The Starlight Slippers

by Susan Maupin Schmid

  And then something strange happened.

  My bones grew hollow. My ears rang. Sparks flew before my eyes. My vision blurred until the image in the mirror grew watery. I felt myself thinning, flattening, and stretching.

  “Are you all right?” Gillian asked, grabbing my arm as I swayed. Then she dropped it with a little shriek.

  I looked down at her. I was slightly tall for my age, but Gillian was almost my height. I blinked and looked down at her again. I squeezed my eyes shut. Counted to ten.

  But when I opened them, I was still looking down. She was shorter than me. Much shorter.

  “You shrank,” I said, my mouth dry.

  “You grew,” she gasped. She reached up and brushed my shoulder with a fingertip. Then she stood on tiptoe and touched my hair. “Amazing.”

  The closet around me had also shrunk. The ceiling was closer, but—weirdly—the carpet was farther away. The sequins on the purple slippers sparkled beneath Eighty-One’s hem.

  “The shoes did this!” I pointed to the Duchess in the mirror. “They made me her size.”

  “Do you feel—” Gillian groped for the right word. “Big or wide or fat?”

  “She’s not fat,” I said. “Just tall and, um, ladylike.” I blushed. I didn’t feel at all ladylike, just rubbery and thin, like a piece of the Head Cook’s taffy. “The dresses never did this to me.”

  “Well, you never wore a dress and its shoes before.” Gillian patted her arm as if making sure she was unchanged. “But it’s a good thing, right?”

  “I guess so.”

  Eighty-One no longer had to shrink to fit me; I was its size. The dresses tinkled their hangers together as if applauding. No one would suspect it was really me. Even if they touched my hand or took my arm.

  “What now?” I asked the dresses.

  A ripple ran through their skirts, leading toward the door.

  “Let’s go,” Gillian said.

  That’s when it hit me—I wore an impenetrable disguise! The only way I could get caught was to take off the dress. Or run into the real Duchess. Otherwise I was invincible. I put my nose in the air and marched out of the closet.

  “Come along, missy, keep up,” I called over my shoulder in my most aristocratic-sounding voice.

  Gillian giggled as she followed me. Through the castle we sailed. I nodded regally at everyone we met, and she pranced along at my heels like a well-trained Maid. And just like the time I’d appeared to everyone as Lady Kaye, courtiers and servants scrambled to bow and curtsy as I passed.

  It was exhilarating to go from being the one taking orders to being someone who could give them. I passed a Guard lounging at his post. The moment he saw me, he snapped to attention. I was tempted to scold him—just for fun. But the less I said and did as Lady Lorna, the better. I didn’t want anyone carrying tales to the real Duchess later. I smiled generously and strolled on.

  When I reached the west wing, I turned into the corridor where the King’s library waited behind great carved doors. As Gillian trailed me down the hall, the doors swung open. The Stable Master walked out with Francesca at his heels. She wore a plain green dress without an apron and a sulky expression on her face.

  I faltered in midstride. I could bluff my way past them. Duchesses didn’t explain themselves to servants, but Gillian needed a good excuse for being there—and fast. Eighty-One billowed around my knees. For a moment, I was tempted to tell Gillian to crawl under the skirt and hide.

  But Gillian trod on my heels and then jumped back with a yelp.

  Francesca’s head whipped in our direction. A ball of ice surrounded my heart. I took one step back, but the Stable Master had already seen us.

  “Good evening, Your Grace,” he boomed, galloping down the hall toward me. “A pleasure to see you.”

  Francesca padded after him, braids bobbing and her mouth in a crease.

  “Good evening,” I replied, noticing the book in his hand. “Did you find something interesting to read?” I hoped to steer their attention away from the wayward Princess’s Girl behind me.

  “ ’Deed I did,” he said, and bowed gallantly.

  The Stable Master was tall, taller even than the Duchess. With wavy dark hair, brown eyes, and the squarest shoulders I’d ever seen, he cut an imposing figure in his leather version of the palace livery. I had seen him march through the stables, riding crop in hand, barking orders. He was strict with the Stable Boys and Grooms but easy on the horses. He carried apples and carrots in his pockets and referred to the horses as his little darlings, a nickname that caused Roger to snicker every time he heard it.

  I’d never thought it was that funny.

  “Might I present my daughter Tina?” he asked, gesturing to the girl I had taken for Francesca.

  “Faustine!” I squawked, startling them both. “I-I-I’ve heard that’s your name.”

  This was the very Girl whom the Princess had fired, leading Lindy to pick me as her replacement! Faustine was the reason that Francesca had never liked me. She thought I’d stolen her sister’s job. But it hadn’t been my fault! It was Faustine’s own carelessness.

  Faustine curtsied. Gillian gripped my arm, straining to get a look at her.

  “They’re twins,” Gillian gasped, forgetting herself.

  “Yes, miss, my daughters are i-den-ti-cal twins,” the Stable Master answered with pride.

  Gillian pinked with embarrassment and bobbed a quick curtsy.

  “I’m sure you’re very, er, pleased to have two such pretty daughters,” I said, figuring that the Duchess would make some such remark. As for myself, I studied Faustine like a pirate with a treasure map. From head to toe, she was Francesca’s double except for her mouth. Francesca always smiled at adults. This girl kept her lips taut, as if she were frightened something would escape. So I was surprised when she opened them.

  “Our little sister, Faye, doesn’t look anything like us,” Faustine said. “She’s fair, but none of the rest of us are fair.” She shrugged. “She’s six; she likes parties.”

  “Really,” I said. I liked Faye already, and I hadn’t met her.

  “Enjoy your evening,” the Stable Master said, collaring Faustine. She shot him a look that said she wasn’t finished talking. “We’d best be going.”

  I murmured a polite good-night as they walked on down the corridor. Just before they reached the stairs, Faustine looked over her shoulder. Her gray-eyed stare drilled through me as if she knew I wasn’t the Duchess. And then she disappeared from view.

  “Whew,” Gillian said. “No wonder she got fired. She’d curdle sour cream.”

  “Good thing she’s not a Girl anymore,” I agreed with a shudder. “Imagine having to deal with both of them.”

  “Don’t say any more,” Gillian said. “You’ll give me nightmares.”

  We strolled on to the big doors with their snarling lion’s-head doorknobs and opened them. The library exhaled its fragrance of paper, leather, and lemon oil. The warm glow of candles lit the parquet floor. Volumes bound in red and green leather gleamed with gold lettering from shelves that rose tier after tier toward a ceiling lost in darkness.

  “Look at all the books,” Gillian said. “Oh, shelf after shelf of stories!”

  “I’ll tell you a story later,” I said absently.

  But I wasn’t thinking about making up tales at that moment. A deep throb of magic reached out to greet me. Not the light, playful touch in the dresses. No. A hungry, anxious throb like the gong of a deep-sounding bell. It echoed through me, rattling the sequins on Eighty-One.

  Gillian was oblivious. She flitted from shelf to shelf, reading titles and exclaiming.

  “A History of the Wars of the Dragons,” she cried.

  That sounded interesting.

  “Oh, no, look. Look. Poems of Lost Love! The Adventures of Hurlstone the
Troll!”

  Before I could blink, she had darted to another shelf.

  “Oh my. A History of the Queens of Eliora.”

  I started to ask where she’d found that one, but her attention had shifted again.

  “Oh. Oh. OH! The Ghosts of Umber,” she gasped, holding a book out. “Do you think there are really ghosts in—in—” She blanched with a gulp.

  “What are you doing in here annoying the Duchess, moppet?” a voice demanded.

  “Umber,” she squeaked.

  I whirled around. Master Varick, the Royal Librarian, stood behind me, glowering at Gillian. If he hadn’t spoken, I wouldn’t have seen him standing there in his patched, multicolored coat.

  “Good evening, Master Varick,” I said. “It’s all right. She’s with me.”

  “I see.” He pushed aside the thatch of white hair that hung before his sharp blue eyes.

  Gillian curtsied, dimples deepening in her cheeks. Her dark curls tumbled around her shoulders. She batted her eyelashes and gave him her winningest smile.

  “Are you the Librarian?” she asked, clasping The Ghosts of Umber to her chest.

  “Who else?” Master Varick pulled on the lapels of his coat, making his stooped, thin frame even more skeletal.

  “Our little servant girl here likes stories,” I said with a reassuring smile. “Put the book back now, dear.”

  Gillian held the book closer.

  “It sounds so interesting,” she said.

  A spark glowed in Master Varick’s sharp eyes. He reached a gnarled hand out for the book, which Gillian reluctantly handed over.

  “There are stories in here,” he said, opening the book, “that would scare the wave out of those curls. Tales of revenge, murder, phantoms, and graveyards.”

  Gillian’s eyes grew round. Eighty-One crept sideways. I felt the books lean in on the shelves, rapt with attention. The throb of the magic deepened to a growl.

  Master Varick caressed the open page, warming to his topic. “Why, the ghosts of Castle Umber are among the worst blood-soaked villains—”

  “Master Varick!” I cried, aghast.

  He slammed the book shut. “Begging your pardon, Your Grace,” he said. “It’s not the sort of book you’d enjoy.”

  “No, I should think not.” I turned around, eyeing books and searching for something to say next. “I think perhaps I’ll just look around.”

  “I insist on being of service,” Master Varick said. “I could show you a nice book with colored plates of owls?”

  “Her Grace prefers something inspiring,” Gillian offered.

  The Librarian tucked The Ghosts of Umber back on its shelf.

  “Ah,” he said, “follow me.” He offered me his arm.

  I darted a glance at Gillian. She smiled, the picture of innocence, and patted her apron pocket that held the key.

  “Wait here, Girl,” I said for the Librarian’s benefit, and took his arm with a suppressed sigh. While it was only fair that Gillian had her chance to use the key, I wanted to be there when the key found the right lock.

  Master Varick led me to a section of the library I hadn’t been to before. Narrow circular staircases snaked up to an overhead balcony, where bookshelves lurked.

  “I always find mysteries inspiring—the case is solved, the criminal caught, justice served,” Master Varick said, pulling out a thin purple volume. “Now, this is especially good. The Mystery of Sea Echo Point.”

  “Hmm,” I murmured, taking the book while he searched for another.

  A wrought-iron banister curled across the balcony. More iron curls decorated the balcony’s shelves and traced what looked like a pipe organ. I squinted. That wasn’t any musical instrument—it was a desk! With a glance to be sure the Librarian was occupied, I drifted in that direction.

  The massive desk sat like an elephant crouched under a rainbow of books. A candle burned on the desktop, illuminating stacks of papers. The back of the desk—what I had mistaken for organ pipes—was a row of rounded drawers with silver keyholes. And a silver plate etched with the entwined letters M and W decorated the center drawer. I caught my breath. I craned my neck. If I had been any shorter—my size, not Lady Lorna’s—I wouldn’t have been able to see the letters.

  But there they were: Magnificent Wray’s initials. And drawers—my mouth fell open—six up and seven across.

  “Now, this is quite enjoyable,” Master Varick said, cradling a thick volume. “I think poetry is inspiring. And calming,” he added, staring at me.

  “What are those books up there?” I pointed to the balcony.

  “Old records—housekeeping mostly,” he replied.

  “That’s quite an unusual desk.” I figured the Duchess could get away with being nosy. “What’s in all the drawers?”

  “Haven’t the foggiest,” Master Varick said. “Don’t have the keys.”

  “Thank you for your time,” I said, handing him back the mystery. “But I’m just not sure what I’m looking for. I’ll have to come again another day.”

  He took the mystery, a startled look on his face. “I assure you we haven’t exhausted the possibilities!” he exclaimed.

  “No,” I said with a smile, “I’m sure we haven’t. I’ll just have to search harder next time.”

  And next time, I, Darling Wray Fortune, Solver of Enigmas, would have the starburst key in my fist.

  “Good job, Eighty-One,” I murmured, patting the dress as I went to fetch Gillian.

  “Whew,” I said, wiping my brow.

  The Princess’s Girls had spent the better part of the day in the high attic, emptying trunks, examining all the items, and stacking them in a pile. When we reached a trunk’s bottom, we packed it all back inside, and then Marci marked each finished trunk with a chalked X.

  It was fun for a while. A buzz of excitement accompanied the lifting of each lid. We’d exclaimed over gloves, fans, miniatures, and all manner of odds and ends. One Girl had even found a battered sword with a gem-encrusted handle. And shoes! Every kind from baby booties to riding boots. But no starlight slippers.

  “Are you sure Lady Kaye didn’t say anything else?” Marci asked me for the tenth time.

  She stood over me, fiddling with the keys on her chatelaine. She’d volunteered to lead the hunt. The Princess had been touched, but I knew Marci had her reasons. She was certain there was something sinister about the slippers.

  “Positive,” I said, pulling another item out of a large brass-bound trunk. “I’ve told you everything she said. And the slippers looked like…slippers.”

  “Let’s hope that’s all they are,” she said.

  I’d neglected to mention what had happened when I wore both a dress and slippers—and I couldn’t explain now and risk being overheard by the other Girls. But it didn’t matter. Did it? If the starlight slippers were magical, they wouldn’t change the Princess’s size, because she was already grown up.

  And I doubted we’d find them anyway. If the Baroness—as old as she was—hadn’t ever seen them, then they had to be lost for good.

  “A-a-choo!” Ann, the eldest Girl, grimaced and dug her handkerchief out of her pocket. A small cloud of dust accompanied the movement. “Ugh, this place is disgusting.”

  The high attic wasn’t anything like the upper-attic, where the Girls’ dormitory was, all fresh, clean, and homey. No. These rooms hunkered under the great rafters that supported the castle roof. We’d opened the dormer windows to let in some air. It helped a little, but the high attic had sat closed up for a long, long time.

  A chorus of Girls agreed. “Nasty.” “Horrid.” “Foul.”

  “You should have listened to me,” Marci said, unimpressed. She’d offered to borrow the brown dresses and canvas aprons worn in the under-cellar, but only Gillian, Dulcie, and I had taken her up on it.

 
Grime covered my hands and knees, but the heavy canvas protected the rest of me. The other Girls’ clothes—once silvery gray and sparkling white—looked as if they’d been worn to muck out the stables. It was a good thing we were getting new uniforms.

  “Keep digging!” Francesca growled. She’d plunged into the job as if finding the slippers were her personal responsibility.

  “We don’t have shovels,” I remarked.

  Francesca favored me with a glare, banged down the lid of the trunk she’d just searched, and moved on to the next one.

  “Is it time for supper?” Dulcie asked, rubbing a stray lock out of her eyes and smudging her forehead.

  “Fifty-two trunks to go,” Marci said. “Then you can have supper.”

  “I need a drink of water,” Kate, the tallest Girl, said.

  “And I need a long, hot bath,” Ann chimed in.

  “A cup of tea.” “A nap.” “A day off!”

  “Girls!” Marci said. “I’m surprised at you!”

  “I found them!” Francesca cried, jumping up and waving a pair of shoes in the air. “I found them!”

  A cheer rang through the attic.

  “Excellent, Francesca. Hand them here,” Marci said.

  Francesca shook her head. “I’m going to take them to Her Highness,” she said.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Marci snapped. “Give them to me.”

  “No!” Francesca hugged the shoes to her chest. A fire lit her eyes. Radiating determination, she looked like she’d die before she’d hand over those slippers.

  Several Girls fidgeted. We all knew Francesca wasn’t one to cross, but we’d never seen her be anything but polite to her superiors. And I’d never known her to disobey a direct order.

  Ann plopped down on the lid of her trunk, causing everyone to jump. “Just give them to her,” she said.

  Francesca glowered at Ann. “I should be the one to take them to Her Highness,” Francesca said. “I found them.”

  “Fair enough,” Marci said. “Show them to me first. So I know they’re the right shoes.”

  Francesca held out the slippers as if she meant to snatch them back at the slightest movement. Triplets of starlight opals sparkled on the dingy lace pumps. Had it not been for the gems, the shoes would have been entirely ordinary.