by Dealing
“Who?”
“The stone prince.” Quickly, Cimorene explained how she had found and hidden him the day before. “And I hadn’t thought about it until now, but this is the perfect time to get him out of the mountains,” she finished. “All the dragons are gone and no one will see him. Come on, before I forget again.”
Alianora nodded dubiously, and the two girls headed for the banquet room. When they arrived, Cimorene went in first, holding her lamp high. “Prince?” she called. “Are you there? It’s me, Cimorene.”
“Yes, I’m here,” said the stone prince, unfolding stiffly from a gray lump in the comer. “I’m glad you’re back. Who’s this you’ve brought with you?”
“Princess Alianora of the Duchy of Toure-on-Marsh,” Cimorene said. “She’s the princess of the dragon Woraug just now.”
“Does her father need a great service done for him?” the prince asked hopefully.
“Not that I know of,” Cimorene replied. “Unless you’re good at getting rid of aunts, but that would be more of a service to Alianora than to her father.”
“I can think of nothing that would make me happier,” the prince said with evident admiration as he bowed stiffly to Alianora. “Good afternoon. Princess. Or should it be ‘good evening’? It’s hard to tell without windows.”
Alianora blushed and looked down at her bucket without answering.
“Actually, it’s good morning,” Cimorene told the prince. “I’m sorry it took me so long to come back for you, but ... well, a lot has been going on.”
Alianora looked up sharply. “You’ve been sitting here in the dark all night?” She shuddered. “You could at least have left him a candle, Cimorene.”
“Thank you for the thought. Princess Alianora, but it’s just as well she didn’t,” the stone prince said. “If I’d been sitting here with a lit candle, they’d have noticed me right away. And an unlit candle isn’t much use in the dark, is it?”
“What do you mean?” Cimorene said. “Who would have noticed you?”
‘The dragon and the two men he was talking to,” replied the prince. “I think they were wizards.”
“What?” said Cimorene and Alianora together.
“Well, they talked as if they were wizards,” the prince said. “They weren’t carrying staffs, though.”
“What did they look like?” Cimorene said.
“They were both tall, and they both had beards. The older one’s was gray and the younger one’s was brown.”
“Antorell and Zemenar!” Cimorene said. “And they were talking to a dragon?”
The stone prince nodded.
“Then they wouldn’t have been carrying staffs. Dragons are allergic to them. Did you hear what they said?”
“Something about a contest,” the stone prince said. “The wizards were going to fix it so this dragon would win. It sounded like a kind of cross-country race, and the wizards were going to hide along the path and— and help the dragon out somehow. I’m afraid I’m not very clear about that part. Spells aren’t my specialty. I’m much better at hopeless causes.”
Alianora and Cimorene exchanged appalled glances.
“The trials with Colin’s Stone to pick the new King!” Alianora said.
“Which dragon?” Cimorene asked urgently. “Do you know which dragon they were talking to?”
“I only heard the name once,” the prince said. He sounded apologetic and a little embarrassed. “And I don’t think I got it right. It’s too silly.”
“Tell us!” Cimorene commanded.
“Well, it sounded like ‘warthog’,” the prince said in an even more apologetic tone than before.
“Could it have been Woraug?” Cimorene asked
“That’s it!” the prince said. “I knew it couldn’t really have been warthog.”
“What a pity you remembered,” said a voice from the entrance into the banquet hall.
Cimorene whirled. Antorell stood in the doorway, staff in hand, watching them with an intolerably smug expression.
13
In Which Alianora Discovers
an Unexpected Use for Soap and Water,
and Cimorene Has Difficulty
with a Dragon
Antorell looked past Cimorene and Alianora as if they were not there and spoke directly to the stone prince. “I told Father someone was listening. He won’t be happy when he finds out I was right, but he’ll feel better when I tell him I’ve taken care of things. He might even let me have the first look in the King’s Crystal, once Woraug gives it to us.”
“So that’s what you’re after!” Cimorene said.
Antorell favored her with a superior smile. “Quite right. Princess Cimorene. The King’s Crystal will show us the whereabouts of every piece of useful and interesting magic in the world. All we’ll have to do is go out and pick them up.”
“Somehow I don’t think it will be that easy,” Cimorene murmured.
“We knew Tokoz would never give it to us, but Woraug will, as soon as he’s King of the Dragons. He’ll have to, or we’ll tell everyone how we were the ones who made sure he was the new king. Of course, we can’t afford to have anybody around who might make ... awkward revelations. I doubt that dragons will listen to a couple of hysterical princesses, but he”— Antorell pointed at the stone prince—”will have to go.”
“What are you going to do?” Alianora demanded. She was plainly frightened, and Cimorene could see that her knuckles were white with the force of her grip on the handle of the scrub bucket.
“Oh, gravel seems appropriate, don’t you think?” Antorell said. “No one will notice a few more rocks around here.”
“Ought I to be taking this person seriously?” the stone prince said in a rather doubtful tone.
“You’d better if you don’t want to end up as a lot of little pebbles,” Alianora answered. She still sounded frightened, but she seemed to be getting a grip on herself. “He’s a wizard.”
“You wouldn’t be talking about gravel if you were the one who had to sweep the floor,” Cimorene said to Antorell. She stepped forward as she spoke, hoping to get between Antorell and the stone prince before Antorell noticed what she was doing. She didn’t think Antorell was a good enough wizard to do any real harm, but there was no point in taking chances.
“Stay where you are, Princess Cimorene,” Antorell commanded. “I’ll deal with you in a moment.”
“Must you be so theatrical?” Cimorene said.
“Theatrical? You think I’m being theatrical?” Antorell said furiously. “I am simply showing a proper respect for the importance of this moment!”
“You’re showing off,” Cimorene said flatly. “And you’re not doing it very well.”
“He doesn’t sound much like a wizard to me,” the stone prince said. “Is he always like this?”
“Enough!” Antorell cried, and raised his staff. Light shimmered along its length and began to gather at the lower end. Grinning wolfishly, the wizard tilted the staff, aiming it toward the stone prince.
“Stop that!” Alianora said. Antorell ignored her. “I said, stop it!” Alianora shouted, and threw her bucket at Antorell’s head.
Alianora’s aim was off. The bucket hit Antorell’s shoulder. A bolt of fire shot from the end of his staff and whizzed between Cimorene and the stone prince to strike the far wall with a whumping noise and a shower of sparks. Antorell staggered, slipped in the cascade of soapy water, and fell over the bucket, dropping his staff in the process.
Cimorene darted in and kicked Antorell’s staff out of his reach. He stared up at her from a mound of soggy silk and soapsuds. “You can’t do this to me!” he shrieked.
Something in his voice made Cimorene and her friends look at him more closely. Alianora’s eyes went wide, and Cimorene blinked in surprise. “He’s—he’s collapsing,” Alianora said in a stunned voice.
“He’s melting,” Cimorene corrected her.
“I can’t be melting!” Antorell cried. “I’m a wizard! It’s
not fa—” His head disappeared into a small brown puddle, and his cries stopped.
There was a moment of astonished silence. “I thought it was witches who melt when you dump water over them,” the stone prince said at last.
“It is, usually,” Cimorene said. “What on earth did you put in that bucket, Alianora?”
“Just water and soap, and a little lemon juice to make it smell nicer,” Alianora said.
“Um,” said Cimorene, thinking hard. “I’ll bet there’s a simpler way of melting wizards, but we don’t have time right now to figure out what it is. How many buckets can you get hold of in a hurry?”
“Buckets?” Alianora said. “Two, counting this one. And I suppose I could borrow one from Hallanna; that’s three.”
“And I’ve got two in the kitchen, and I expect the iron kettle is big enough. That’s six altogether; two for each of us. You will help, won’t you?” Cimorene added, turning to the stone prince.
“Of course,” the prince assured her. “Help with what?”
“Stopping those wizards,” Cimorene said. “We can’t let them make Woraug the next King of the Dragons by trickery.”
“I don’t see how we can stop them,” Alianora said. “We can’t possibly get to the Ford of Whispering Snakes before the trials start, and even if we could, we don’t know where the wizards will be hiding.”
“If we tell the dragons that Woraug’s trying to cheat, they’ll stop the trials,” Cimorene said with more confidence than she felt. “That will give us time to find the wizards. And I’ve got a way to get us to the ford. You go start collecting buckets. I’ll meet you at your place after I get the things I’ll need from Kazul’s.”
“What about...” Alianora gestured with distaste at the wet, messy lump of robes in the center of the puddle that was all that remained of Antorell.
“We’ll clean it up when we get back,” Cimorene said. “This is more important.”
Alianora nodded, and the three left the banquet room. The stone prince decided to accompany Alianora since he was not a fast walker and Cimorene had farther to go. Cimorene left them when they reached the main tunnel and ran back to Kazul’s cave. There she went straight to her room and opened the drawer where she kept odds and ends. In the back left-hand comer, carefully wrapped in a handkerchief, were the three black feathers she had taken from beneath the left wing of the bird she had killed in the Enchanted Forest. She shoved the whole packet into her pocket without bothering to unwrap it and went on to the kitchen to collect her buckets. Then she hurried through the tunnels to Woraug’s cave, where Alianora and the stone prince were waiting.
When Cimorene arrived, she found the stone prince pumping water to fill Alianora’s third bucket while Alianora mixed soap and lemon juice into the second. Cimorene set her pots and pails next to the pump and went to help Alianora.
“Now what?” Alianora said when all the buckets were full of cleaning mixture.
Cimorene reached into her pocket and dug out the package. Gently, she unfolded the handkerchief and removed one of the feathers, noticing as she did that the package also contained the pebble she had picked up in the Caves of Fire and Night. “If we each take two buckets, can we still link elbows without spilling too much?” she asked.
Alianora and the stone prince looked at each other, shrugged, and picked up two buckets each. Cimorene took the last bucket and the iron pot, holding the handle of the pot with only three fingers so that she could keep a grip on the feather with her thumb and forefinger. A series of awkward maneuvers followed as Alianora and the stone prince tried to link elbows with Cimorene without losing their balance or dropping one of their buckets. In the process, Cimorene’s skirt got soaked.
“It’s a good thing I’m not a wizard,” Cimorene said. “Ready? Here we go.” She twisted her hand toward the edge of the iron pot and let go of the black feather. “I wish we were at the Ford of Whispering Snakes,” she said as the feather fell, and the room dissolved around them.
They materialized at the very edge of a river, on a flat, narrow rock that jutted out over the water, and Alianora immediately slipped on the wet stone. If the stone prince had not been so solid and heavy, all three of them would have fallen into the river. As it was, it took Cimorene and Alianora several seconds to regain their balance. When she was finally sure of her footing, Cimorene breathed a sigh of relief and quickly looked about her.
The Ford of Whispering Snakes was crowded. Dragons of all sizes and shades of green lined the banks of the river and filled the spaces beneath the towering trees of the Enchanted Forest. On the far bank, a pale dragon was poring over a parchment list that Cimorene thought she remembered seeing during one of the many errands she had run the previous night. All the dragons seemed to be talking at once, and none of them noticed Cimorene and her friends.
“Hello, dragons!” Cimorene shouted, trying to make herself heard above the noise.
“Here, now! What’s all this?” an olive-green dragon on the bank demanded, turning. “Someone’s trying to sneak a look at the trials.”
“S-s-s-sneakssss,” hissed a soft but nonetheless clearly audible voice from somewhere near Cimorene’s feet. Cimorene jumped and looked down, but though she craned her neck to see all around her, she could not find the second speaker.
“Get rid of them before Troum comes back with Colin’s Stone,” another dragon advised.
“We aren’t trying to sneak in, and we don’t care about watching the trials,” Cimorene said, wishing she dared to look around for Kazul. “We came to warn you about the wizards.”
“Wiz-z-zardssss,” the soft voice echoed.
“Wizards?” the olive-green dragon said skeptically. “There aren’t any wizards here.”
“No, but they’ve figured out some way of interfering with your choice of the next king,” Cimorene said. “They’re hiding somewhere. You have to put off the trials with Colin’s Stone until we can find them and stop them. If you’ll just tell Kazul we’re here—”
“Put off the trials?” the olive-green dragon interrupted. “Impossible! They’ve been under way for half an hour. We can’t just stop in the middle. Who are all you people, anyway?”
A flicker of motion caught Cimorene’s eye, and she looked down just in time to see a thin red snake dart from one dump of weeds to the next. “S-s-s-sneaksss,” whispered the soft voice an instant later. “S-s-sneaksss and wiz-z-zardsss.”
“I wasn’t asking you,” the dragon said severely in the general direction of the snake. “And whatever they are, they certainly aren’t wizards.”
“They look like somebody’s princesses to me,” a blue-green dragon said. “Pity, that. It would be so much simpler to eat them and get them out of the way.”
“Are you sure?” said a third dragon. “The one on the end doesn’t look like a princess.”
“I’m beginning to think this wasn’t such a good idea,” the stone prince said.
“He may not be a princess, but he doesn’t look edible, either,” the blue-green dragon pointed out. “And these other two are definitely princesses. You can’t go eating them out of hand.”
“Princesssessss,” hissed the voice from under the rock.
“Oh, princesses,” the olive-green dragon said. “No wonder they’re so full of wild tales.”
“It’s true!” Cimorene said desperately. “If you don’t believe us, take us to Kazul; she will.”
“I can’t do that!” the olive-green dragon said, shocked. “Kazul’s third in line now, after Mazarin and Woraug. You can’t talk to people who are that close to making their attempt with the stone. It would distract them.”
“Woraug!” Alianora said. “Woraug’s next in line?”
“Yes, he should be starting off any minute now,” said the olive-green dragon. “Then comes Mazarin, and then Kazul. I don’t expect it will take long, though. Nobody’s carried the stone for more than a mile or two yet.”
“But I’m Kazul’s princess!” Cimorene said.
“That will be too late!” Cimorene cried. “You don’t understand. Woraug and the wizards—”
“I’ve had enough of your wizards,” the olive-green dragon said. “You’re a confounded nuisance, and you ought not to be pushing your way in here where you’re not wanted. Go away!”
“Cimorene, what are we going to do?” Alianora said as the olive-green dragon turned and stalked determinedly away.
“At hero’s school we were always taught that if you couldn’t persuade anyone to help you with something, it meant that you were supposed to do it by yourself,” the stone prince said diffidently. “And we are prepared.” He lifted one of his buckets slightly.
“But we don’t know where the wizards are.” Alianora said. “We have to find them before we can stop them, and there isn’t time.”
“S-s-stop the wiz-z-zardsss,” whispered the soft voice.
“That’s the first sensible thing you’ve said since we got here,” Cimorene said to the hissing whisper.
“Can’t you just wish to be where the wizards are?” the stone prince asked Cimorene.
“No, you have to know where you’re going, or the spell doesn’t work,” Cimorene said.
For a moment all three were glumly silent. Cimorene stared at the water, remembering how and where she had gotten the feathers. Suddenly she raised her head.
“We may not know where the wizards are, but I’ll bet I know someone who can find out. Hold this for a minute.”
Cimorene handed one of her buckets to Alianora, then dug out the packet of feathers. She pulled the second feather from the packet and grabbed Alianora’s elbow. “Hold tight, everybody. I wish we were at Morwen’s house,” Cimorene said, and dropped the feather.
The scenery shifted abruptly, and they were standing on Morwen’s porch. The house was just as tidy-looking as Cimorene remembered, and the porch floor gleamed as if it had just been washed. A black and white cat, startled by their sudden appearance, fell off the porch railing. Four others left off washing themselves to stare at Cimorene with unwinking green and yellow eyes.
