She had the bearing of a monarch, all straight shoulders and sober intensity. Her gown was voluminous, and a white ruffle collar encircled her neck. Queen Elizabeth was exquisite, the undeniable image of what a queen should be.
“I know,” Edward murmured to Francis as they made their way through the crowd of courtiers. “She was made for this.”
Francis just nodded. He couldn’t help but wonder what Mary would think, if she could see Elizabeth here, sitting upon the English throne. Mary had always been told she had a claim, but it was hard to imagine anyone but Elizabeth sitting here.
“It is a puzzle box, Your Majesty.” A voice twisted through the court. Francis couldn’t see the owner yet, but the accented English, the slimy tone—it all sent a shiver through him, totally unrelated to the chill that clung to him after the flight. “I ask you, do not try to open it now. It will take time. Attempt the puzzle when you need to clear your mind after a long day of ruling.”
