“Once we pass through this door, the queen will try to turn you against each other.”
Maewyn and Poppy exchanged glances.
“Why are you telling us this? It’s not like a troll has any feelings for anyone besides himself,” Mae said.
Folkvarus’s shoulders stooped. Mae could hear his labored breathing. His voice was barely a whisper when he spoke. “It might be too late for me, but it’s not too late for you.”
Poppy clasped Mae’s fingers.
Folkvarus pushed the door open, revealing a cavernous room. The girls followed him and stared slack-jawed at the enormous space. The ceiling reached as high as the treetops, with carved columns spiraling up to a balcony that hugged the outer walls above. The floor had once been a beautiful marble with a melon-colored rose in the center. It was now chipped and scuffed, with patches of vine growing up through the floor. The vine was just like the climbing ivy that covered the outside of the castle. Tall, round-topped windows lined up like soldiers in one wall. Every window was draped with cobwebs and filth, and the room was dim and cheerless.
“Come.” Folkvarus’s command broke the spell of the room on the hapennies. He walked toward an arch that led under the balcony and into a hallway. “That was the gathering room. Huldfrejya spends most of her time there, unless she is in her chambers. It is usually full of noise and feasting trolls, but they are all busy right now with your friends and the booty.”
The girls followed Folkvarus through the archway and into the long hall. It was dark except for the small pools of light from the torches stuck into the wall brackets. More ivy clung to the gray brick walls, its leaves reaching for the torchlight. At the end of the hall, the ceilings arched high again. A single door with a rose carved into the wood panel sat recessed into the wall.
Folkvarus gestured to the door. “This is the queen’s chamber.”
He knocked on the door thrice with the iron pull, and it opened on creaking hinges.
The girls stepped through.
Cobwebs drifted from the ceiling. Piles of dust and debris were heaped into the corners. A large copper bathtub sat by the window. The door of the wardrobe hung cockeyed, and the curtains on the large four-poster bed were faded and worn.
A very wrinkled and pale troll heaved herself out of an upholstered chair. “Am I to be replaced by these ‘uns, then?” she croaked.
“Your services are no longer required,” Folkvarus said.
“Ha! We’ll see what Geindride has to say about this.” The old troll shuffled across the room, glaring at Mae and Poppy over her shoulder as she brushed past Folkvarus and into the hallway.
“Huldfrejya will be here soon.” With a nod, Folkvarus shut the door. The iron pull clanged against the wood. His footsteps echoed in the hall.
The iron shackles fell from their wrists to the floor and disappeared in a shimmering haze.
Tears sparkled on Poppy’s eyelashes as she rubbed her irritated skin. “What are we going to do, Mae?”
Mae took in the disaster that was the queen’s chamber. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “We’re going to get out of here and back to the Wedge as fast as we can.”
The chamber was an enormous room about the size of a hapenny’s whole house. A frigid gust of air blew through a broken windowpane, and Mae shivered. There was no fire in the hearth. Not even an ember. A large carving of a gargoyle with sharp teeth hung on the wall over the hearth mantel. He winked at Mae.
Mae drew in a sharp breath of surprise. She moved toward the gargoyle and studied the carving. He seemed to grow naturally out of the mantel. His paws curled around the edge, and his tail swept up behind him. Leaves of carved ivy decorated the edge of the stone mantel. His eyes followed Mae as she peered at first one side of him and then the other.
“Hello!” Mae greeted the gargoyle.
Poppy raised her eyebrows at Mae. “What are you doing?”
“I’m saying hello to the gargoyle.”
“And you expect him to talk back?”
Mae swallowed. Had Poppy not seen him wink? She shrugged. “You never know.”
Poppy rolled her eyes, groaned, and flopped into a cushioned armchair. “There’s no way we could ever make this chamber look presentable.”
Mae turned from the now-still gargoyle and swatted away the dust cloud Poppy had created. “Sure there is. With a lot of elbow grease and a little magick, most anything is possible.”
Poppy put her head in her hands. “But your magick didn’t work in the stairway.”
The pit of Mae’s stomach dropped a little. She bit her lip. She had been certain, until now, that her magick had backfired because she couldn’t pronounce the word correctly with her wand in her mouth. Poppy’s fears suddenly became her own. She swept off her hat and removed Trina from her curls. The little squirrel scuttled off under the bed as three loud bangs of the iron handle echoed off the door.
Poppy scrambled to her feet. The door creaked open and Huldfrejya strode in, followed by Mr. Whiteknoll. He was now dressed in a coat that had once been dark blue with gold trim and buttons. Now it was faded and threadbare at the elbows and cuffs. His eyes were large and rimmed with dark purple circles, and his cheeks were ruddy with cold. The tips of his ears were blue under his white fur. He carried a rusty pair of scissors in his grasp.
The queen snapped her fingers, and Mr. Whiteknoll shuffled forward. Huldfrejya snatched the scissors from the tailor and circled Poppy. “I’ve dealt with others like you before. You think you are beautiful because of your red hair.” The scissors made a slapping noise as the queen hit them against her palm. “Even more beautiful than the queen.”
Poppy shook her head. “No—”
“Don’t shake your braids at me!” Huldfrejya screeched. “We’ll see how beautiful you are with no hair.” Before anyone could react, she grabbed one of Poppy’s braids and lopped it off.
“No!” Mae gasped. “Mr. Whiteknoll, stop her!”
The queen turned on her heel and pointed to Mae with the scissors. “Shut it, or you’re next, Curly Top.”
“I don’t care if you shave me bald; just leave Poppy’s hair alone!”
A bright tear rolled down Poppy’s cheek as she clung to her remaining braid.
Mae saw a matching tear roll down the cheek of Mr. Whiteknoll.
“Any more nonsense and you lose the other braid too.” Huldfrejya stalked toward Mae. “I can see you are going to be trouble.” She grabbed a fistful of Mae’s curls. Snap went the scissors, until all of Mae’s hair littered the floor.
Poppy sniffled.
Mae’s ears drooped.
“We will have no sniveling, no complaining, and for goodness’ sake, no crying. Start the fire and clear the cobwebs. When you are done with that, you will scrub the windows. You’ll turn the sheets down every night and help me dress. ” The queen slapped the scissors into Mr. Whiteknoll’s outstretched hands. “Fetch me a drink. I’m parched!”
Mr. Whiteknoll shuffled from the room.
Mae scooped Poppy’s lopped braid from the floor and grabbed her arm, dragging her to the cold hearth. “Don’t worry.” She placed the braid into Poppy’s hand. “Hair grows back. Put this in your pocket. It might come in handy.”
Poppy placed her hands on Mae’s shorn head. “I’m so sorry, Mae.”
“Stop coddling her!” The queen screeched. “She must learn her place. You, Curly Top, come here.”
Just then, Folkvarus entered with an armful of wood and a bucket, distracting Huldfrejya.
“Put it over there, and teach my new maids to start the fire.” The queen turned and plopped onto a chaise lounge. Mr. Whiteknoll returned with a bottle and a wineglass. He poured the burgundy-colored liquid and handed it to her.
The queen took a sip and sat up a little straighter. “What is this?”
“It’s wedgeberry rum, miss. The finest of the season,” Mr. Whiteknoll said.
Huldfrejya threw the glass across the room, splashing its contents everywhere
. “It’s the most disgusting thing I’ve ever tasted.”
Folkvarus walked toward the hearth, no change of expression on his face. Mae took the bucket from him and followed. Folkvarus knelt and stacked the wood. He kept his voice to a whisper. “It’s been a long while since a fire was started in the hearth. I think the queen believes that if she stays cold physically, her heart will remain frozen as well.”
“I can hear you, Folkvarus!” Huldfrejya screeched.
“Just telling the girls where to find what they need, miss,” Folkvarus said. He turned back to Mae and Poppy and lowered his voice even more. “On the first night of the full moon, follow the path.” His eyes took in Mae’s shorn head, and the corners of his mouth softened a little. He looked away, cleared his throat, and brushed the wood dust from his pants.
Follow the path? What did Folkvarus mean by that?
His voice returned to its normal level as he continued instructing them. “Turn this handle and it will open the flue. It must be open or the room will fill with smoke. You’ll find the flint and spark here.” He ran his hand across the mantel above the hearth. The eyes of the gargoyle shifted to watch the path Folkvarus’s hand took.
Poppy yelped in fright. Mae grabbed her hand and patted it.
“Things aren’t always what they seem to be in this castle,” Folkvarus said. “Here it is!” Folkvarus pulled down a tinderbox and blew the dust off it. He slid the top back, revealing a flint and a piece of steel.
Mae dropped Poppy’s hand as she spotted a shovel under some debris in the corner of the room. She pulled a broken gilded birdcage, dirty porcelain dishes, spoons, and a yellowed and stained dress from the pile and set them aside. Mae then grabbed the shovel handle and yanked it free. She returned to the fire and started scooping the old ashes into the bucket.
“Poppy,” said Mae. “Why don’t you find some odd wood bits that we can use for tinder?”
Poppy gazed around the room. She scampered over to a small pile of dead ivy in the corner.
“Keep a bit of ash in the hearth to cushion the new tinder,” Folkvarus said.
“Yes, I know,” Mae said. “We are used to kindling fires.”
Poppy brought back the bits of vine and leaves and placed them on top of the small ash mound. Folkvarus sparked the steel against the flint, and several sparks nestled into the tinder. Mae blew gently, and Poppy stripped some pieces of birch bark off the logs Folkvarus had brought in, setting them in the flames. Soon the fire grew large enough that Mae could put the bigger logs in the hearth.
Folkvarus grabbed the bucket handle and turned toward the door. “Looks like the girls will do just fine,” he said to the queen as he crossed the room. “I’ll come every morning to take the ashes and place some logs in the hallway. Don’t forget to feed the fire every couple of hours.”
“Thank you, Folkvarus,” Mae said.
“Don’t thank him. He is a servant. It’s his job.” The queen flapped her hand at Folkvarus, who stood with his hand on the door pull. “Go away. Make sure the kitchen staff is preparing my supper. And I want crème brulee for dessert. Tell the new cook that if he burns it, I’ll roast his head for my dessert instead.”
The queen settled herself deeper into the chaise lounge.
“Yes, miss.” Folkvarus nodded and the door shut behind him.
Mae blew air from her mouth, her cheeks puffing out. Then she bit her lip. Where would they even start cleaning? It was worse than any mess Gelbane had ever created.
“I suppose we could start with a broom? I can get the higher parts and you the lower?” Poppy said.
“But where do we get a broom?” asked Mae as she scanned the chamber. She’d been able to find the ash shovel; surely a broom had to be around here somewhere. Poppy started pulling a pile down, searching for some sort of cleaning utensil. Mae followed her lead. There were painted portraits, teapots, faded pillows, and bedcovers in the first pile, but no broom or mop.
“You two are being too noisy.” Huldfrejya sighed and rolled over in the chaise. “Keep it down. I’ve had a long night and need some sleep.”
Mae and Poppy exchanged glances. How were they supposed to clean this mess up without making any noise?
They picked through the piles with caution, making other, smaller piles—one for garbage, one for things that could be cleaned and used again, and one for laundry. Soon, deep snores filled the chamber.
Mae took out her wand.
Poppy shook her head frantically, her eyes growing wide.
Mae took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Her palms were a bit sweaty. She was nervous, because Poppy doubted her, but Mae had to try. She raised her wand and whispered, “Clean this room with mop and broom!”
A blue shimmer filled the chamber. One of the debris piles shook and shimmied. A feather duster shot out and began to swat at the cobwebs. A broom darted out from underneath the bed and began to sweep the floor.
“Ha!” Mae laughed and then quickly covered her mouth. Poppy grabbed her in a huge bear hug and jumped up and down.
“It worked! It worked!” they whispered.
A sudden knocking on the wall made them freeze in their places. Mae’s stomach dropped. She pointed to the wall on the right of the hearth. A crack was appearing, following a jagged line around the stones. Another knock made the crack grow bigger. Poppy clung to Mae. She shook with fright.
Another loud knock, and a door opened in the wall. A brown stick poked out and seemed to peer around the edge of it.
Mae let out a big sigh, relieved, as a mop danced into the room.
Poppy let go of Mae. “It’s only a mop,” she whispered, relieved.
Mae pulled the hidden doorway open. It was dark, but there was a faint light far below. “I wonder where it goes?”
Clank, clank, clank. The mop bucket jumped up the stairs.
Mae put her fingers to her lips. “Shhhh!”
The mop bucket slowed and quietly ascended the remaining stairs of the dark passage. Water sloshed onto the floor as it settled in the chamber. The mop dipped itself in, wrung itself out, and waltzed across the stones.
Satisfied, Mae closed the passageway door. Poppy was sorting the laundry into a basket she’d found. Trina had emerged from under the bed and was now perched on the laundry basket, supervising. Poppy held up the yellowed dress Maewyn had tossed from the pile earlier. “It looks like a wedding gown,” she whispered.
Mae pulled out the long train of the dress. “Perhaps it was.”
“Who would want to marry her?” Poppy screwed up her face in distaste. Then her eyes grew wide as her gaze settled over Mae’s shoulder.
An outraged shriek filled the chamber.
Mae twirled around and snapped her fingers. Trina scampered for cover.
The feather duster fell to the windowsill.
The broom dropped with a clang.
The mop slid to the floor.
Huldfrejya stood red-faced, with the hem of her dress pulled up off the floor. Water dripped from her sodden garment and pooled around her feet. Gone was the cracked, green skin from her toes, and in its place was soft, pink flesh. The troll queen dropped her skirts and stalked toward the girls. “What…are you doing?”
Mae stepped close to Poppy. Poppy pulled the dress close to her chest as if it were a shield.
Huldfrejya yanked the dress from Poppy’s grasp and threw it to the floor. Her fangs gleamed. Her eyes narrowed, first at Poppy and then Mae. “Never mop in my chamber again when I am present.” She turned and fled the room, the great door banging closed behind her.
“Did you see that?” Mae asked.
“Wh-which part?” stuttered Poppy. “The fangs or the steely gaze?”
“Her feet.”
Poppy turned toward Mae. “That’s what you noticed? Her feet? Are you insane?” She stormed toward the broken window and peered outside. “We have to get out of here. If we break the window a little more, I think we can climb down the ivy. Maybe we can send Trina for help.”
<
br /> “No.” Mae shook her head.
“What do you mean, no?” Poppy yelled. Her eyes darted around the room. The gargoyle followed her movements as she approached Mae.
“There is something not right about this.”
“Of course there is something not right. We are slaves to a lunatic troll, and you don’t want to escape at the first chance!”
“What about the others?”
Poppy stared at her. “We’ll come back. We’ll get Aletta and we’ll come back.”
Mae swallowed. “Then no one will be there to protect the Wedge or care for the sick. Callum wouldn’t want us to do that.”
“Callum isn’t here!” Poppy shrieked.
“No, he isn’t,” Mae said. “And that’s my fault. I should have listened to him.”
Mae stared out the broken window. A meadow stretched out around the castle, and the path wound over the hills and into the forest. The meadow was ablaze with purple flowers. Corley thistles. The cure for the Bricklebear Fever. A tingling sensation ran up her spine. She had to find a way out of here, and soon. But when she left, she wasn’t leaving anyone behind.
Maewyn pulled the owl carving from her pocket and looked at the broken pane again. “I think I have an idea.”
Chapter 7
About midmorning on the day after the villagers left, a knock sounded on the door. Leif set his carving on the table and brushed the wood dust from his pants. His mother bustled in from the kitchen. “Well, aren’t you going to answer the door?” she said as she wiped her wet hands on her apron. “It’s only polite.”
Leif rolled his eyes and sighed as Faria opened the door. “Oh, good morning, Aletta.”
Jogging to the front entrance, Leif pulled the door open wider and grinned at the wizard. Her cheeks were pink from the brisk morning air. A basket hung from her arm. Steam curled through the cloth covering what smelled like a batch of lavender honey muffins. “Thanks for coming over, Aletta.”
Faria’s hand fluttered to her breast. “Coming? For what, son?”
Tangled Magick Page 4
