by Jenn Thorson
“Impossible!” Queen Valentina said. “I’m me. I’ve been quite myself all day. Also, I’ve had rave reviews to the effect that I am ‘incomparable,’ the ‘one and only.’ So what is this about?”
“Haven’t you heard of someone being beside themselves?” Twain Morningstar asked.
“Well …” the Queen considered this, “yes …”
“This is what it looks like.”
“Don’t believe him! That is Twain Morningstar,” shouted Mary Ann, “imitating you and trying to kill us because I saw him murder my father, Rowan Carpenter.”
“He also killed a prominent Turvy business man and a neighborhood of raths,” said Rufus.
“Nonsense,” said Queen Valentina, though she didn’t sound entirely sure.
“I did hear their story,” said Queen Rosamund rising and stepping forward, “and it would go a long way toward explaining some little death issues we’ve had in our realm lately.”
“Oh, we’re not going to let these thieves and prevaricators distract us with lies, are we?” asked Morningstar. “We’re far too intelligent to fall for that.”
“We are very bright,” agreed Queen Valentina.
“We should just execute them,” Morningstar said. “We’ve spent too much of our valuable time on this already.”
“We are quite busy,” said Queen Valentina. “And I hear there’s a game of charades going on somewhere. I’m splendid at charades. I win every game.”
“Exactly. We have better things to do. And they’ve put a gorrible damper on our Unbirthday festivities. This is our day and they’re making it all about themselves. It’s so selfish! We only get five or six of these major Unbirthday bashes a year.”
“Too true,” said Valentina. “I hate it when things are supposed to be about me and other people insist on stepping into the spotlight with murder accusations and things.”
“Your Majesty,” Mary Ann said, “Twain Morningstar is posing as you and trying to manipulate you. If it’s not him, then where is he? Shouldn’t he be here somewhere?”
But Morningstar had an answer for that, too. He turned to the Queen. “We thought we heard him say he was very tired after that frabjous Unbirthday performance of his and he went inside to have a little nap.”
“Quite understandable,” said Valentina. “I once napped for three days after I performed in the play Absinthe and Obsession. Though that might have been because we used real absinthe on stage.”
“If he’s you,” pressed Mary Ann, “then have him prove it. Ask him something only you would know.”
“We hardly see a need for that,” said Morningstar, tightening his grip on the axe. “It’s just another distraction to steal our attention.”
“Please, Your Majesty! Who knows you better than you?” Mary Ann said.
“Oh, very well,” sighed Queen Valentina. “Something personal … Something only I would know …” She thought very hard for a moment, then beamed. “Yes, I’ve got it!” She turned to Twain Morningstar. “What is our favorite color?”
Mary Ann winced.
“Uh …” Morningstar looked at the roses, at the castle, at Queen Valentina’s gown. “Red?”
Queen Valentina gasped and stepped back. “It’s crimson! Crimson is our favorite color! How could you not know that?”
“But … but … they’re the same thing!” said Morningstar. “They’re syno—”
“Red is lowbrow, boorish and pedestrian!” shouted Queen Valentina. “Crimson is tasteful, elegant and sumptuous! They’re miles apart!”
The Red Queen, Rosamund, gave a sour twist of her mouth.
But Valentina was pointing and shrieking. “Betrayer! Impersonator! OFF WITH HIS HEAD!”
It was at this moment that a few of the guards had finally stumbled out of the hedge maze and leapt into action. Though the leap was short because they saw two Queen Valentinas standing before them and they were fairly sure that was one surplus to requirement.
“Seize him!” shouted Queen Valentina, pointing, thus helping them along in their thought processes.
Morningstar realized the impersonation wasn’t doing him any good now, anyway, and he changed back to his Deuce image. “It was just a bit of fun, Your Majesty,” cried Twain frantically, as the guards surrounded him. “Some lighthearted tomfoolery for your Unbirthday.”
“Executioner!” Valentina shouted.
But before the executioner could lumber over, Twain Morningstar had swung the axe at the guards, slicing the hand off one fellow and the tip of the nose off another. Indeed, the deck had been cut and the wild card disappeared into the crowd.
“After him!” Valentina shouted.
“How will we know him?” one of the guards asked. “He could be anyone.”
“He’ll always be the one with the axe,” said Mary Ann.
And the uninjured guards recognized the truth of this and went in pursuit.
“And as for you two,” said Queen Valentina to Mary Ann and Rufus. “You have pursued justice against the odds. You have been resourceful and clever. Those are qualities I prefer having attributed to me. So as of now, our history books regarding this incident will say I’m the one who solved this whole thing. And what I’ll need from you is a sworn statement to the details I learned and how I went about it all.”
“Well, you see, Your Majesty,” began Mary Ann, “It’s like this —”
“No, no. Don’t tell me.” She put up a hand. “I can’t be bothered with all that, I’m very busy. Tell it to my historian,” she gestured to an owl that stepped forward with a quill and paper. “I’ll read about all the wonderful things I did later.”
An unnervingly short moment had passed before the guards came running back, one of them carrying a rather bloody magic axe.
“Well?” asked Queen Valentina. “Where is he? Did you find him? You’re not him, are you?” She indicated the one with the axe. “Repetitive gags are boring, you know.”
“Found, Your Majesty,” said the guard, poking awkwardly at the ground with his boot. “And then, er, subsequently lost. On account of, there was a bit of an accident …”
“Am I going to be happy?” asked Queen Valentina, her rosy lips a tight, irritated bud. “I don’t like not being happy.”
“Er …”
“And I can’t say most others like it when I’m not happy, either,” she said. “It’s a point we share.”
“… Or rather, to say, there was a bit of an axe-ident,” continued that guard slowly, “as the fellow was running with the axe, and he tripped into a hole where one them white rosebushes once was, that we ripped out, that nobody got round to replacing yet, and what I’m trying to say is … Twain Morningstar dented himself quite thoroughly with the magical weapon in question.”
Valentina peered at the guard over folded arms. “Are you saying he’s dead?”
“I am saying he is not of the existentially present,” said the guard.
“All right then,” she said. “Bring me the body!”
“Can do,” said the guard. “Which parts would you like, Your Majesty?”
She blinked. “Parts?”
“George,” he turned to another guard, “we’re going to need a burlap sack. Or three. Four.”
“Um,” said the Queen. “Okay, hold just a moment there, George. I have quite changed my mind. The Royal Mind has been changed! Do not bring me the body. Here is what you shall do.”
“Yes, Your Majesty?”
“He’s already in a hole, is he not?”
“Yes, Mum.”
“Then leave him there and shovel the thing in.” As the guards scrambled off to do as ordered, she noticed Jacob Morningstar’s anguished expression and she went to him, arms extended. “Oooh,” she cooed, “I am sorry about your cousin, Jacky.” She patted his face. “But these things happen. Who hasn’t lost a beloved relative to the odd self-axing?”
The valet nodded but he didn’t look very bucked-up by it.
“Now,” Valentina said, turning
back to the group, “once my historian gets down the tale of my heroic detective work in solving the Turvy murders, I shall need my playwright to whip me up a nice performance piece about it — a simple three acts will do prettily. I’ll need that jar of pearls of Twain Morningstar’s brought to me as a necklace — er, evidence. Evidence. And I’ll need this Alice-Mary-Ann person here —” she gestured to the housemaid, “beheaded for the damages to Harold’s house —”
“Herald,” mumbled Warren Rabbit.
“— And also for enbiggening in the middle of my tarts trial, then vanishing before telling us anything of use. I daresay that threw off my whole week!”
“But that wasn’t me at all!” said Mary Ann.
“That’s right,” said Rufus. “I was with her when the trial was going on, so it couldn’t be her.”
At this, the Queen’s expression softened. “Is that true? Oh, my goodness …” She rested a hand on his arm, a sweet, surprised smile on her lips. “You were with her, were you, dear?”
Rufus nodded. “Yes, Your Majesty. For some hours.”
“Well, now, I’m so glad you mentioned it,” she said warmly. “Thank you ever so much, Sir Rufus. You’re a dear fellow for speaking up like that. For that changes my view of things significantly.”
Mary Ann felt her shoulders start to relax.
“Accomplices so rarely confess. This was really quite refreshing. Still —” she shrugged, “— your head goes, too. Seize them! Make them comfy! Get my story out of them! Then behead them!”
Mary Ann was very tired of running. It was, perhaps, too much of a good thing, she thought, as she and Rufus fled the scene. She could hear Lord and Lady Carmine making another plea on their behalf, but there was no reason to stick around to learn the results. Especially when beheadings were distributed like show leaflets. It was a wonder there was anyone left in the land to behead.
“Come along,” shouted Rufus, motioning, with a glance at the dimming sky. “This way!”
Mary Ann said, “But where are we going?”
“The stables!” he said and they tore across the field. “We’ll get the horses and go to Turvy. It will be dark in an hour. We can lose them there.”
“Lolly’s no match for the guards’ horses,” called Mary Ann. “You go. Take Goodspeed. I’ll figure out something.”
“Then we’ll steal a second horse,” he told her. “Or you can ride with me.”
“You won’t make good time with both of us riding Goodspeed,” yelled Mary Ann.
And a moment later, they burst through the stable doors.
Mary Ann slammed them shut again and barred the entrance while Rufus scanned the horses.
“You,” he said to a horse breathlessly. It was a beautiful chestnut creature with a black tail and mane. “How would you like a new employer?”
“Well, I don’t know, do I?” said the horse. “What are the benefits? What are the hours? Is it farm work or carriage-pulling? Are saddles involved or is it bareback? How many times a week will there be sugar? I’ll need to see this in writing and have my solicitor—”
“All right. How about you then?” Rufus asked a white stallion.
“I work for the White Knight, Sir Albin,” it said. “I couldn’t betray him like that, poor fellow. He needs me.”
“You?” Rufus asked a sleek black horse.
“I only just got here,” sighed the horse, looking tired. “I’ve been running all day.”
Mary Ann said, “Rufus, please … Just go saddle Goodspeed. I’ll deal with this.”
Someone was banging on the stable doors now. A voice said, “It’s locked somehow! They’ve locked us out!”
“Well, break it down!” came the Queen’s voice.
“What with?”
“You fools!” screamed the Queen. “We have a magic axe, you know!”
“Hey, yeah!” someone said, like this was a novel idea. “We do have that magic axe, don’t we? … Only, where’s it got to?”
“I dunno,” said someone else. “Otto had it last. Otto: where’d you put that magic axe Twain Morningstar had?”
“Haste, haste,” Mary Ann demanded, feeling like Rufus’ horse-saddling business was happening in slow motion. “They’re looking for the axe.”
“I heard them. Hasty is my middle name,” said Rufus, gathering the saddle and bridle. “I’m kidding, though. It’s Clancy.”
But Mary Ann wasn’t in the mood to joke; she was busy thinking of next steps. She realized that while the pack of the Queen’s Guards was shuffling all around them wanting their heads, it was probably not the ideal time be in uffish thought about one’s career goals. But such were the questions twirling about in Mary Ann’s head now.
She was a liability if she stayed with Lord and Lady Carmine as a maid. And she’d burned so many bridges in terms of her employability today. She was by no means artistically talented like her father. And sales from his remaining stock wouldn’t last for long. Aside from being a housemaid, she was good at but one thing. One thing that hadn’t happened yet — her formal sword training. She remembered the trainer’s name: Cornelius Clashammer.
She recalled where the other Red Knight had said he lived: in Thither.
And Mary Ann could think of one innovative way someone could get to Thither very, very quickly.
Sort of.
“All right,” said Rufus, mounting Goodspeed. “Let’s go. Where’s your horse?” He looked around.
“I’m not taking one,” she said.
“Well, you don’t think I’m going to let you run along behind me? That’s just … rude.”
“I’m not going with you to Turvy,” she said. “I’m going to finish my training. In Thither. If I don’t complete it, it’s highly possible your whole Jabberwock epic will be undone. I can’t let that happen. Besides,” she tugged at her collar, “I really could use a career change.”
“Even so,” he persisted, “you’ll still need a horse. So get a move on.”
She remained planted. “There is an alternative way to Thither, you know.”
For a split second, his face was all confusion. Then he groaned. “Oh, not that bloody mirror again! It’s as much as useless, remember? We don’t know how to activate it.”
The voices outside: “Did Otto find it? He did? … What do you mean, he put it in the toolshed? … Yes, I know it is, but …”
“I was thinking about it,” Mary Ann continued, “and I was trying to recall exactly what the glazier said when I asked how the mirror worked.”
“You’d said there was some right word you utter and it lets you go through … I know … We’ve been over this. Can we just get out of here? There’s no —”
“Exactly,” said Mary Ann. “That’s exactly what the glazier said. But I think now that it’s not what she meant … Maybe.”
Rufus hissed, “Mary Ann Carpenter, are you willing to risk your neck on Maybe?”
“Worlds have been built on maybes,” said Mary Ann.
Rufus looked from her, to the rattling door, and sighed. “Last I saw the mirror, it was propped against the gifts table with the rest of Queen Valentina’s Unbirthday loot. You do realize that once you get there, you’re going to have mere minutes to say this mysterious right word and to go through. If you’re wrong, there is no room for error.”
“I know,” she said.
“All right,” he said.
She blinked. “You’re not going to talk me out of it?”
He smiled. “Has that ever worked?”
And she realized at that moment, he really did see her.
“Right,” he said, slinging on his helmet and taking the reins. “Goodspeed and I will help you get to the mirror. After that, it’s all up to you.”
She nodded. “When you get to Turvy, tell Douglas Divot he can have anything in my father’s workshop. Whatever he wants.”
“The excitement might kill him.”
Mary Ann moved to the door. “And when your parents return, please tell them I�
�m so sorry. About everything. Explain to your mother. They were very kind to me.” She quietly removed the bar across the door handles, then ran back and joined Rufus on Goodspeed.
“One…” said Rufus.
“I hope you know what you’re doing, Sir,” said Goodspeed, eyeing the doors.
“Two …”
Cheers came from outside. “Yay, Otto’s got the axe! Now come here and put some muscle into it!”
“Three!” Mary Ann, Rufus and Goodspeed all shouted.
The axe made its first contact with the unbarred door. And to the surprise of everyone outside the stable — including and especially Otto — the stable doors burst wide open, a horse with two riders blasting through like a leggy cannonball.
It was instant mayhem. Guards went flying backwards. Mr. Rabbit let out a high-pitched scream. Mr. Milliner lost his hat.
Mary Ann found it all strangely satisfying.
The trio rounded up to the festival area at a full gallop, tearing across the long field before Goodspeed finally slowed alongside the gift table. The mirror, given its size and color, was easy enough to spot.
Jumping down from the horse, Mary Ann peered over her shoulder and saw the crowd far across the field, barreling toward them.
“Now it’s your turn to be hasty,” said Rufus, flipping up his visor, worry spilled across his face.
“Hasty is my middle name,” she said, flashing him a nervous smile. “Actually, you know it already. It’s Ann.” She took a deep breath and approached the mirror.
Meanwhile, Goodspeed was raring to go. “Please, Sir,” he begged. “We’ve no time.”
“In a minute,” snapped Rufus.
“Think of my mare and foals back home, Sir.”
“You haven’t got a mare and foals,” said the knight.
“True, but I’m a planner,” insisted the horse.
Mary Ann grabbed onto the mirror frame. Oh yes, this was the moment. And if her intuitions were right, it was all absurd. And completely mad. And a bit stupid. So, it was unquestionably the very best shot she had.
In a clear, bold voice, Mary Ann Carpenter — housemaid, current fugitive and, with any luck, future swordfighter — announced to the realm: “The Right Word.”
Rufus and Goodspeed both groaned, with Rufus giving her an additional: “Great gryphons, woman! That was your Maybe? If I’d known that, I would never, ever, not for one single, solitary moment have —”
