by Jean Ferris
3
Colin: Where do you live? What is your
family like? Do you have pets? What's your
favorite thing to eat? Can you swim? Can
you ice-skate? I've never been out of this
castle. What is the world like?
—M.
What a lot of questions! He could answer all but the last one. He lay awake that night thinking that he knew almost as little about the world as she did, even if he could swim and ice-skate and eat artichokes and invent things and harmonize with his dogs.
Marigold: I live in a cave with my foster
father
It had taken him a long time to decide how to describe Ed.
and two great dogs who can sing. I
can swim and ice-skate and I love
artichokes. The world is ... big. And
complicated.
He took a deep breath and added:
And I wish we could explore
it together.
—C.
Walter came back with empty cylinders that time.
Oh no, Christian thought. I've offended her. She probably thinks I'm one of those gold-digging princes who keep coming around.
He waited a few days, then sent a message.
Marigold: Have I offended you?
—C.
This time Walter came back loaded.
Christian: I must tell you that I have a
curse on me. Maybe you won't want to be
my friend now, but I had to tell you.
Only I have the power to break the curse, and
I have to discover how to do it by myself.
And nothing I've tried has worked.
—M.
Christian prepared both pigeons to send so that Marigold could write twelve lines instead of six.
Marigold: Is that why no one touches you?
—C.
C: It was not meant to be a curse. It was my
fairy birth-gift—the gift of sensitivity to
the thoughts and feelings of others. But my
birth fairy overdid it. I can actually know
other people's thoughts—but only if I'm
touching them. Most people don't want me
to know what they're thinking. Which is
scary, isn't it? So I have no friends except
my dogs and my old father. So I'll understand
if you don't want to explore the
world with me. Even if such a thing were
possible.
—M.
There wasn't a single thought in his head that he didn't want her to know about.
Marigold: I'm not afraid to have you
know my thoughts. Isn't that what best
friends do?
—C.
He watched through the telescope while she read that one, and felt a tremor in his heart when she put her head down on her folded arms and wept. Carrie stood by on the parapet, her little birdie head cocked quizzically.
C: Since there's no possibility that you'll
ever be able to touch me, maybe we can be
best friends. How do we do that?—Marigold
Well, Christian was at a loss about how to answer her. But he knew that knights made pledges of loyalty and honor, which they defended with their lives, and that was exactly what he felt like doing with Marigold.
Marigold: I think we should make a promise
to each other about our friendship and seal it
by exchanging something important to us—
a treasure we want the other one to have. A
little treasure, so the pigeons can carry it.
—C.
C: That's a wonderful idea. I pledge to
share with you my thoughts, my sorrows,
my joys, and never to lie or deceive. And
I pledge always to listen to you and give
help and comfort and companionship.
—M.
There was no treasure in the cylinder, but knotted around Carrie's neck was a fine linen handkerchief with a gold M embroidered in the corner. And tied into it was a single diamond earring. Christian was shocked by this gift. He'd had in mind something more sentimental—a childhood toy, a favorite quotation from a book, a secret. He had nothing this special to give her. And he wondered if he could come up with a pledge of friendship as complete and as touching as hers. It made him think about how very important and also demanding friendship is. Finally he wrote:
Marigold: I can't make a better pledge than
yours, so I promise the same. And I'm
sending you a crystal from the ceiling
of my bedroom—the first place I ever felt
completely safe and happy.
—C.
C: I sent you one of the earrings my father
gave me when I was born. It represents everything
I know about loyalty and trustworthiness
and devotion. He's getting a little dotty now,
but he's still the best person I know. And the
only one who lets me touch him. Does
Christian had to send Walter right back to get the rest of the message. And he was happy to know that the gift she had given him was even more sentimental and special than he'd realized.
your foster father touch you?
—Marigold
Chris had to stop and think. Ed and the dogs were so much a part of him that he wasn't always sure where he left off and they began—especially the dogs, who were so often in his bed or his lap or his way. But, yes, now that he thought of it, Ed touched him all the time. A comradely clasp on the shoulder, or a friendly punch in the arm, or a good-night hug. In the beginning Ed had touched him only when necessary, to help him bathe or dress. But he remembered vividly the first time Ed had touched him with affection.
They'd been out in the woods, gathering dropped and discarded items, when Christian had heard a whir like hummingbird wings. He looked up to see a tiny fairy hovering in the air between him and Ed, her wings going so fast they were a blur. She wore a gauzy iridescent gown with an ink stain on the bodice, a minute crown cocked over one ear, and a couple of pencils stuck in the knot of her hair.
"Oh, it's you," Ed said.
"Yes, it's me," the fairy snapped. "And I'm telling you, if you don't lay off this campaign of yours, you're going to be sorry."
"Oh yeah?" Ed said pugnaciously. "What are you going to do? Tickle me to death?"
"I'll report you to the LEFT disciplinary board. I'll have you banned from the conferences."
"Oh, get a grasp, Mab. You can't do that. There's no rule against campaigning for honest competition. If you were doing your job, I wouldn't be getting the kind of support I am."
She snorted daintily. "You have no idea what's involved in running an operation like mine."
"You don't either, apparently," Ed said. "I'll bet you're lost right now."
"Don't be ridiculous." Mab sniffed. She pointed her wand at Christian and abruptly changed the subject. "Who's this?"
Ed came to stand behind Christian, though he was only slightly taller than the boy, and crossed his arms protectively over Chris's chest. "This is my ... boy," Ed said. "He's staying with me." Ed tightened his hold, and as he did, Chris felt totally safe. Ed's arms around him were the best shelter and protection he had ever experienced—better than any number of high walls or locked doors or moats. He relaxed slightly, leaning back against Ed.
Maybe that's how Marigold felt about her father, too.
It had turned out Queen Mab was lost. They kept running into her for the rest of the afternoon as she blundered around, trying to find her way home while pretending she knew exactly where she was.
AFTER CHRISTIAN and Marigold decided to be best friends, they tried to communicate every day. Sometimes they could p-mail several times a day. Sometimes, when the weather was bad or Ed was in one of his writing frenzies, they had to wait days between messages. Christian hoped she felt as tortured by this as he d
id.
At least once a week Marigold sent him a joke. They were all awful. Clearly she needed to get out more so she could learn some better ones.
C: What fairy tale is about a beautiful
girl who bakes bread?
Beauty and the Yeast.
—Marigold
C: Why don't people like Pinocchio?
Because he's a little stiff and has a wooden
smile.
—Marigold
C: How did King Arthur read at night?
With a knight light.
—Marigold
C: What kind of music does a dragon
play?
Scales.
—Marigold. (I love this one.)
C: Can the Three Little Pigs keep a secret?
No. They squeal.
—Marigold
C: What two things can't a giant eat for
dinner?
Breakfast and lunch.
—Marigold
C: What do you get when a giant sneezes?
Out of the way.
—Marigold
Marigold: Where are you getting these
jokes?
—C.
C: From the stable boy who feeds the
unicorns. Don't you like them?
—Marigold
Marigold: I'm only telling you this because
I'm your best friend, but they're terrible.
Here's a good joke:
Have your eyes ever been checked?
No. They've always been brown.
—C.
Claypool Sasquatch had told him that joke, and it was even funnier because Claypool's eyes were checked.
Marigold's next message had a bit of a huffy tone to it.
C: Well, it was funny, but not any funnierColin: Where do you live? What is your
than mine. Tell me another one.
—Marigold
Marigold: Did you know that if Minnehaha
married Santa Claus, she would be known
as Minnehaha Hoho?
—C.
C: I don't think yours are any better than
mine.
—Marigold
So they had to agree to disagree about jokes. The only one they both liked was: Can you get fur from a skunk? Yes—as fur as possible.
He wished he could hear what her laugh sounded like.
AWFUL JOKES aside, Christian found that he and Marigold had much in common. She liked to watch the sunrise and the sunset, just as he did. And as he also did, she read everything—not just the few books her mother thought were proper but ones various visitors to the castle brought from all over the world, even if she had to hide them inside fake covers. He learned that she missed her sisters since they'd gotten married, even though she felt that she'd never gotten to know them very well. That her three little dogs were the best listeners in the whole castle. So good that she couldn't even pretend to be angry at them when they chased Fenleigh, her mother's pet ferret (which Chris had thought was a fur piece always draped over Olympia's arm). That she worried about her father's health. That she made perfumes from the flowers she grew in the terrace pots. That she had been forgotten by the Tooth Fairy more than once. That she wished she could live in a place where there weren't so many silly rules, like having to wear your crown all the time, and not talking to anybody who wasn't your same rank—how many royals were there, after all, that she could talk to?—and being required to attend so many boring lectures because her mother thought it was instructive (though Queen Olympia usually found a reason she herself couldn't attend). That, because she had never been allowed out of the castle, she was curious about everything.
In one message that touched him especially, she wrote:
C: Do you ever feel as if you're in the
wrong place, even if it's a nice place? As if
you somehow don't fit, even if you try
hard to? But how do you find your right
place? Who can you ask?
—Marigold
He had to think for a long time before he answered.
Marigold: Yes, I have felt that way. Do you
0suppose everyone does? Or just us? I wish I
knew how to find our right places.
Just keep looking, I suppose. I'm sorry I'm
no help.
—C.
C: You are always a help, just to know you're
there to tell such things to. But how can I
look when I must stay here?
—Marigold
Marigold:
All he wanted to write was her name again and again. But he had to do more, had to be a best friend and a bulwark.
Maybe you won't have to
be there forever. Maybe something will
change. But I don't know what.
—C.
In the next few messages, both of them sensed the false cheerfulness that came from trying to reassure the other in the face of real doubts. But they each were still glad they had someone to be falsely cheerful for.
4
On another high-summer day, a year later, Christian took his bow and arrow and headed out. They'd had meatless dinners for the past three nights, and though Christian didn't mind, Ed was sick of them. And Bub and Cate were craving squirrel knuckles. Tonight there had to be major protein for supper.
He was sitting silently on a stump, waiting for some big animal to come unsuspectingly along, when he heard the sound of hooves in the brush. He stood up, holding his bow. A deer? A moose? The king's guards?
It was Hayes Centaur, King Swithbert's gamekeeper, patrolling the king's woods for poachers.
"Hey there," Hayes said when he saw Christian. "You wouldn't be planning to plug any of the king's animals with that thing, would you?"
Christian looked down at the bow in his hand. "Certainly not. Just a little target practice. On trees. For self-defense. You never know when you'll need it. Pays to keep sharp."
Chris was always glad to see the centaur—even at the risk of being caught poaching—because Hayes was such a talker, always full of news and opinions, bringing information from the bigger world that Chris was so curious about.
"I'm ready for a rest," Hayes said. "I've been out here since early this morning getting enough meat for the big doings at the castle tomorrow night."
"Big doings? What's going on?"
"Oh, it's another one of those get-the-princess-married-off dinners. Some prince comes over to check her out, talk about dowries, have a look at her jewels, all that."
"Oh," Christian said dejectedly. Marigold hadn't mentioned this one. And he always feared she would decide that one of these suitors made a better best friend than he did.
Hayes shrugged. "They always go away and don't come back. It's true she's no beauty, but she's loaded, and the queen makes the dowry bigger for each suitor. All I can figure is the princess must say something pretty bad to them or act crazy or something like that. She's always been nice enough to me, but everybody's got another side."
"I guess so," Christian said, trying not to laugh as he thought about how well Marigold had been using his advice to scare off suitors.
"Those sisters of hers—pretty as pictures, all that golden hair and hourglass figures and fancy manners. No problem finding husbands for those three. They didn't even have to open their mouths."
"Why is it so important for them all to get married?"
"Oh, that's Queen Olympia for you. Says she wants them to have the pleasure of their own homes. But if you ask me, it's because she wants to be the only royal dame in the castle. She's not one who likes to share the spotlight—unless it's with that pampered ferret of hers, the only one who ever gets a kind word from her. Besides, the king's getting on, you know, and if he kicks off before the princess gets married, Marigold becomes queen and Queen Olympia gets shuffled off to be the old royal dowager with no power. But if the princess is married when he goes off to his reward and is queen of some other kingdom, Queen Olympia gets to be
the ruler. I'm just guessing, but I think she'd really like that."
"So who's the suitor tonight?" Christian asked.
"Tonight there are two. One's that guy from Upper Lower Grevania, the one who's always shopping for a bride but never actually picking one. If you ask me, I think he just likes being an honored guest at all those castles. The other one is some distant shirttail relative of King Swithbert's who has no kingdom of his own. Which means he'd live here at the castle if the princess married him. Then she'd be married and still get to be the queen someday, which would please the old man. I venture to say, Queen Olympia would not be in favor of that plan."
"It doesn't sound as if either one of them is a very good candidate."
"Maybe not. But they're about the last choices, and Olympia wants to get it done. And the king is old-fashioned enough to think the princess would be happier if she had a spouse, though he should know better than that, being married to Olympia and all."
"What about the princess?" Christian asked. "What does she want?"
"Who knows? I'm not exactly her best friend. All I can say is, she seems pretty satisfied as is. She reads a lot and takes walks with her dad and teaches tricks to her dogs and makes these great perfumes that have really improved the atmosphere around the castle. Bathing's not everybody's favorite thing, you know. Of course, on the other hand, she's got that curse, and she's not allowed to leave the castle, and she's always in trouble with the queen about something. But it'd be my guess that nobody's ever asked her what she wants. The way royalty works, it probably doesn't matter."
Those words struck Christian like a blow. He wanted what Marigold desired to matter more than anything in the world.
"Well, I'd better get going," Hayes said. "The cooks'll be wanting to get started." He took a cloth bag from among the ones tied to his back and handed it to Christian. "I got a couple of extra rabbits here if you think you can do anything with them. And take the squirrel knuckles, too, since nobody I know has any use for them."
