Rose and the Lost Princess

by Holly Webb

  “Hurry up, Frederick,” Gus murmured. “Don’t keep the audience waiting, as any good performer knows.”

  In truth, they were rather good conjurors, Freddie maintaining a courtly patter and Gus providing most of the power for the pretty little tricks. There was a worrying moment when Freddie made Princess Charlotte’s bracelet disappear and couldn’t get it back again, but at last it reappeared with an audible pop, floating above her head, and everyone applauded. Freddie, who had gone greenish-white with horror, growled at his watch chain.

  They ended by giving magical flowers that glittered and sang, though a little out of tune, to both princesses, and Freddie requested Rose’s help to pack up again. Under cover of the ladies-in-waiting coveting the flowers, he muttered to Rose, “Fountain wants to see the snow globe. Did you bring it here with you? He says it sounds suspicious and he wants to work out the spell.” Rose dug into her apron pocket. She was carrying it all the time now. She could have sworn it wanted her to. She felt oddly reluctant to hand it over to Freddie, though once she did, a strange chill seemed to leave her, her fingertips warming delightfully as Freddie tucked the tiny globe away. “Don’t stare at it for too long,” she muttered, feeling embarrassed.

  Freddie looked at her sharply. “Like that, is it? Mr. Fountain said it sounded like some sort of entrapment as soon as I told him. Which wasn’t soon enough, apparently. He was furious that I hadn’t said anything before. Honestly, though, how was I supposed to know?” He glanced over at the audience and patted Rose’s hand awkwardly. “Be careful, won’t you? Here.” Quickly, he pulled out the watch chain and took the watch off, stuffing it clumsily into his jacket pocket.

  “Have Gus. He might not stay, but I think you need him more than I do.” He pressed the chain and the charms into Rose’s hand, and Rose could feel the purring gold under her fingers.

  Insolent boy! I’m not his to give! But I’ll stay for a while, Gus yawned in her head. Put me around your neck, Rose dear. I’ll look after you. Do the princesses like fish?

  Twelve

  Rose dreamed of snowflakes falling and falling, settling on her face, blinding her eyes, sealing her nose and filling her mouth. They deadened her limbs with cold so she couldn’t move, and she struggled helplessly, thrashing against her blankets, sure that they were a banked snowdrift into which she was sinking deeper and deeper. At last, she broke out of the snow and the dream at the same time and sat up gasping, rubbing frantically at her nose and eyes to clear away the choking snowflakes.

  It was very cold, but there was no snow. In the faint light of a lamp that was burning in the princess’s room, Rose examined her hands. Completely dry. A dream, then. Just a very real, horrible dream. She sighed shakily and lay down again, wriggling her frozen toes to try and warm them.

  Then she sat up. The palace got colder at nights, when the fires died down, but never normally this cold. Her feet were actually aching it was so chilly. Something was wrong. And now she was paying proper attention, there was a strange rustling noise; she wasn’t quite sure where. But usually the only noises were Princess Jane’s very quiet, very little snores. Any noise was wrong.

  Her heart suddenly frozen, by fear this time, Rose crawled out of bed and crept into Princess Jane’s bedroom. The room was only dimly lit, but it was quite light enough to see that the bed was empty. Even so, Rose pulled off all the bedclothes—just in case the unbelievably serious little princess was playing a joke. Rose wasn’t sure she even knew how.

  Where is she? Gus was awake now, the little golden charm quivering against her neck.

  I don’t know! Rose wailed silently as she hurtled into the drawing room. The room was empty. “She’s gone!” Rose whispered in horror.

  “No.” Gus came exploding out of his golden casing, tiny fragments of glittering metal shimmering into the air and coating his white fur, so that he gleamed as he tracked suspiciously round the room. “No, they’re still here. They’re hidden…”

  All at once, as though they had realized they’d been discovered, there was a strange blurring in the air in front of Rose and Gus, and the room was suddenly so cold that Rose shivered, her limbs aching sharply and all her thoughts turning fuzzy and slow. Gus sprang into her arms, his gold-tinged fur filling her with blessed warmth, and she gasped in relief.

  “Rose! Help me!” In the middle of the blur of figures was the princess, still kicking weakly as the kidnappers tried to carry her away. She was blue with cold, and as Rose stepped forward to help her, she seemed to faint. She had no magical cat to warm her against the ice spells.

  Rose pulled at the black cloak of the nearest figure, desperately summoning as many of the fighting spells as she could. But there was no firelight to turn into a monster, and the deadening, blood-slowing cold made it hard to summon up any of the spells that she’d practiced on Freddie. Her mind seemed to be slowing down, her thoughts sticking together sluggishly.

  Rose was too cold and frightened to think of anything clever. She ran straight into the muddle of figures and seized the hem of Princess Jane’s nightgown.

  There was an angry outcry from the dark figures, and someone hit her, knocking her sideways. A muffled oath sounded as Gus bit one of them, but the silken fabric on the nightgown was melting in Rose’s hand like snowflakes, and then they were just gone.

  All of them, Jane too. She was gone. Rose had failed entirely, but that wasn’t what worried her. Who had taken Jane, and what were they going to do to her? The princess was selfish, rude, and monumentally tactless, but Rose liked Jane. And she was supposed to be responsible for her, and she was furious. Rose looked around, panicked, and grabbed the little bell that stood on one of the tables. Even that seemed to have been corrupted by the unnatural cold—it rang with a splintering tone like ice cracking and then crumbled to pieces.

  Rose whirled around. Princess Jane had been taken. There was only one thing to do.

  She screamed.

  ***

  The princesses’ suite was full of people. Rose sat on the window seat in the drawing room with Princess Charlotte in her arms. Gus was sitting on the child’s lap, stoically allowing her to stroke his ears. The little princess was very confused and kept asking where Jane was in the most piteous fashion.

  “She’s gone away for the moment. She’ll be back soon,” Rose murmured for about the fifteenth time.

  She didn’t have the heart to be impatient with the little girl. It was Rose’s fault that Jane was missing. She hid her face in Charlotte’s dark curls for a moment, blinking away her tears. What should she have done?

  “Rose!” Mr. Fountain was plunging across the room, courtiers hissing and whispering angrily as they saw him pass. He didn’t even notice. “Are you hurt? Did they get to you too?”

  Rose shook her head, her cheeks burning. She could hardly even look at him. “I was asleep,” she whispered. “I heard something, and I ran after her and tried to fight, but it was no good. They were so strong. So cold. I could hardly move, and my mind felt like it was all locked up. What will they do to her?” She said this last in the merest thread of a whisper, breathing it around Charlotte so she didn’t hear. It wasn’t something she knew she could do, but she hardly noticed enough to be pleased with herself.

  I don’t know. Mr. Fountain spoke in her head. It’s safer this way. Did you see who they were?

  No! I’m so sorry. I just woke up because I was cold, and I heard something. Oh! Yes. The cold. It was magical; it had to have been. I had an awful dream—or I thought it was a dream… About snowflakes choking me. Maybe…that was a spell?

  It sounds like it. Mr. Fountain’s voice in her mind was grim. I need to search for traces. Though how I’ll get this lot out of here…

  The room was full of Princess Jane’s ladies-in-waiting, all in tears, and about twenty other people, including the king and queen.

  It was the first time that Rose had seen Queen Adelaide
up close. She was stony-faced, clutching her little dog, but Rose wondered if the stone was to stop her collapsing. It reminded her of Jane. She couldn’t look at the queen without feeling even guiltier.

  “Where is Charlotte?” the queen asked suddenly, a rising panic in her voice.

  Poor Charlotte seemed doomed always to be the afterthought. No one had asked about her before, since she stumbled shivering out of bed and into the middle of the maelstrom in her drawing room.

  “She’s here, Your Majesty.” Mr. Fountain turned to reveal Rose and the little girl, and everyone in the room stared at them.

  The queen looked as though she would like to snatch Charlotte out of Rose’s arms. Rose tried to hold her out toward her mother, but Charlotte clung, her fingers biting into Rose’s flesh.

  Charlotte’s mother rustled over in her full-skirted crepe-de-Chine dressing gown, frivolously patterned with poppies, and seated herself beside Rose on the window seat. Rose gulped. Her nightgown was touching the queen.

  Mr. Fountain stepped back and bowed, but the queen ignored him.

  “So you are my daughter’s guard?” she asked. Her voice was as cold as the spell that had stolen Jane.

  Rose nodded. “Yes, Your Majesty,” she whispered to the floor.

  “Did you do anything to stop this?” demanded the queen, leaning angrily close.

  “I tried. They froze me,” Rose repeated dully.

  “Your Majesty.” Mr. Fountain bowed very low again. “Rose did raise the alarm, immediately after the kidnap. The unnatural cold persisted in these rooms and still does. There may be traces that I can follow, but I need the room cleared.”

  Queen Adelaide stared at him with acute dislike. Rose realized that she really hated magic—which probably meant she was frightened of it. She had a feeling that the queen had not known what she really was until now—just another of her husband’s strange whims.

  The queen stood up and trailed her shimmering skirts over to where a group of courtiers were arguing—very, very politely—with the king. She spoke to him quietly, and he looked over at Mr. Fountain. “Everyone will leave,” he said suddenly, a trace of hope in his voice, just for a moment. “We need to search the rooms.”

  “Sire, we have searched,” a man in an ornate uniform began, “exhaustively. She is not here.”

  But the king waved them all out, and the queen followed, casting one last hateful glance at Rose and her master. Only the king was left, staring at Rose and Gus as they held his youngest daughter. Charlotte was falling asleep again on Rose’s shoulder.

  “There’s a cat,” he muttered, rather confused. “I didn’t see it before.”

  “He’s mine, sire,” Mr. Fountain explained. “He was hidden and helping Rose. He is only almost a cat, sire, and very powerful, I promise you. This was an immensely strong spell, that neither Rose nor Gustavus were able to halt it.”

  The king watched Gus licking his paw, clearly trying to work out what “almost a cat” meant, and Gus watched him around his bright pink tongue, his mixed eyes fixed on the king’s face. Cats were allowed to be rude.

  “Oh, Aloysius, what am I going to do?” he murmured, casting himself down next to Rose and burying his face in his hands. “It isn’t just that she’s my precious child. The political consequences!” He looked up, surprised, as Gus let out the merest breath of a growl. “Oh, I know, it seems cold. Ha! Stone cold! Frozen!” He shook his head dazedly, realizing that he was being criticized by a cat—realizing perhaps what “almost a cat” meant. “The banquet. For her birthday—tomorrow evening! And the Talish envoy coming, do you not see what that means?” He seemed to be talking to Gus, and the white cat stared back at him gravely. “A chance for a real peace, after all these years, all the ships and men we’ve lost at sea. They’ve lowered themselves to accept—we could hardly believe it—a banquet commemorating the night of the battle that lost them an empire. They must want peace.” He looked pleadingly into Gus’s amazing eyes. “Don’t you see? If anyone outside the palace finds out that Jane is gone, there will be a national panic, and our chances of a lasting peace will be destroyed, perhaps forever.”

  “What will you do, sire?” Mr. Fountain asked.

  “God knows…” The king shook his head. “It will all be ruined. There are elements in the Talish delegation who will frame it as an insult. They will go. Back to Talis to build more ships, more armies. I cannot let it happen, but I do not see any way to stop it!”

  Mr. Fountain looked thoughtfully at Rose. “There is a way, sire…I objected to Rose being put at risk in this way at first, but as you say, the political consequences if the banquet should be canceled…So. There is a possible solution.”

  You can’t make her do that! Gus snarled silently.

  Mr. Fountain ignored him. “There has, after all, already been one unsuccessful attempt to steal the princess…”

  The king blinked at him.

  “We could tell everyone that this attempt was unsuccessful too.” Mr. Fountain was still staring at Rose.

  “We could replace the princess. Temporarily, of course,” he added quickly. “Just until we find the real one. A stand-in…”

  “How?” King Albert asked, his voice low and pained. Looking at him, the way his fingers were clenched, Rose had the sudden feeling that he was weighing the safety of his country against a deception that he hated with all his heart.

  “A glamour.” Rose held little Princess Charlotte tighter, and she squirmed and muttered in her sleep. She shook her head. “I can’t do glamours. Remember when you tried to teach us? I made everyone’s hair turn gold, but nothing happened to me. And Freddie and I practiced too, and it never worked right.”

  “With Gus and Freddie to help, Rose, you could. I will be chasing the real princess. I can feel the traces in here, and there must be some way I can track her. Sire, we must decide quickly, before these traces fade.”

  “Will you do this?” the king asked, peering wearily at Rose. He looked as though he hated to ask.

  Rose gazed back at him. “She would want me to, I think. She complained about being a national treasure, but she was proud of it too. She would want the peace talks to go on.” If only because peace would mean disbanding some of the navy who keep sending her furniture, she thought but didn’t add.

  “Gus, will you help her?” Mr. Fountain asked. The king gave the cat a sharp look, clearly surprised.

  Gus gazed thoughtfully at Rose. “She could do it, no question. But should we?”

  The king’s mouth dropped open; then he shut it with a snap and swallowed. “You have a talking cat,” he murmured. He shook his head. “I don’t know why I’m surprised. Of course you do.”

  “Why is everyone always so impressed by the talking?” Gus inquired loftily. “It really isn’t difficult.” He headbutted the king on the arm. “I can do much more exciting things, you know.”

  “Jane adored cats,” King Albert said quietly. “My wife wasn’t keen—she has a dog. You will find her, won’t you?” he asked Mr. Fountain suddenly. He didn’t look at the magician, just kept stroking Gus under the chin, as though he couldn’t bear to see Mr. Fountain’s face.

  Gus rubbed up against him again. “Do you really want an artificial daughter? That’s what you’re getting, you know. A replacement. Everyone else will think Rose is the real princess, and only you will know she’s gone. Can you stand that, sire?” He placed a clawed paw on the king’s arm. “I cannot let you risk Rose’s life by betraying her.” His strange eyes glowed. “She is as precious as your princess, and we cannot lose her.”

  The king gave a hollow laugh. “One gets rather good at pretending and giving up things one might want to do in order to promote the common good. I will treat her as my own child—and she will be under my protection.”

  Mr. Fountain nodded gravely, and Gus let out a solemn-sounding purr.

  “Rose, ca
n you lay the little princess down without waking her?” Mr. Fountain asked.

  “No, give her to me.” The king held out his arms, and Rose shuffled Charlotte onto his lap, where she snuggled sleepily. The king rubbed his bearded cheek against her hair for a mere fraction of a second, then looked up, all business. “How does this work? Can I watch? Is it a secret?”

  Mr. Fountain shook his head. “No. You may watch, sire—you will not see a great deal of the spell anyway. You can help us if you think of Jane. We need to remember her as closely as we can, to make the glamour.” He closed his eyes for a second. “I have called Freddie. His strength will be useful too.”

  Freddie arrived at a run a few minutes later, dressed only in shirt and breeches, his smooth hair ruffled and sticking out. It made him look nicer, Rose thought vaguely, trying to distract herself from what she was about to do.

  Mr. Fountain had obviously told him what was about to happen in their telepathic speech, for he came straight to Rose and took her hands, staring at her anxiously. Then he remembered where he was and made a sketchy bow to the king, but he turned straight back to Rose. “Are you sure you want to do this? Disguise glamours are tricky, you know, and I don’t mean just difficult. I mean tricky like they want to trick you.”

  “I have to,” Rose said, shrugging and half nodding toward the king.

  Freddie scowled. “He doesn’t know what he’s asking,” he muttered. “I’m sorry, sire. But you don’t. We would do anything to serve you, but this…this is above and beyond…”

  Rose glanced worriedly at Mr. Fountain, and then back at Freddie. “Why? What’s so special about it? When you first told me about glamours, you said they were difficult, that’s all. Gus does them all the time, and it hasn’t hurt him.”

  “They are difficult,” Mr. Fountain agreed, steepling his fingers thoughtfully. “And very, very strong magic. Which is why you’ll need Freddie and Gus to help.”