The Magical Misadventures of Prunella Bogthistle

by Deva Fagan

  I let out a long breath. “I know.” I set the mask aside and began packing away Milo’s mess with forced briskness. “But I’m not the one who set out to be a hero. Are you ready for this? People are going to think you cursed the queen. Or worse.”

  “Only the ones who don’t know the truth,” said Barnaby.

  “And you don’t mind?” I looked up, my hands full of plaster fruit. I fumbled as a pomegranate toppled toward the floor.

  Barnaby caught it, coming up with a flashy smile, as bright and false as the sword on his belt. “It’s the right thing to do. That’s me. Barnaby Bagby. Doing the right thing.” He helped me put away the fruit. Several moments passed in silence. I could hear Milo and Miranda singing together in the kitchen. The shouts and whoops of the children drifted in from the deck.

  “You know—” I began, but Barnaby cut me off.

  “D’you have everything you need for the spell?”

  I nodded.

  He pressed his lips together, no longer smiling. “Good. It won’t be long now.”

  The performance was to be held in the Royal Gardens. Miranda led us there: the two boys, Barnaby, and me. Milo and Liss had gone earlier with a rented wagon full of props.

  As we passed along the wide cobbled streets of Orlanna, I stared at the city unfolding before me. It was larger than I had imagined. On either side, buildings rose four or even five stories tall, wrapped round with the wrought-iron balconies of fine apartments. The ground floors held taverns and shops beneath brightly striped awnings.

  Flowers bloomed in every corner: Vivid red and yellow trumpet vines dripped down from the balconies; brilliant pink creepers spilled from marble urns scattered about the squares. Many of the women wore lilies in their hair as they strolled between the shops or reclined under the few willow trees that provided occasional shade in a green square.

  It was beautiful, I could not deny it. Yet it was the beauty of an old length of silk—still bright, still lovely, but worn thin. It felt as if it might tear any moment, revealing something foul beneath the tatters.

  When I looked for it, I saw the signs of decay. Rust bloomed along the wrought iron, beneath the flowering vines. Patches marred the striped awnings. Was it all because of the stolen magic, locked away in the chalice?

  At the amphitheater in the gardens, Milo and Lisette had already set up the props and screens upon the stage. The semicircle of marble seats stood half filled. The pavilion at the front, draped in green-and-blue silk and embroidered with peacocks, remained empty.

  We hastened to join the others, donning our costumes, practicing lines. I sorted through the oddments in my basket a dozen times, making certain I had everything I needed.

  Then there was nothing to do but wait. I stood at the edge of the screen, sneaking looks out at the tiers of seats. There was still no sign of the queen. What if she did not come? All our plans would fail.

  A croaking cry broke through my fretting. I looked sharply at the line of magnolias along the path that led to the theater. A single black shape sat hunched on the highest branch.

  “Go home, Ezzie,” I said, although she was too far away to hear it. That was all I needed.

  I was about to go and chase her away when I heard Milo’s call. “All up now. Her Majesty has arrived. Time for the show.”

  I didn’t do half bad, really. I only stumbled three times. Once was when I skulked out onto the stage for the first time and got a look at the queen in her trailing feather-fringed gowns and glittering peacock mask, which revealed nothing of her face. Miranda had to poke me in the backside to get me started on my villainous monologue.

  The mummery we performed was not exactly the Epic of Serafine. Milo had introduced it as a “modern adaptation, with a surprise ending sure to delight and amaze.” I didn’t expect Serafine to be delighted, but I certainly hoped she would be surprised.

  The queen stiffened at the first significant departure from the standard story, in which I, as Esmeralda, managed to snatch the Mirable Chalice from the treasury of Serafine the Adamant and whisk it away. That was the second time I stumbled, fearing she would call a halt to the performance. But Milo’s quick narration flung the story onward, introducing the unnamed but valiant hero who would restore the chalice to the queen.

  As Barnaby strode onto the stage, the queen leaned back again. I groaned inwardly. This cursed mummery was taking too long. I wanted it to be over and done, to know if we had succeeded or failed.

  Finally, after a series of heart-pounding (according to Milo) adventures, Barnaby and I stood facing each other at the very edge of the stage, directly before the queen. I made my last villainous speech, setting out the components for the severing spell as theatrically as possible, hoping Serafine would not recognize the preparation as true magic.

  I traced the last rune, just in time to be slain horribly by the hero. That was when I stumbled the third and last time. The crow began cackling as I cowered away from Barnaby’s wooden sword. I stood there stupidly for several long seconds after I should have collapsed in a defeated puddle.

  The crowd cheered as Barnaby, in his hero’s mask, turned to face Queen Serafine. This was it. I craned my neck to watch. The pent-up thrum of the spell pulsed against my skin.

  “Queen Serafine,” said Barnaby, speaking not to Liss in her white robes, but to the true Serafine, seated beneath the blue-and-green pavilion. “Long have I searched. Many dangers have I faced. But I return now to restore what was stolen.” With a flourish, he held up the gleaming golden chalice for all to see.

  An excited tremor passed through the audience. I could hear the conversations bubbling up on all sides:

  “Is it real?”

  “The Mirable Chalice returned?”

  “Look! The queen.”

  Serafine rose, as quick as a serpent. Take it, I thought. Take it! The spell thundered in my ears.

  “My queen!” called an unwelcome new voice. “Beware! That is no mummer! That is no hero!” Rencevin charged into the amphitheater, shouting “Bagby!” as he drew his saber.

  Barnaby lifted his wooden sword, taking a step back. The queen raised one hand, quelling the thief-taker with a gesture. She spoke to Barnaby.

  “Hero, we are grateful for the return of that which we treasure. We would look upon the true face of the one to whom we owe so much.”

  “I…” began Barnaby, taking another step back.

  “He’s a stinking thief,” growled Rencevin. With a roar, he slashed at Barnaby.

  I leapt to my feet. I didn’t care if I was supposed to be the vanquished villain. We had gone beyond mummery now.

  Barnaby blocked the blow. But though his sword might be shiny, it could not stand against real steel. It shattered, sending splinters of wood and plaster flying. Rencevin whipped his own blade around again, smashing it into the side of Barnaby’s head.

  I shrieked. The audience gasped. Barnaby reeled back, his once-proud hero’s mask destroyed. He recovered, knocking the remnants of plaster from his face. He threw back his shoulders and confronted the crowd.

  “You see,” said Rencevin, his lips drawn back in a fierce grimace. “That, my queen, is Barnaby Bagby. A thief and a scoundrel, like all his kin. He’s the one who stole the chalice in the first place, and now he seeks to return it and claim a rich reward. Do not believe him!”

  “Yes,” said Barnaby, raising his chin. “I am Barnaby Bagby. And I am, or was, a thief. I did take the chalice. But I don’t want a reward!” He held out the Mirable Chalice toward the queen. “I just want to end the curse!”

  Serafine’s fingers quivered. She wanted to take the chalice, I could see it in the way she stared at it, unable to turn away. “Rencevin?” she said in a voice chilly as a marble tomb.

  The thief-taker frowned. “Beware, my queen. Something isn’t right. The chalice…” He fingered the rim of his monocle.

  I hovered at the edge of the stage. No one seemed to care that I hadn’t stayed dead. Everyone was watching the queen now. This wa
s taking too long. Rencevin was going to see that the chalice was ensorcelled.

  “No!” I shouted, raising my hand and jabbing it at the goblet. “That chalice is mine! The power is mine!” I cackled for good measure.

  Barnaby whirled to face me, his mouth open. Rencevin lifted his saber. I didn’t care. It was the queen who mattered. If she believed I was a threat, even for a moment, it would be enough.

  Serafine pushed back her mask, staring at me. Her beautiful, untrue lips curled as she lunged forward to seize the Mirable Chalice.

  I held up Halbert’s picture of the queen’s true face. The final words of the severing spell burst from me like a host of angry bees. The magic swarmed into the air, clouding around Serafine as she clutched the goblet. My ears hummed, my body hummed, the world hummed around me as somewhere an old, old woman screamed.

  The Mirable Chalice shattered.

  Dimly I was aware of Rencevin shouting. Everyone was yelling. I blinked against the stinging wind. Tears blurred my vision. I pushed off the Esmeralda mask, rubbing my eyes, trying to make sense of the world. A fury of magic swirled through the amphitheater, centered on Serafine.

  She saw me. Her withered lips shaped a word. It might have been “who” or “you.” I tensed as she raised her arms, recognizing the patterns she was shaping. Serafine the Adamant was about to kill me, and the only charm I could remember was my alligator-spoor curse.

  Nothing happened. Serafine shrieked. She clawed at the glimmering air. She hunched over, scrabbling as the enchantment ran from her like quicksilver.

  “Not much fun to have no magic, is it?” I said.

  “Esmeralda,” she spat. “You’ll pay for this.”

  “I expect I will, but not to you.”

  She was going to say something more, but the air had begun to clear. Faces swam out of the miasma. A blue-uniformed guard. A lord batting at the air with his feathered cap as if he could swat away the magic.

  “The queen!” someone cried out. “She’s been cursed.”

  Serafine lifted her hands, but not to curse me. She looked at them, shaking. She tore at her hair, pulling the frazzled wisps forward, staring at them. Then she backed away. Taking up her mask, she clamped it over her now ravaged face. In a raspy voice she called out, “Seize the witch! Seize the thief!”

  A fit of coughing doubled her over. More blue-coated guards emerged from the fog. “Get the queen to safety,” one shouted. “The rest of you, after the villains!”

  I could see the magnolia trees now, and nearly all the tiers of the amphitheater. Rencevin was gone. The stage was deserted, but for the shattered remains of the hero mask. Terrible images flashed through my mind. Where was Barnaby?

  Not here. That was clear enough. I ran.

  Booted feet pounded after me. I ducked behind a large stand of palmettos, hoping I was headed in the right direction, and held my breath as my pursuers passed. I turned to continue, but a caw froze me among the spiky greenery.

  “Ezzie?” I called.

  The crow circled three times, then dived. As it plummeted to the earth, it lengthened, spreading and changing, until a tall, sharp-faced woman stood before me.

  “Gr-grandmother,” I stammered. “What are you doing here?”

  She set her fists on her hips, staring at me. “After everything that you’ve done, Prunella, why do you suppose I’m here?” The wart on the tip of her nose shivered as her nostrils flared.

  Was she going to curse me? Had I embarrassed her so terribly?

  I would not grovel. I lifted my chin. “I know I’ve disappointed you, Grandmother. I know I will never be the bog-witch you’d like me to be. But I mean to be the bog-witch I want me to be. If you feel like cursing me, if you never want to see me again, fine.” I blinked rapidly. The last thing I needed right then was to be a soppy dishrag.

  That was when the miracle happened.

  She smiled. A real smile. Better than the one she’d given Ezzie that time. It sent a flood of sunshine into my chest, unlocking something that had been bound up tight. I sighed.

  “A bog-witch should never be what others expect her to be,” said Grandmother. “If you’ve learned that, there just might be a place for you back in the bog.”

  “Re-really?” I was stammering again, but I didn’t care.

  “Must I repeat myself?” The smile was gone from her lips now, but it still sparkled in her eyes. “You vanquished that hag Serafine. You recovered the lost grimoire. And even Ezzie had to admit your toading of the boy was well done. So, yes, we—I—want you to come back. To come home.”

  “Home.” I’d be able to see the parrot, to feed Aunt Flywell’s orchids, to go on mushroom sprees. To be all I’d ever wanted.

  She drew herself up, a pillar of black silk and power. “I will have to cast the crow shape on you myself, but tomorrow I will begin teaching you the spell.” She raised her hand, pointing at me.

  A thrum of running feet turned both of us toward the palmettos. The next moment, Liss staggered out from behind them, panting.

  “Prunella! Thank the sweet hills!” She caught sight of my grandmother and skittered back.

  “It’s all right, Liss,” I said. “This is my grandmother. But what’s wrong? Where is everyone else?”

  “Captured!” she said. “Oh, please, come quickly. I’m afraid that thief-taker is going to brand Barnaby!”

  All I could think of was Barnaby telling me about his father. I’ll die before I let anyone brand me.

  “Show me where they are.”

  “Prunella.” Grandmother stood aloof. “I told you. It is time to go home. Your work here is done. Let the Uplanders tend to their own affairs.”

  “I can’t just abandon them!”

  Grandmother stiffened. “You can and you will. I have much to teach you. There’s no time for lollygagging around doing good deeds for those who won’t even appreciate them.”

  My world spun. Liss, Grandmother, the trees, the sky, the specks of magic that still glinted as they settled back over the Uplands. I closed my eyes, slipping one hand into my jacket pocket to feel for Esmeralda’s grimoire. I took a deep breath.

  “I’m not going.” I rushed to get it all out. “You said I should be what I want to be. You said I shouldn’t be what others expect. Well, that includes you.” I took another breath, then plunged onward. “I want to come back. I want to see Rosie and Elf and Aunt Flywell. I want to make you happy and learn everything I can. But I can’t just abandon my friend.” Grandmother raised a brow at the word, but allowed me to continue. “And now that the Mirable Chalice is shattered, the Uplands have magic again. They’ll need help. I can’t just walk away from them.”

  Grandmother glared down her warty nose at me. “Instead, you will walk away from me.”

  I crossed my arms, uncowed. “You’re the one who threw me out and set Yeg on my tail.”

  Grandmother’s lips twitched. “That was for your own good.” Then she sighed. “Well, I suppose I can’t fault you for knowing your own mind, Prunella.”

  “G-good-bye, Grandmother.”

  “There’s no need to sniffle and drip over it,” said Grandmother. “Do your work. Help the cursed Uplanders. But come and visit one of these days. Your cousins will be happy to see you. Well, perhaps not Ezzie.”

  “You’ll let me visit?” I wiped my eyes.

  “Have I not made it clear that you are, and always will be, a Bogthistle?”

  I threw my arms around her. Just for a moment, of course. Grimelda Bogthistle might smile on rare occasions, but I knew I was risking a nasty cursing by daring to hug her. Especially in front of Liss.

  Grandmother pulled away, brushing off her robes and looking into the bushes. “I’ll be off, then.” She turned, raising her arms. Black feathers riffled along her elbows. “I’m leaving you something to remember me by, Prunella. He’s a bit hardheaded, but any Bogthistle worth her salt should be able to keep him in line.”

  “Him? What do you mean?”

  The feathers
rippled up across her shoulders. She turned to look back at me, her dark eye diminishing, her nose sharpening into a black beak. “Whistle,” she croaked, launching herself into the air. She circled three times, then winged away.

  I turned to Liss. “Take me to Barnaby. Don’t worry. We’ll save them.”

  The first part was easy enough. Even a full troop of Queen’s Guard will retreat quite snappily when you set a giant alligator on them. In a few moments, the entire street had emptied of blue-uniformed guards and curious onlookers. The Gullets, abandoned by their captors, backed away uncertainly as Yeg stalked past them, bits of tattered blue fabric fluttering from his teeth.

  The family appeared unharmed. But my heart squeezed to a lump of coal at the sight of Barnaby. He knelt in the middle of the street, hands bound behind his back. Blood streamed from his nose.

  Rencevin stood over Barnaby. Unlike the guards, he had held his ground, a saber in one hand, a red-tipped brand in the other.

  “Let him go!” I shouted. I signaled to Yeg, who obligingly snapped his great wedge of a mouth.

  “The Queen’s Justice will be carried out.” Rencevin kept a wary eye on the alligator but did not retreat. “Call off your beast, bog-witch. Or the boy gets a blade rather than a brand.”

  Barnaby spat, then tossed back his head. “I’d rather be dead than branded.”

  “I can arrange that, thief,” snarled Rencevin.

  “No,” I said. “Rencevin, your so-called queen is the real thief here. She’s the one who’s been stealing magic, draining lives away. She’s the real curse upon the Uplands. Barnaby stopped her! He’s a hero!”

  “Well, I had some help,” Barnaby said, trying to grin at me. It looked rather ghastly with the blood on his face.

  Rencevin’s saber wavered, but only for a moment. “No,” he said. “Bagby is still a thief. He stole the chalice. He will pay the price!” He shoved the tip of the brand toward Barnaby’s cheek.

  “Y’know,” said Barnaby, “I’m glad I’m a thief. I’m glad I stole that chalice so that hag can’t suck on the magic of the Uplands any longer. And you know why else I’m glad I’m a thief?”