He was interrupted by a child’s screaming. Both of them began to run.
Chapter 18: Which is rather full of princesses
T he child’s screams rose. There was no doubt about the direction. As Sophie and Abdullah ran that way, along a pillared cloister, Sophie panted, “It’s not Morgan; it’s an older child!”
Abdullah thought she was right. He could hear words in the screams, although he could not pick out what they were. And surely Morgan, even howling his loudest, did not possess big enough lungs to make this kind of noise. After getting almost too loud to bear, the screams became grating sobs. Those sank to a steady, nagging “Wah-wah-wah!” and just as that sound became truly intolerable, the child raised his or her voice into hysterical screams again.
Sophie and Abdullah followed the noise to the end of the cloister and out into a huge cloudy hall. There they stopped prudently behind a pillar, and Sophie said, “Our main room. They must have blown it up like a balloon!”
It was a very big hall. The screaming child was in the middle of it. She was about four years old, with fair curls and wearing a white nightdress. Her face was red, her mouth was a black square, and she was alternately throwing herself down on the green porphyry floor and standing up in order to throw herself down again. If ever there was a child in a temper, it was this one. The echoes in the huge hall yelled with it.
“It’s Princess Valeria,” Sophie murmured to Abdullah. “I thought it might be.”
Hovering over the howling princess was the huge dark shape of Hasruel. Another djinn, much smaller and paler, was dodging about behind him. “Do something!” this small djinn shouted. Only the fact that he had a voice like silver trumpets made him audible. “She’s driving me insane!”
Hasruel bent his great visage down to Valeria’s screaming face. “Little princess,” he boomingly cooed, “stop crying. You will not be hurt.”
Princess Valeria’s answer was first to stand up and scream in Hasruel’s face, then to throw herself flat on the floor and roll and kick there. “Wah-wah-wah!” she vociferated. “I want home! I want my dad! I want my nurse! I want my Uncle Ju-ustin! WaaaAH!”
“Little princess!” Hasruel cooed desperately.
“Don’t just coo at her!” trumpeted the other djinn, who was clearly Dalzel. “Work some magic! Sweet dreams, a spell of silence, a thousand teddies, a ton of toffee! Anything!”
Hasruel turned around on his brother. His spread wings fanned agitated gales, which flapped Valeria’s hair and fluttered her nightdress. Sophie and Abdullah had to cling to the pillar, or the force of the wind would have blown them backward. But it made no difference to Princess Valeria’s tantrum. If anything, she screamed harder.
“I have tried all that, brother of mine!” Hasruel boomed.
Princess Valeria was now producing steady yells of “MOTHER! MOTHER! THEY’RE BEING HORRID TO ME!”
Hasruel had to raise his voice to a perfect thunder. “Don’t you know,” he thundered, “that there is almost no magic that will stop a child in this kind of temper?”
Dalzel clapped his pale hands across his ears—pointed ears, with a look of fungus to them. “Well, I can’t stand it!” he shrilled. “Put her to sleep for a hundred years!”
Hasruel nodded. He turned back to Princess Valeria as she screamed and thrashed upon the floor and spread his huge hand above her.
“Oh, dear!” said Sophie to Abdullah. “Do something!”
Since Abdullah had no idea what to do, and since he privately felt that anything that stopped this horrible noise was a good idea, he did nothing but edge uncertainly away from the pillar. And fortunately, before Hasruel’s magic had any noticeable effect on Princess Valeria, a crowd of other people arrived. A loud, rather rasping voice cut through the din.
“What is all this noise about?”
Both djinns started backward. The new arrivals were all female, and they all looked extremely displeased; but when you had said that, you seemed to have said the only two things they had in common. They stood in a row, thirty or so of them, glaring accusingly at the two djinns, and they were tall, short, stout, skinny, young and old, and of every color the human race produces. Abdullah’s eyes scudded along the row in amazement. These must be the kidnapped princesses. That was the third thing they had in common. They ranged from a tiny, frail, yellow princess nearest to him, to an elderly, bent princess in the mid-distance. And they were wearing every possible kind of clothing, from a ball dress to tweeds.
The one who had called out was a solidly built middle-sized princess standing slightly in front of the rest. She was wearing riding clothes. Her face, besides being tanned and a little lined from outdoor activity, was downright and sensible. She looked at the two djinns with utter contempt. “Of all the ridiculous things!” she said. “Two great powerful creatures like you, and you can’t even stop a child crying!” And she stepped up to Valeria and gave her a sharp slap on her thrashing behind. “Shut up!”
It worked. Valeria had never been slapped in her life before. She rolled over and sat up as if she had been shot. She stared at the downright princess out of astonished, swollen eyes. “You hit me!”
“And I shall hit you again if you ask for it,” said the downright princess.
“I shall scream,” said Valeria. Her mouth went square again. She drew a deep breath.
“No, you won’t,” said the downright princess. She picked Valeria up and bundled her briskly into the arms of the two princesses behind her. They, and several more, closed around Valeria in a huddle, making soothing noises. From the midst of the huddle Valeria began screaming again, but in a way that was not quite convinced. The downright princess put her hands on her hips and turned contemptuously to the djinns.
“See?” she said. “All you need is a bit of firmness and some kindness, but neither of you can be expected to understand that!”
Dalzel stepped toward her. Now that he was not so anguished, Abdullah saw with surprise that Dalzel was beautiful. Apart from his fungoid ears and taloned feet, he could have been a tall, angelic man. Golden curls grew on his head, and his wings, though small and stunted-looking, were golden, too. His very red mouth spread into a sweet smile. Altogether he had an unearthly beauty that matched the strange cloud kingdom where he lived. “Pray take the child away,” he said, “and comfort her, O Princess Beatrice, most excellent of my wives.”
Downright Princess Beatrice was gesturing to the other princesses to take Valeria away anyway, but she turned back sharply at this. “I’ve told you, my lad,” she said, “that none of us is any wife of yours. You can call us that until you’re blue in the face, but it won’t make the slightest difference. We are not your wives, and we never will be!”
“Exactly!” said most of the other princesses, in a firm but ragged chorus. All of them, except for one, turned and swept away, taking the sobbing Princess Valeria with them.
Sophie’s face was lit with a delighted smile. She whispered, “It looks as if the princesses are holding their own!”
Abdullah could not attend to her. The remaining princess was Flower-in-the-Night. She was, as always, twice as beautiful as he remembered her, looking very sweet and grave, with her great dark eyes fixed seriously on Dalzel. She bowed politely. Abdullah’s senses sang at the sight of her. The cloudy pillars around him seemed to sway in and out of existence. His heart pounded for joy. She was safe! She was here! She was speaking to Dalzel.
“Forgive me, great djinn, if I remain to ask you a question,” she said, and her voice, even more than Abdullah remembered it, was melodious and merry as a cool fountain.
To Abdullah’s outrage, Dalzel reacted with what seemed to be horror. “Oh, not you again!” he trumpeted, at which Hasruel, standing like a dark column in the background, folded his arms and grinned maliciously.
“Yes, it is I, stern stealer of the daughters of sultans,” Flower-in-the-Night said with her head bowed politely. “I am here merely to ask what thing it was which started the child crying.”<
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“How should I know?” Dalzel demanded. “You’re always asking me questions I can’t answer! Why are you asking this one?”
“Because,” Flower-in-the-Night answered, “O robber of the offspring of rulers, the easiest way to calm the child is to deal with the cause of her temper. This I know from my own childhood, for I was much given to tantrums myself.”
Surely not! Abdullah thought. She is lying for a purpose. No nature as sweet as hers could ever have screamed for anything! Yet, as he was outraged to see, Dalzel had no difficulty believing this.
“I’ll bet you were!” Dalzel said.
“So what was the cause, bereaver of the brave?” Flower-in-the-Night persisted. “Was it that she wishes to be back in her own palace or to have her own particular doll, or was she simply frightened by your face or—”
“I’m not sending her back if that’s what you’re aiming for,” Dalzel interrupted. “She’s one of my wives now.”
“Then I adjure you to find out what set her off screaming, raptor of the righteous,” Flower-in-the-Night said politely, “for without that knowledge, even thirty princesses may not silence her.” Indeed, Princess Valeria’s voice was rising again in the distance—“wah-wah-WAH!”—as she spoke. “I speak from experience,” Flower-in-the-Night observed. “I once screamed night and day, for a whole week, until my voice was gone, because I had grown out of my favorite shoes.”
Abdullah could see Flower-in-the-Night was telling the exact truth. He tried to believe it, but try as he might, he just could not imagine his lovely Flower-in-the-Night lying on the floor, kicking and screaming.
Dalzel again had no difficulty at all. He shuddered and turned angrily to Hasruel. “Think, can’t you? You brought her in. You must have noticed what set her off.”
Hasruel’s great brown visage crumpled helplessly. “Brother mine, I brought her in through the kitchen, for she was silent and white with fear, and I thought maybe a sweetmeat would make her happy. But she threw the sweetmeats at the cook’s dog and remained silent. Her cries only began, as you know, after I placed her among the other princesses, and her screams only when you had her brought—”
Flower-in-the-Night raised a finger. “Ah!” she said.
Both djinns turned to her.
“I have it,” she said. “It must be the cook’s dog. It is often an animal with children. She is used to being given all she wants, and she wants the dog. Instruct your cook, king of kidnappers, to bring his animal to our quarters, and the noise will cease, this I promise you.”
“Very well,” said Dalzel. “Do it!” he trumpeted at Hasruel.
Flower-in-the-Night bowed. “I thank you,” she said, and turned and walked gracefully away.
Sophie shook Abdullah’s arm. “Let’s follow her.”
Abdullah did not move or reply. He stared after Flower-in-the-Night, hardly able to believe he was really seeing her and equally unable to believe that Dalzel did not fall at her feet and adore her. He had to admit that this was a relief, but all the same—
“She’s yours, is she?” Sophie said after one look at his face. Abdullah nodded raptly. “Then you’ve got good taste,” said Sophie. “Now come on before they notice us!”
They edged behind the pillars in the direction Flower-in-the-Night had gone, keeping a wary eye on the huge hall as they went. In the far distance Dalzel was moodily settling into an enormous throne at the top of a flight of steps. When Hasruel returned from wherever the kitchens were, Dalzel motioned him to kneel by the throne. Neither looked their way. Sophie and Abdullah tiptoed to an archway where a curtain was still swaying after Flower-in-the-Night had lifted it to go through. They pushed the curtain aside and followed.
There was a large, well-lit room beyond, confusingly full of princesses. From somewhere in the midst of them Princess Valeria sobbed, “I want to go home now!”
“Hush, dear. You shall soon,” someone answered.
Princess Beatrice’s voice said, “You cried beautifully, Valeria. We’re all proud of you. But do stop crying now, there’s a good girl.”
“Can’t!” sobbed Valeria. “I’m in the habit!”
Sophie was staring around the room in growing outrage. “This is our broom cupboard!” she said. “Really!”
Abdullah could not attend to her because Flower-in-the-Night was quite near, softly calling, “Beatrice!”
Princess Beatrice heard and plunged out of the crowd. “Don’t tell me,” she said. “You did it. Good. Those djinns don’t know what hits them when you get after them, Flower. Then things are coming along beautifully if that man agrees—” At this point she noticed Sophie and Abdullah. “Where did you two spring from?” she said.
Flower-in-the-Night whirled around. For a moment, when she saw Abdullah, there was everything in her face he could have wished for: recognition, delight, love, and pride. “I knew you’d come to rescue me!” said her big dark eyes. Then, to his hurt and perplexity, it all went. Her face became smooth and polite. She bowed courteously. “This is Prince Abdullah from Zanzib,” she said, “but I am not acquainted with the lady.”
Flower-in-the-Night’s behavior shook Abdullah from his daze. It must be jealousy of Sophie, he thought. He, too, bowed and made haste to explain. “This lady, O pearls in many a king’s diadems, is wife to the Royal Wizard Howl and comes here in search of her child.”
Princess Beatrice turned her keen, weathered face to Sophie. “Oh, it’s your baby!” she said. “Howl with you, by any chance?”
“No,” Sophie said miserably. “I hoped he’d be here.”
“Not a trace of him, I’m afraid,” said Princess Beatrice. “Pity. He’d be useful even if he did help conquer my country. But we’ve got your baby. Come this way.”
Princess Beatrice led the way to the back of the room, past the group of princesses trying to comfort Valeria. Since Flower-in-the-Night went with her, Abdullah followed. To his increasing distress, Flower-in-the-Night was now barely looking at him, only inclining her head politely at each princess they passed. “The Princess of Alberia,” she said formally. “The Princess of Farqtan. The Lady Heiress of Thayack. This is the Princess of Peichstan, and beside her the Paragon of Inhico. Beyond her, you see the Damoiselle of Dorimynde.”
So if it was not jealousy, what was it? Abdullah wondered unhappily.
There was a wide bench at the back of the room with cushions on it. “My oddments shelf!” Sophie growled. There were three princesses sitting on the bench: the elderly princess Abdullah had noticed before, a lumpish princess swaddled in a coat, and the tiny yellow princess perched in the middle between them. The tiny princess’s twiglike arms were wrapped around the chubby pink body of Morgan.
“She is, as far as we can pronounce it, High Princess of Tsapfan,” Flower-in-the-Night said formally. “On her right is the Princess of High Norland. On her left the Jharine of Jham.”
The tiny High Princess of Tsapfan looked like a child with a doll too big for her, but in the most expert and experienced way, she was giving Morgan a feed from a large baby bottle.
“He’s fine with her,” said Princess Beatrice. “Good thing for her. Stopped her moping. She says she’s had fourteen babies of her own.”
The tiny princess glanced up with a shy smile. “Boyth, all,” she said, in a small, lisping voice.
Morgan’s toes and hands were curling and uncurling. He looked the picture of a satisfied baby. Sophie gazed for a moment. “Where did she get that bottle?” she asked, as if she were afraid it might be poisoned.
The tiny princess looked up again. She smiled and spared a minute finger to point.
“Doesn’t speak our language very well,” Princess Beatrice explained. “But that genie seemed to understand her.”
The princess’s twiglike finger was pointing to the floor by the bench, where, below her small, dangling feet, stood a familiar blue-mauve bottle. Abdullah dived for it. The lumpish Jharine of Jham dived for it at the same moment, with an unexpectedly big, strong hand.
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“Stop it!” the genie howled from inside as they tussled for it. “I’m not coming out! Those djinns will kill me this time for sure!”
Abdullah took hold of the bottle in both hands and jerked. The jerk caused the swaddling coat to fall away from the Jharine. Abdullah found himself looking into wide blue eyes in a lined face inside a bush of grizzled hair. The face wrinkled innocently as the old soldier gave him a sheepish smile and let go of the genie bottle.
“You!” Abdullah said disgustedly.
“Loyal subject of mine,” Princess Beatrice explained. “Turned up to rescue me. Rather awkward, actually. We had to disguise him.”
Sophie swept Abdullah and Princess Beatrice aside. “Let me get at him!” she said.
Chapter 19: In which a soldier, a cook, and a carpet seller all state their price
T here was a brief time of noise so loud that it drowned Princess Valeria completely. Most of it came from Sophie, who started with mild words like thief and liar and worked up to screaming accusations at the soldier of crimes Abdullah had never heard of and perhaps even the soldier had never thought to commit. Listening, Abdullah thought the metal pulley noise Sophie used to make as Midnight was actually nicer than the noise she was making now. But some of the noise came from the soldier, who had one knee up and both hands in front of his face and was bellowing, louder and louder, “Midnight—I mean, madam! Let me explain, Midnight—er—madam!”
To this Princess Beatrice kept adding raspingly, “No, let me explain! ”
And various princesses added to the clamor by crying out, “Oh, please be quiet or the djinns will hear!”
Abdullah tried to stop Sophie by shaking imploringly at her arm. But probably nothing would have stopped her had not Morgan taken his mouth from the bottle, gazed around in distress, and started to cry, too. Sophie shut her mouth with a snap then and then opened it to say, “All right, then. Explain.”
In the comparative quiet the tiny princess hushed Morgan, and he went back to feeding again.
Wizard's Castle: Omnibus Page 39
