The Alyssa Chronicle

by Michael Strelow

  I worked my way out the tiny door, left the sticks near the wedding preparations, came back in and headed to the kitchen. This could be tricky. The kitchen people knew me as well as anyone. They’d see right through the disguise. And then it hit me. I’d be Eugenie again and get some food and take it up to the other Eugenie. Clothes. I needed clothes, and I had no way to get at those clothes up in the princess rooms. So I decided to try out the gardening clothes hanging by the tiny door.

  While being princess I had to pretend, at first, to want to garden as much as Eugenie had. But after doing just enough to make it seem I was Eugenie, I’d stopped. There were so many more interesting things to do. And I had got my tutors trained to give me better and longer lessons in the things that interested me. The numbers, the writing, the measuring—all my favorites.

  The clothes hanging by the door still had mud on the knees. The big boots there fit perfectly, of course. The vest with all the pockets for tools, the straw hat, the waxed coat for rain—I dressed quickly and stopped to check myself. This would be a fine disguise. I was myself disguised as myself pretending to be Eugenie. This time I couldn’t stop the giggle. It all seemed so silly, in some ways. Here we were again, two girls trying to save the kingdom from itself, from its own wrong headedness. I drew myself up tall, put on the hat and set out.

  The kitchen folk barely noticed me as I walked in. They had become so used to me poking about and asking questions, they knew that getting out food was more important than being polite to the princess, so they worked on. There were so many people in the castle now, so much food to get out many times a day, that the kitchen buzzed like a hive of bees. I found an old friend, Jess Andrews, who gave me a quick smile that meant “no time to talk today.” And she was off. I found a tray, scrounged some food and sneaked out the back door.

  Carrying food anywhere in the castle these days was perfectly normal. Everyone was in a tizzy and, as I think you know, tizzies make people hungry. So off I stalked through the halls now half Alyssa, half Eugenie, my disguise splitting the difference. I could have been carrying food for myself or for someone else. Before this wedding business, a princess, never mind one dressed in homespun with mud on her knees, would never carry her own food. But the rules all went out the window. The gathering of dignitaries and the chatter that would follow was of such enormous importance that the wedding had really become less central than the political deals, the children matched up for future weddings and the old friendships renewed.

  And, as sometimes happens, what could go wrong did. Arbuckle Beauregard the Third came down the hallway with the light behind him. He was the minister of water, the savior of the kingdom (with a little help from Eugenie and me) and the bridegroom to be.

  Because the light was bright behind him, all I could see was his walk. But he could see me perfectly well and stopped me. He paused. Studied me. I offered him some food to distract him, but he only peered harder at me.

  I could see he was taking into consideration the clothes, my hair—everything. Like a big old crow, he turned his head first one way and then another. I felt like a worm he was deciding to eat, or not. Finally, he took a deep breath and said, “Welcome back, Alyssa.”

  So he knew we had switched back for a while and that now I was here again, dressed in Eugenie’s gardening clothes and pretending to be her. Of course, since he knew the whole switch business and had for a long time, and he had benefitted from it more than anyone, I thought he might just let it all go. But he seemed to want me to know that he knew it was me and was on to whatever the two of us were planning. He harrumphed. He turned me again into the light and gave me the bird business. Then he smiled. “Whatever you two are doing, I hope you will not be up to any funny business during my wedding. It’s the event of the season, you know. You know! Of course, how could you not know?”

  I stuttered a little to get going and then, “Well, Arbuckle. My congratulations to you from both the countryside and the castle.” I thought he might appreciate the cleverness of my double congratulations in keeping with my double life. He did.

  “Alyssa”—and here he looked over his shoulder like a conspirator checking for who might overhear—“you and Eugenie have been well appreciated by my illustrious family, I can assure you. Your secret is safe with me. But, again, I would like you to not create any problem for my wedding. It’s important. It’s, well, key to the whole…the entire….”

  And then he couldn’t seem to find what exactly it was important to, so he finally settled on “everything.” It hung in the air, everything, as if the world might stop turning, the summer not arrive without his wedding. It seemed to satisfy him, too, and he made a sweep with his hand to include, I suppose, everything.

  I shifted the tray to the other hand to show that it was heavy and I had to be on my way. He gestured me down the hallway, straightened the green vest he always wore now as water-master, and scurried on his way. I passed his test, whatever it was.

  Suddenly it occurred to me where Eugenie would be. Not in her chambers, and certainly not anywhere near the kitchen. She would be in the Council chambers.

  I had become interested in the workings of the Council and had worked very hard to be allowed to listen to what they talked about, argued about. The King could stop the discussions at any minute—and often did—but he usually wanted to hear all sides before he proclaimed in his deepest voice what his decision was.

  The Council chambers were straight ahead and then through two sets of very large wooden doors carved with figures that told the story of the kingdom. The first set, as I approached, were the darkest and oldest, filled with so many shapes that they seemed like wiggling worms poking out of the dark wood. So many old faces, noses wrinkled up, mouths open shouting silently in battle with ancient enemies. The doors were ajar. No one was tending them.

  The next set of doors, across a long room with portrait after portrait of the old ones glaring out severely at whoever passed, that was as far as I could go. I couldn’t just show up at Eugenie’s side and stop whatever proceedings were going on. Not without consulting her first. But I had to find her before someone accidently saw us both together and raised the alarm. I could just hear it: Imposter! Imposter! Yes, fake girl and real girl. One a princess and one a what? A princess too. This was going to be interesting. Maybe not fun, but interesting.

  I crept into an alcove where I could be quiet in the shadows there. I couldn’t hear through the door at all. Maybe nothing was happening in there. How could I get closer?

  I liked to think of the castle now as my castle. When we had first switched, I’d made it my business to explore every nook and cranny, every passage way and crawl space. And I’d discovered that sometime in the past they had built passageways in the walls of all the important rooms so that the heat of the kitchen stoves could be directed up inside the wall, not to heat the giant rooms, but to warm the food that was often delivered to the rooms and then kept for a while in the cupboards built into the walls. And these passageways were very narrow but, I found, just big enough to fit a farm girl or a princess. Jake would have hated it in there. You couldn’t see. It was close—the opposite of a tree top. It smelled of hundreds of years of being a castle.

  The air intake for the wall space was right near my feet in the alcove. And I could hear voices growing louder coming from outside the first set of doors, coming closer to the Council chamber. Without thinking, I pulled the grate out and crept into the space pulling the grate closed behind me. I crouched at first but quickly found I could stand up—sort of. If I bent over I could shuffle through the wall into the Council chamber. I did and suddenly I could hear the voices clearly. With my back against one wall, my knees just rested against the other. It was warm and today smelled like the kitchen’s baking, not at all of stinky castle or dank castle. Except for the darkness so thick I couldn’t see my hand, it was kind of pleasant, if you didn’t mind tight spaces. Sort of like being wrapped in a blanket that smelled like fresh rolls. The voices came to
me through a grate at the back of the cupboard.

  One old voice announced, “They are happy to contribute from their gardens. I hear from many sources they feel it’s their way of being at the wedding. Think of it as a kind of tax they’re willing to pay gladly.”

  Another voice, higher, but deferring to the first voice: “I should think, of course, they would be glad, but I don’t know how much money they will lose if we take the flowers and some of their food for the winter. They sell the flowers, I understand. At markets. Then use that money for…for whatever they need, I suppose.”

  Clearly Eugenie was not in the room, or she was controlling herself, waiting for her chance. I couldn’t see anything, just hear.

  “On the other hand,” a higher voice chimed in. “All the people in the country deserve a chance to contribute to the wedding that will be bringing together important families, securing our—their!—borders, and bringing peace for them and their children. A few flowers, some crops—these are the least they can give. The only difficult part is making them understand how useful and valuable their contributions will be. The key here is information!” The voice rose and quavered. “If they knew, they would gladly give. And give again.” I could imagine the posturing and dramatic finger pointing to the heavens.

  The warm walls were becoming more comfortable as I grew used to the tight fit. But for the voices coming in through the grate, I thought I could have taken a nap. My eyes got heavy for a second, but then…

  Another voice, this time very familiar. Mine. Well, Eugenie’s. She began low and slow, and then like music searching for the right instruments, she grew full and loud and magnificent.

  Chapter Six

  “Councilors, ladies and gentlemen.” She paused. There was a loud murmur as the councilors tried to understand the idea of a young girl speaking to them. A princess, but a young girl. She kept talking and raised her voice a little to speak over the noise. “And gardeners,” she continued. “Gardeners will know right away what’s wrong with the plan to take the flowers. And the vegetables. A gardener is a person who knows about growing things in dirt. Very simple. Yes, but also very complicated. A gardener is the one who says ‘yes’ to all the work and the thinking and the care that makes things grow. Your food and flowers, your life, is possible because there is someone gardening and farming—bigger gardens, really. When a gardener sees a plant is wilting or not growing well, the gardener has to ask why. Water? Sun? Pests? A gardener asks a plant what it needs and then listens. A gardener speaks plant. Are there any gardeners here?”

  The silence seemed to go on for a very long time. Some throats cleared and harrumphed. There were no gardeners. “But all of you eat and have flowers for your occasions. All the speakers here today seem to know some things that all the gardeners would do. What those gardeners would like to do with their flowers and vegetables. How would you know that? Did you ask the gardeners?”

  “Young lady. Princess Eugenie. These proceedings are for….” This from a voice ancient and scratchy, one not used to being told about the world by a young person. I almost laughed as I thought, this would be the perfect time for me to come jumping out of the wall and echoing Eugenie, waving my muddy knees around the room. Maybe hooting a little like an owl. All this occurred to me as Eugenie was interrupted and the Council murmured over the scolding that they were sure was to come. But, of course, I didn’t really jump out of the wall, though it would have been very interesting. This was Eugenie’s time. I knew what she would think of the old man’s interruption. She spoke sharply without raising her voice.

  “You are interrupting. You may speak when I finish.” The murmur added a few gasps. “Then you may have your opinion. And I might ask if you are a gardener. But I think I already know the answer. I believe what you are doing is suggesting that your ignorance is more important than my knowledge of gardening and gardeners.”

  The stunning silence, then the clatter and cacophony that followed seemed to feed on the word strange to these halls, “gardeners.” Oh, my warm walls felt delicious, I can tell you. Eugenie was out in the cold, all right. Maybe I would have to pop out of the wall after all. I was sure it was the word “ignorance” that rattled the Council walls. An old Councilor ignorant? I could hear words and parts of words: “The nerve…insolent…princess or not…who does she think she is…young…her father…” And the buzz rose.

  I strained at the grate to see anything, something, except the ceiling. I was sure Eugenie had her hands on her hips, though. I had seen her defiant stance before and had marveled at it. Something very princess in it; something very farm-girl gardener. Her birth position and the smell of freshly turned dirt joined together into an astounding girl. And astounding she was. I waited.

  The next clear voice was another scratchy old one. But this one said, “Let her talk. She’s right about too many people who know nothing saying too much.” And then silence again. Then Eugenie.

  “Thank you. I will try to help you understand what a farmer and gardener feel for what they bring from the ground. It is a beet or a flower, yes. But it is also the thing that we start from a seed and care for as a shoot and then fuss over as a young plant. We watch it bud out, stretch for the sun, stretch roots for dirt and become what we saw in the seed. Even a field of grain has a first green haze when the small plants are fragile and tender. Then they explode into a grain field and promise to feed us. Gardeners can’t walk past their plants without checking on them. The listening to plants again. The learning to speak plant. And you ask if a gardener will miss the flowers and vegetables, will stand by as workers come and loot their gardens? They will let you loot only because you have the army. Because you have the cannons. The time has come to ask them if they will sell, sell, their care and hard work for the wedding.” More murmuring here, loud enough that I couldn’t hear Eugenie for a short time. I thought the talking was either agreement with her or, maybe, complete disagreement. I couldn’t tell which. Maybe she was being escorted out of the room. But no. I could hear her again.

  “So, Councilors and planners, King, Queen and those who will be wed, I ask you to think like a gardener even if you’re not one. Not only for the wedding plans, but every day that food is wasted or allowed to spoil. When flowers go unwatered. When you pass fields and gardens someone has made and tended. If you can think like a gardener, then you can think like a soldier who is afraid to die or a hungry person who needs food. Begin thinking like a gardener and the kingdom will become a better place every day and in many ways. Thank you.”

  I took a deep breath in the silence that filled the chamber. Then one person clapped, then another. And then, maybe someone important began clapping because the applause scattered in the room like a flock of birds. I imagine it was the King clapping for his daughter that let the others join in. I would ask Eugenie later. But it was clear even from my hiding place that not everyone in the room was clapping. I imagined hard stares, pursed lips, glances away.

  Whatever Council business remained to be discussed was dropped. Eugenie’s speech hung in the air like unfinished business. The room still echoed: ignorance, gardens, think like a gardener. And, I should mention, heat. Suddenly my cramped quarters in the wall got very warm. Maybe it was the heat from the kitchen rising, but maybe it was the heat from the room where all the councilors ears must have turned red with Eugenie’s words. I still couldn’t see what was going on. I couldn’t leave the wall until everyone filed out of the chamber. I could—and did—scrunch down and wait.

  When I couldn’t hear any voices or footsteps, I waited even longer to be sure I was alone. Then I tried to leave the wall the way I got in. The grate was stuck. I must have pulled it hard when I went in. I tried kicking it on the top so it would open without scratching the floor and leaving a trace of my entry. Somehow it had swelled up, maybe from the heat. I worked back toward the cupboard in the Council chamber, and wiggled myself up to the space on the shelf that was supposed to warm the plates of food. And then like a snake crawling ou
t of its hole in a rock wall, I scrunched myself up then stretched out and inched my way out the slot at the back of the dark cupboard. Now I was lying along a top shelf. What a fine surprise I would make if someone opened the cupboard door looking for plates and found me instead.

  I couldn’t help it. It was funny to imagine. I giggled.

  “Who’s there,” came a voice from the room.

  I froze. No place to go. If someone opened the door… But no one opened the door. I could barely hear the swish of a broom finishing the job of cleaning up. I lay on the shelf feeling like some kind of stockpile of nosey girl. I waited until well after the sweeping stopped. Then I pushed open the cupboard door very slowly and peeked out. I was alone. Now to get off this top shelf and not crash to the floor. I slid out, slithered down, slunk away into a shadow. In the next room I could hear the broom again, so I waited. And waited.

  Finally, the next room had no sounds. The light was growing dim in the windows. Evening had come. I had spent my chance to plan with Eugenie waiting in a wall, lying on a shelf. One last try, then I had to rush back to the farm.

  I skulked from room to room ready with fresh alibis about suddenly wearing my gardening clothes but didn’t need them. I went as directly as I could to Eugenie’s chambers. Empty. I even thought about hiding under her bed and then popping out after she retired for the night. But then I’d be missed at home, and they might send people out looking for me. I thought that somewhere in the castle Eugenie was either being celebrated for her speech or, just as likely, she was seated with her head down listening to a lecture from her father. Or mother. I couldn’t wait to find out which, but for now, I had to slink out of the castle and get home before the light was completely gone.