The Starlight Slippers

by Susan Maupin Schmid

  He swatted me with his cap, but I could tell he didn’t mean it.

  * * *

  —

  On the way back down, he showed me the scribbled pages of his reconstructed map.

  “This here,” he told me, “is a back door into the Guard room. You never know when that will come in handy.”

  “Yeah,” I agreed. “If Cherice ever gets out of the asylum, I might need it.”

  “I heard that crazy lady is locked up tighter than the King’s crown.”

  He grinned, but the reference to the King’s regalia made me cringe. They’d be getting it back out for the royal coronation—and the talisman that unlocked the dragons’ collars was among those pieces. I rested my palm against the wall of the stairwell, running my hand over the smooth stones as we climbed down.

  Magic gurgled just below the rock surface. I felt the humming and singing of the myriad creatures caught in its web. And the low threatening growl of the dragons.

  I snatched my hand back.

  Did One Hundred realize what a really bad idea it had when it loaded those slippers up with magic? And at a time when the talisman would be out in plain sight? Suddenly, I couldn’t wait for the wedding to be over and done with. And for the King’s cuffs to be back where they belonged—shut up in a chest deep in the royal treasury.

  “And I’m done with the new map of this part of the castle,” Roger continued, unaware of the magic. “I just have to double-check a couple of passages. But there’s a whole bunch of places you can get to where you shouldn’t be going.”

  “Do any of them lead to the royal treasury?” My throat tightened. All the air squeezed out of my chest.

  “Are you nuts?” he said. “If one did, I’d get me some wood and board it up myself. A guy could get slammed into jail if he was caught going in there.”

  “I didn’t mean you should go there,” I croaked. “I just wondered.”

  “You sure look spooked,” he said, folding his papers. “Are you still worried about ghosts?”

  I shook my head. Once we’d caught Cherice and realized she was our phantom, I’d stopped thinking about ghosts. They were the absolute least of my worries.

  “Well, here’s a good place to sneak out,” he said, reaching for a latch he’d numbered W2-3-2 in chalk. “You can scoot back to the wardrobe hall and—”

  “Oh no!” I cried, having realized my second big complication for the evening.

  “What?” Roger said, whipping around as if a battalion of phantoms were on our heels.

  “Dulcie!” I said. “I left her outside the Baroness’s room!”

  “She knows about the closet now?” He grabbed my arm.

  Forty squeezed my waist, reminding me it was still there, that I still looked like Aster. That made me flutter uncomfortably inside. Roger had been talking to me the whole time like I was just me, not like I was me being someone else.

  “It’s a long story,” I said. “She caught me coming out of the dress closet. She’s been following me. You know how she is.”

  “Just go back and get her,” Roger said. “And send her to bed. It’s getting late.”

  “How late?” I asked, a sinking feeling in my gut.

  “Late enough,” he replied. “It might be better to go around to the outside of the Baroness’s door, instead of going back through her rooms. In case you run into her—”

  “Or Aster,” I added, thinking that would be worse.

  * * *

  —

  I, Darling Wray Fortune, Sightseeing Shirker, scurried back through the dark castle. Evening had turned to night while I’d been with Roger. Visions of Dulcie acting on my poorly thought-out instructions and thrashing about faking a fit in front of a returning Aster—or, even worse, Lady Kaye—boiled in my brain.

  That would be the big complication to end all complications!

  Maybe she got bored, I told myself as I whipped around a corner, and left. Or tired, I thought as I bounded down a stair, and she went to bed. Or maybe she’s sitting there all quiet and unnoticed, like a good little girl.

  That seemed the least likely of the three.

  I plunged through an arch and heard a familiar sound.

  “You’re up to your old tricks,” Francesca’s voice echoed off the paneled walls. “Pretending to be me!”

  I froze with one foot in the air. A door stood open a few steps in front of me. The sound of Francesca’s voice came from there.

  “Nobody wants to be you, Franny,” said a voice I recognized as Faustine’s. “I haven’t done anything.”

  I eased my foot to the floor—the polished marble tiles that decorated the finer corridors. The kind of tile that magnified every noise. I held my breath and glanced around for an escape.

  “Oh yes you have!” Francesca retorted. “You dressed up in my clothes and took the starlight slippers to Her Highness. I should have been the one to hand them to the Princess. You cheated me out of it.”

  Oops. It hadn’t occurred to me that either sister would find out.

  But it should have. Really. How likely was it that Mrs. Pepperwhistle would resist asking her daughter for all the details of her conversation with the Princess? Not very.

  “Did not,” Faustine said.

  “Did. So.”

  “No, I didn’t,” Faustine insisted. “Why would I?”

  I chewed my thumb. This was it. This time Francesca wouldn’t let go. She’d chase the tail of this rabbit until she caught it. And I’d be the one in the bunny suit when she did.

  “You’re jealous because I’m still a Princess’s Girl and you’re not!” Francesca yelled.

  There was a long silence before Faustine replied.

  “Bah! I never wanted to be a Princess’s Girl to start with,” she said. “And I’d still be one if Lindy hadn’t gone off to chase Captain Bryce and left me to finish her work!”

  I exhaled slowly. Faustine’s remark had the ring of truth about it. Lindy did flounce off every opportunity she had to spend time with the Captain. But I’d never thought about it like that before: that Lindy could have been to blame. I’d always assumed Faustine was a lousy Under-presser.

  Forty jiggled impatiently.

  “Mother says you didn’t apply yourself,” Francesca replied. “Mother says you lack determination. Mother says—”

  “You still think you’re Mom’s favorite?” Faustine asked. “Wake up. One mistake and”—Faustine snapped her fingers—“it’s over. And anyway, Faye’s her favorite, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

  “That’s ridiculous!” Francesca shrieked. “Mother says—”

  I decided that I didn’t want to hear any more. I was Aster, not me. Neither girl would pay attention to her. I straightened up and marched myself right past that open door with quick, purposeful steps, as if the Baroness needed me right that minute. I didn’t look inside the door as I passed. And I didn’t stop until I’d walked all the way down the corridor and around the corner.

  Then, not having another minute to lose, I barreled down the dark corridor to the Baroness’s door.

  And straight into Aster.

  My heart stopped. A kaleidoscope of miserable futures flashed before me, Darling Wray Fortune, Disgraced Outcast. Beggar. Exile. I staggered back. Forty bunched around my knees as if it too were frightened.

  “Well, I never!” Aster exclaimed, stepping back and dusting off her stiffly pleated skirt. “Watch where you’re going.”

  I felt like I should say something, excuse myself. But my tongue stuck to the roof of my dried-out mouth. My heart hung in my chest like a cold, hard rock. Any second now, I would simply fall over dead, and that would be it.

  “You ought to straighten that collar and comb that hair,” she said, scrutinizing me. She clicked her tongue. “Disgraceful. Haven’t you any pride?”


  She didn’t recognize me—her—er, me being her! My heart roared back to life, racing away at a million beats a minute.

  “Well?” Aster said. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

  She was looking straight at herself and she didn’t even know it. Did she have the same problem with mirrors? How could she not notice that she was talking to herself?

  “You should take a lesson from we better servants,” Aster continued, patting her fraying dishwater-colored bun. “Pride of position, attention to appearance, zealousness for one’s work—all these things determine who serves whom.”

  For a heartbeat, I wondered if the Baroness would agree with Aster’s opinion of herself. But it didn’t matter. I had to get to Dulcie before anything else happened.

  “Um, well, um,” I said, “pardon me.”

  I started to squeeze past her so I could grab Dulcie and scram, but Aster blocked my path.

  “What on earth is she doing there?” Aster cried, pointing at Dulcie, who lay curled up against the Baroness’s door, sound asleep.

  For an instant, I was tempted to turn and run the other way. But I’d gotten Dulcie into this mess by leaving her in the hallway. I owed it to her to rescue her.

  I sighed an exaggerated sigh. “Children!” I said. “You tell them ‘don’t bother the Baroness.’ But do they listen? No.”

  “What does she want with the Baroness?” Aster asked.

  “Oh, you know,” I said, as if Aster knew everything. “Day and night: ‘Is the Baroness still ill?’ ” My voice rang down the corridor.

  Dulcie stirred and pushed her disheveled red braids out of her eyes.

  “But she’s so tenderhearted she had to see for herself that Lady Kaye was well,” I continued.

  Dulcie saw us—two identical Asters. Her eyes widened to the size of goose eggs. She swallowed as if she was trying to determine which Aster was the real one and which was me.

  Aster took a step toward Dulcie.

  “Don’t scold her,” I said, grabbing Aster’s arm. “Tragic tale, you know,” I continued as if I were confiding something. “Such a dear little orphan,” I said meaningfully, willing Dulcie to take the hint. “The Baroness is such a kind, generous woman that I am sure she would understand.”

  At that moment, Dulcie jumped to her feet. “I’m sorry I fell asleep at your door,” Dulcie said. “I promise it won’t happen again.”

  “I’m sure you’re very sorry,” I said, walking over to her and taking her hand. “Now, Aster can tell you herself that the Baroness is quite well.” I smiled at Aster. “Can’t you?”

  Aster’s face screwed up with disapproval—of me, the Inferior Private Servant, and of Dulcie, who took advantage of the situation to burst into tears.

  “Oh, oh!” she cried. “I knew it! She’s dying!”

  “Really,” Aster said. She glared at me as if this were my fault. “Stop this at once, little girl. The Baroness is in perfect health. She’s downstairs, spending the evening with Her Majesty as we speak.”

  “Oh, you poor little thing!” I exclaimed. “Now, don’t cry. We’ll get you right off to bed before you catch a fever.”

  At that, Dulcie’s eyes sparkled with mischief. Before I could stop her, she threw her hand over her forehead dramatically.

  “I feel faint. Ah-ah-ah-choo!” She sneezed furiously.

  Aster jumped backward. “Goodness!” she wailed, yanking out a handkerchief to cover her mouth. “The child is contagious!”

  “Nonsense,” I said firmly, giving Dulcie’s hand a squeeze. “Just a little sniffle.”

  But Aster wasn’t taking any chances; she grabbed the doorknob and vanished inside the Baroness’s rooms.

  I hustled Dulcie down the corridor as she broke into giggles.

  “Save it!” I commanded. “We’re not safe yet.”

  I walked on, determined to reach the wardrobe hall before we ran into anyone else.

  “Darling,” she said when we reached the closet door, “this was fun. What else can these dresses do?”

  Forty bounced in reply.

  “Nothing,” I said, giving it a warning slap. “They’re just dresses. They don’t do anything interesting.”

  “I don’t know,” Dulcie said. “They seem sorta dangerous. In a fun way.”

  “That,” I told Dulcie, “was not fun.”

  I wasted no time, bustling Forty back into the closet and Dulcie off to bed, despite her pleas to try on the dresses for herself. Some other time, I told her. And what I meant by that was never.

  When we arrived at the dormitory, most of the Girls were already in bed. Including Gillian. I stashed the piece of paper in my pillowcase and went to bed. I’d have to wait until morning for a chance to tell her what I’d found out.

  * * *

  —

  Early the next day, I tied my apron, simmering with the need to tell Gillian about Roger’s newfound door. She dressed in her usual meticulous fashion, tying her bootstrings into perfect double-knotted bows.

  I snatched up two apple fritters off the breakfast tray and tossed one to Gillian. “Catch!” I told her.

  “What’s the rush?” Gillian asked, balancing the fritter and the borrowed library book.

  “Tons of work,” I said. “The wedding’s almost here.”

  “Tons,” Dulcie echoed, brushing crumbs off her apron. She looked bright-eyed and ready for trouble.

  “Have a great day, Dulcie,” I said over my shoulder, and rushed Gillian out the door.

  “Clean up those crumbs!” Francesca thundered behind us as the door swung shut.

  “Listen up,” I told Gillian, and I whispered the whole tale to her as she chewed thoughtfully.

  “Why didn’t they just lock that door and throw away the key?” she asked. “I would if I wanted to keep someone out.” She waved her fritter at the walls. “It seems rather silly,” she continued. “Chaining up a door! That won’t keep anyone out. If you were the Princess, you could order the Guards to cut the chains.”

  Her words irritated me. Why couldn’t she be excited with me instead of doing all this thinking?

  “It’s much more likely that they chained the door on the outside to keep something behind it from getting out and into the castle,” Gillian finished.

  The dragons flashed across my mind. That was stupid. They were already outside the castle. And if they were free, they wouldn’t care about coming inside. They’d burn the place down! So what would you keep out?

  Ghosts? Sorcerers? Monsters? I couldn’t imagine any of those throwing up their hands and saying, You got me! I can’t break down this door or vanquish those chains!

  But something enchanted—

  “When can I see the door?” Gillian said, interrupting my thoughts.

  “Talk to Roger,” I said. “He’d probably take you tonight.”

  “Tonight is my turn with the key,” she said.

  I eyed the thick book in the crook of her arm. “You read that already?”

  “I finished it just so I could go back,” Gillian replied. “All those locks are waiting,” she said in a singsong tone. Her eyes gleamed. She was positive she’d find my inheritance in that desk.

  But I wasn’t so sure. Not since I’d seen the chained door. If the key didn’t fit that lock, then it might open something that lay behind it. Which made sense, since Cherice had never found what she was looking for.

  When we arrived at the wardrobe hall, Lindy was waiting for us. She eyed the last bite of pastry in Gillian’s hand.

  “You’re going to wash those hands, my lady, a-fore you touch those linens,” Lindy said. “Step lively. Pack o’ work!” She snapped her fingers under Gillian’s nose.

  “There’s always work,” Gillian said with a naughty grin, and polished off her fritter. “Ta-ta, Darling.” She wag
gled her fingers at me as she waltzed into the pressing room.

  “Well, what are you doing?” Lindy asked me. “Waiting for an invitation?”

  “Nope,” I said, sitting on my stool. “Just waiting for Marci, Queen of Closets.”

  Lindy grinned. “Queen o’ Closets,” she said, leaving. “That’s a good one.”

  As the pressing room door shut behind her, I picked up my sewing basket and pulled out my pincushion. Then I reached for the stocking I had been darning the day before.

  Someone had moved the pillow with the starlight slippers over to my side of Marci’s desk. I poked a finger into the satin and pushed the pillow back where it belonged. The starlight opals crackled with light as the pillow moved. I glared at them.

  “You weren’t full of magic before,” I told them. “If you had it to start with, it must have leaked out of you over the years.”

  A blue spark flared in the center opal as if it agreed with me.

  “So,” I said, eyeing the center opal, “what do you need it for now? You should let go of it before anything bad happens.”

  A blaze of rose and gold lights swallowed the blue spark. The opals glowered from their lace perches. They didn’t act as if they meant to let loose their magic anytime soon.

  “Spoilsports,” I muttered.

  Two white ears popped up out of one of the slippers, followed by a pair of blue eyes and a twitching nose.

  Bonbon.

  “Get out of there,” I said.

  Bonbon climbed out and scampered across the desk to the button box.

  “You go right back to the dormitory, where you belong,” I said. “Didn’t you listen when I told you how dangerous it was in here?”

  Bonbon dug in the box, flinging buttons out onto the desk.

  “Stop that!” I reached out to grab her.

  But Bonbon eluded my grasp and had six buttons lined up next to my sewing basket before I knew it.

  Not this again. Really. She had to stop playing with the buttons. I grabbed for them, but Bonbon hopped in my way, chattering excitedly.

  “I don’t understand a word you’re saying,” I said. “And Marci will be here any minute. You’ve got to get—”