Once Upon a Marigold

by Jean Ferris

  Christian took the bag. "You sure you don't need them?"

  "Who do you think is going to need some squirrel knuckles? Or miss a couple of rabbits, with all the roast boars and suckling pigs and haunches of venison laid out for these guys? You given any more thought to coming to the castle for a steady job?" Every few months Hayes suggested Chris should apply for a job at the castle. Hayes thought everybody he liked should work there, where he could see them every day.

  "Maybe," Christian said, surprising himself. The urge to experience more of the world was growing stronger daily, though leaving Ed and the dogs was almost too hard to think about. "If I wanted one, who should I talk to?"

  "Mrs. Clover, the housekeeper. She'll fix you right up. Now I've got to get going."

  "See you later." Christian lifted his hand in farewell and headed for home, supper in the cloth sack and a lot on his mind.

  ED WAITED until the rabbit au vin was under his belt that evening to talk to Christian about the future, a talk he'd put off far too long. He knew all about the p-mailing with Marigold—he wasn't blind—which made this conversation all the more necessary. Chris needed to get a life, a real one that didn't involve futile fantasies about a princess.

  "Sit down, Chris," Ed said. "I need to talk to you."

  "What's wrong?" The tone of Ed's voice worried Christian. He pulled the dogs against him on either side, as if to form a shield against bad news.

  Ed sighed. "This will be hard for both of us, but sometimes you just have to take the bear by the horns."

  "Bull," Christian said.

  "No, it's not," Ed said. "It's the dead truth."

  "Bull by the horns," Christian said. "Not bear." He'd recently heard Hayes use that phrase and knew Ed must have it wrong. Bears didn't have horns.

  "Oh. Well, here's what I've been thinking about. You're a young man now, and this is no kind of life for you, living buried in a cave with no friends."

  In spite of the fact that he'd been thinking practically the same thing lately, Christian felt moved to say, "But I have you. And Bub and Cate and Walter and Carrie." Even as he said the words, he knew that wasn't enough for him now.

  "That's too little," Ed said, wishing he didn't know it was true. "You need more. You're grown-up now, and you need to know more about the world. I'm starting to feel rotten about keeping you from it."

  "But you haven't," Christian assured him. "I told you when I first got here I didn't want to go home. And I still don't."

  "I'm not saying you have to go home." Especially since Ed didn't know where that was. None of his correspondents had had any helpful information about Christian's origins. "But I think you have to go somewhere. See what it's like to live around other people. Have a social life. You know."

  Christian was quiet for a long time, and for once Ed was smart enough to keep his mouth shut and let him think. He'd have been pretty surprised if he'd known Christian had already made his decision and was just figuring out how to tell Ed.

  But Ed could keep quiet only so long. He blurted, "If you don't like it out there, you know the door is always open to you." Because they lived in a cave, the door was always open to everyone, but neither of them mentioned that. They both knew what Ed meant.

  Christian took a deep breath, but that did nothing to still his galloping heartbeat. "I think you're right," he said. "Hayes suggested again today that I try for a job at the castle. I'm going to take him up on it."

  "At the castle? I was thinking you should get farther away. Really be on your own."

  "Ed, I've never even been across the river. The castle might as well be the moon. Besides, I'd be close enough so we could p-mail if we wanted to." Not to mention that he'd be closer to Marigold, even though, as a commoner, he could never speak to her the way he did in his letters.

  Ed saw nothing but trouble with this idea, what with Chris's useless interest in the princess and all. On the other hand, wasn't learning to deal with trouble part of what he wanted Christian to learn? Between Ed and the dogs, they'd protected Chris from just about everything while he was growing up. He'd never become a man if he didn't learn to solve his own problems. Ed just didn't want him to bite off more than he could swallow.

  "Okay," he said. One of the first steps in letting go was allowing Chris to make his own decisions.

  "I'll go tomorrow," Christian said, before lying down for a night so restless that both dogs finally gave up in a huff and went off to the yellow-crystal room, where they could get some sleep.

  5

  After breakfast Christian stood at the cave's entrance, all his worldly goods (one extra pair leather breeches, one extra shirt, two pairs underdrawers, one set shaving implements, one book Greek myths, one diamond earring wrapped in layers and layers of protective linen] tied into a bundle he carried in one hand. In the other he held his bow. His quiver of boomerang arrows was on his back, and his knife was on his belt.

  Ed and the dogs stood facing him, as they had for the past ten minutes. Neither Christian nor Ed knew what to say, and the dogs gave each other puzzled looks at all this unmoving silence. Ed cleared his throat for the third time; but still no words came.

  Christian took a deep breath and exhaled gustily.

  Bub sat and Cate lay down.

  Christian finally spoke. "I'll..." His voice cracked and he tried again. "I'll come see you on my first day off."

  Ed nodded, for once speechless. He made an agreeing sound, though neither one of them knew if castle employees ever got a day off.

  Christian moved his bow to the hand with the bundle and put his free hand on Ed's shoulder. "Thank you," he said. He gave Ed a quick, hard hug and turned away, walking fast into the trees.

  The dogs scrambled up and ran after him, ignoring Ed's whistle calling them back. Why should they go back? They always went along with Christian on his rambles.

  Ed's whistle got fainter until neither Christian nor the dogs could hear it. They were all glad of that; none of them wanted to be tempted to turn around, but for different reasons.

  Christian stood on the bank of the wide, fast river waiting for the cyclops who piloted the ferry to notice him. Hayes had told him that this might take a while since one eye was only half as efficient as two. The dogs sat beside him, ears up, anticipating another adventure.

  Then Christian spotted the boat, upriver, coming straight across the water. A cable strung over the river kept the boat from drifting downstream in spite of the swift current. He set off along the riverbank to meet the boat. The dogs trotted along, tongues lolling, eyes bright.

  "Need a lift?" the cyclops asked.

  "Yes," Christian said.

  "That'll be one silver."

  Christian handed him the one silver coin he'd found in the forest long ago, aware that he couldn't come back across to see Ed unless he earned some money. As Ed would say, he'd buttered his bread and now he had to lie in it.

  The cyclops squinted hard at the coin with his one eye before biting down hard on it and then putting it in his pocket.

  The dogs tried to hop aboard, but Christian pushed them aside and told the boatman to cast off before they could get on again. Bewildered, Beelzebub barked himself hoarse—Christian could hear him even over the roar of the water—and would definitely be down with a sick headache all afternoon. Hecate threw herself about, howling and yowling in such a display of heartbroken abandonment that Christian had to believe she was sincere and not just emoting. Truthfully, if he didn't keep reminding himself of the adventure ahead of him, he might do the same thing.

  He distracted himself by designing a better pulley system for the ferry cable. The cyclops was very impressed and said he would try it.

  It was a long hike up to the castle from where the ferry landed, so Christian had plenty of time to wonder whether he was making a horrible mistake, trading the dull-but-comfortable known for the scary, unpredictable unknown. With each step his left foot took, he felt like a certifiable idiot to give up such a fine life with Ed. And wi
th each step his right foot took, he felt exhilarated at the prospect of what surprises might lie ahead. But the decision was made. Without another silver coin, he wouldn't be going back across the river.

  He crossed the drawbridge over the moat and presented himself to the guard at the portcullis.

  "I'm here to see Mrs. Clover," he said. "About a position."

  The guard, a true giant more than eight feet tall, laughed.

  "A position, is it? Which position would that be? Bent over so I can kick your backside? Or flat on your back after I've knocked you down?"

  Christian couldn't think of one thing to say. It had been a very, very long time since anybody had said something unkind to him, but this guard's words made him remember exactly how it felt when that happened. And he had no doubt the giant could do anything he threatened.

  But he bravely braced his shoulders and asked, "What's your name?"

  "What do you care?" the guard responded. "You can just call me sir."

  At that moment Hayes Centaur came clattering up the road and over the drawbridge.

  "Hey!" Hayes said, catching sight of Christian. "Did you finally come for that job?"

  "I'm trying," Christian said. "But I can't get past the front door."

  "He's coming with me, Rollo," Hayes said to the guard. "Stop acting like such a———." He said a word Christian had never heard before but thought he wouldn't like to be called. "I don't want to have to report you to the queen. Come on, Chris."

  So Christian followed Hayes—not his favorite end of a horse to be near—through the gates and into the inner bailey, knowing that he had already made an enemy.

  MRS. CLOVER was plump and red-cheeked, with golden braids wound into a coronet, and she smelled like the plant she was named for. Christian wondered if her scent had been concocted by Marigold. Hayes handed a brace of partridges to Mrs. Clover to make stock for the soup.

  Mrs. Clover took them and then turned to look at Christian. "And who is this handsome young man?"

  "Oh," Hayes said, "this is Christian from the forest. He needs a job, and as I know you always have your eye out for a good squire, I thought maybe you could help him."

  "I know just where he can be useful. You come along with me, young man. I'll outfit you with some livery and put you to work. It's all your meals, you sleep in the stables, and one piece of silver a week. Does that suit you?"

  "Suits me quite well," Christian said confidently, hoping he wasn't being taken for a complete fool. He had no idea if that was a good wage or not.

  Soon he was done up in green-and-white livery with gold braid and buttons. He thought he looked like a leprechaun, and he felt about the same way he had in the blue velvet suit, but Mrs. Clover was enthusiastic.

  "Well, don't you look a proper sight," she said. "Put a crown and some ermine on you and I could pass you off as a suitor for Princess Marigold. Oh, my goodness, that reminds me. We've got to get busy. There's a state dinner brewing tonight for Princess Marigold's suitors, Prince Cyprian of Upper Lower Grevania, and Sir Magnus of ... well, of nowhere. Jeremy broke his arm, falling down the back staircase with King Swithbert's breakfast tray this morning, so you'll be serving. I'm turning you over to Sedgewick, the head butler, for training. You'd better be a quick study because we haven't much time."

  Christian was a quick study. In fact, the instructions were so simple and straightforward, he could only figure that anyone who couldn't get them would be, as Ed would say, dumb as a box of doornails.

  Sedgewick was in quite a twitter, as was apparently everyone in the castle, because of the evening's dinner for Prince Cyprian and Sir Magnus, the shirttail relative. Well, Magnus had some minor title—Baronet of something-or-other—but it was only a courtesy title, without any property or wealth. So he was by far the more motivated suitor, according to Sedgewick. He wanted a kingdom at least as much as he wanted a princess. The servants, in general, favored Prince Cyprian. He seemed more relaxed.

  "But he would be, wouldn't he?" Christian observed. "Because he's not trying as hard. Sir Magnus has more at stake and therefore more to lose." Christian knew from hunting that the harder one tried, the more likely one was to make some perfectly stupid mistake that blew the whole operation.

  "Indeed, yes," Sedgewick answered, giving Christian an appraising look. This was no ordinary serving boy, he could see that. Not at all.

  As time neared for the state dinner, the atmosphere behind the scenes became ever more tense. It was a relief when the trumpets finally sounded, announcing the procession into the dining hall. At last the action could begin.

  6

  Christian had to admit he was dying for a look at these suitors. He wondered if either of them had ever read any Greek myths. Or watched the stars, or taught tricks to dogs; if either of them had any idea of what it took to be a best friend. His station was at the wine table, and his job was to keep the glasses filled. He reviewed the order of wines as he stood at his station, waiting for the diners to make their stately way in.

  King Swithbert came first, with Queen Olympia, shimmering in damask and diamonds, holding his arm. He looked even older than he had through the telescope, and the queen's grip on him seemed more supportive than affectionate. She, on the other hand, was beautifully maintained and even quite radiant, a look perhaps achieved by artificial means. Under the arm not supporting the king, she carried Fenleigh, his eyes narrow and glittering. The animal wore a gold collar and chain leash.

  "She never goes anywhere without that ferret," Sedgewick whispered to Christian. "Talks to him like she expects him to answer back. Even asks his advice about things."

  The king and queen were followed by various courtiers and relatives and hangers-on. Prince Cyprian entered alone, clad in white and gold, his blond ringlets adorned with a crown of topaz and pearls. He looked quite pleased with himself. Behind him, also alone, came Sir Magnus. He could hardly have been more of a contrast to Prince Cyprian. He was tall, dark, and handsome in his black-and-silver finery, walking as if he owned the world. Only his quick blink and the worried pucker between his eyebrows gave away the fact that he knew he didn't—not even a little piece of it.

  Last of all, almost an afterthought at her own party, came Princess Marigold, trailed by her three little dogs. Christian had to steady himself against the wine table, and his heart was beating so hard he was sure she would be able to hear it. The expression on her face made it plain to anyone who looked at her—and hardly anyone did, Christian observed—that she wished she were anywhere but where she was. He could see the corner of a book protruding from the pocket of her Prussian blue gown, which gave it a homey, personal look in spite of the ruffles, furbelows, poufs, bows, and brilliants that somebody, completely misunderstanding her style, had got her up in. The crown she wore was too much as well. Too big, too heavy, too gaudy. She looked like somebody forced to go to a costume party and not enjoying it a whit. But to be so close to her after seeing her only through a telescope for so long—why, what did Hayes mean, saying she was plain? Her skin was clear, her eyes were bright and curious, her hair was shining—well, she was beautiful, that's all. His beautiful, unreachable princess.

  Marigold sat herself at the foot of the table, her chin in one hand. The little dogs trampled around on her puddled skirts for a while until the diners, freely imbibing of Christian's rapid pourings, began to drop morsels of their dinners onto the floor. Then the dogs took to grazing under the table, vacuuming up anything that fell. Christian couldn't help thinking how much Bub and Cate would have enjoyed such an opportunity. And thanks to Ed's etiquette book, he knew that dropped tidbits were supposed to be left for the dogs.

  Prince Cyprian deliberately slipped pieces of roasted meats beneath the table, making sure Marigold saw him do it, and then watched as the little dogs gobbled them up. It was hard for Christian not to be partial to a dog lover even when he didn't want to like either of Marigold's suitors. He watched Sir Magnus to see if he would take any special interest in the dogs.
Magnus never even looked at them—or at Marigold, either, for that matter. He concentrated only on the array of silverware on either side of his plate, uncertainly picking up first one fork and then another, with a perplexed frown. Christian could have told him that the oyster fork was the small one with the three tines.

  Sir Magnus didn't drop any meat on purpose—in fact, he hardly ate at all. Christian could see his knees jiggling nervously under the table. This was definitely a fellow out of his depth and sure to be trying too hard. And Chris knew what could happen under those circumstances.

  Christian was the only one to notice when Prince Cyprian deliberately dropped a piece of meat onto the toe of Sir Magnus's shoe. So it didn't surprise Chris in the slightest when one of Marigold's dogs sank his teeth into Sir Magnus's elegant instep. Startled, Mag nus jerked reflexively out of his chair and kicked the little creature halfway across the dining hall.

  Marigold screamed and jumped to her feet.

  "Oh, well done!" one of the courtiers shouted to Magnus. "Though hardly sporting."

  Instinctively, Christian rushed to the dog and picked it up a split second before Princess Marigold reached it. Breathless at being so close to her, Christian handed the yelping dog to the princess without a word. Their hands touched beneath the furry body, and then their eyes met.

  Christian felt as if he'd downed a fast couple of glasses of the Château Mutton de Rothschild '47 that he'd just been pouring for the banquet guests.

  "Oh my," Princess Marigold whispered. Then, cradling the whimpering dog, she turned and called, "Flopsy! Mopsy!" The remaining two dogs ran to her, and together, the little retinue swept out of the dining room.

  Queen Olympia rose from her seat. "Marigold!" she shouted. "You come back here!" Fenleigh raised his head and bared his teeth, approximating Olympia's look.

  Marigold, her back straight and stiff, kept going. She attempted to slam the tall dining hall doors behind her, but two burly footmen caught them before they could crash shut. Marigold hurried on, rushing up the sweeping staircase with her dogs.