The Starlight Slippers

by Susan Maupin Schmid

  I decided that distraction wasn’t a remedy for what ailed me. What I really needed was comforting. So I went and found Jane knitting by the hearth. A pile of finished stockings sat by her side. The rapid clicking of her needles kept pace with the harried mixing, chopping, slicing, and stirring of the kitchens.

  “Good afternoon,” I said, sitting beside her.

  “Hello,” Jane said, pausing her knitting long enough to pat my arm. “Excited for the wedding?”

  “I guess,” I said.

  I had been. All the Girls were to wear their new sky-blue silk dresses and scatter rose petals for the Princess to walk on. But the threat of the starlight opals had blunted the thrill.

  “You don’t sound happy,” Jane said, peering at me with her blurry gaze. “Are you nervous?”

  “No,” I said. “I think I can walk and scatter petals at the same time.”

  “There’ll be such a lot of guests,” Jane continued. “All those eyes following you—you mustn’t mind them. Just remember that you are a Princess’s Girl. That means something.” She pinked with pride at the thought.

  “Thanks,” I said, squirming.

  Jane meant well, but the thought of a cathedral full of staring people wasn’t comforting.

  * * *

  —

  Dulcie bounced on the bench next to me, rattling the dishes.

  “We get to go to the city,” she said, “and see everything!”

  “Not everything,” Roger said, salting his food. “Just what’s along the way.”

  “But I’ve never been to a city,” Dulcie replied. “So that’s the same as everything to me.”

  “She has a point,” Gillian said, stirring her soup. She had a new book, A Short History of the White Mountain, propped up behind her bowl. “Listen to this: ‘In ancient times, clans ruled the mountain, chief among them the Wrays.’ Did you get that?”

  “Figures,” I said. “They’re supposed to be one of the oldest families in the kingdom.”

  “Mountain, goose, not kingdom,” Gillian said. “It goes on: ‘While the other clans referred to it as the White Mountain, Eliora was the name the Wrays bestowed on the mountain, long before the land dreamed of becoming a kingdom.’ ”

  “Huh,” I said. “So the Wrays are older than the kingdom.”

  I thought of the face in the portrait; he’d looked like a king, even if he was just an architect.

  “Maybe that’s what Cherice meant when she said she was royalty.” Gillian scooped up a spoonful of soup and blew on it. “She thought she was because the Wrays were here first.”

  “I’ve been thinking,” Roger said. “Maybe that key unlocks something at that Wray fellow’s house.”

  “What key?” Dulcie asked.

  Gillian and I shot Roger dirty looks.

  “It’s an old key Darling found,” Roger told Dulcie. “It’s a game we play: What will it open?”

  “What does it open?” Dulcie asked.

  “See, it could be anything—or nothing,” Roger said. “Don’t worry about it.”

  “Okay,” Dulcie said, smiling at him. “I won’t.”

  “Magnificent Wray had a house?” Gillian said.

  “Darling said he had one,” Roger replied.

  Gillian cast a quizzical look at me.

  “Lady Amber talked about it in her book. But if the key unlocked something there, then why was Cherice hunting through the castle?” I asked.

  “I say we forget about this house and keep looking,” Gillian said.

  Not to mention that if the house was still standing, it was probably in the city.

  “Agreed,” I said.

  “I’m goin’ poofing this evening,” Roger said. “Dulcie, you can come along, but no questions.”

  I eyed the Freckle-Faced Wonder in amazement. Had he gone soft or something?

  “Yes, sir,” Dulcie said, sitting up straight.

  “Where are you going?” I asked, annoyed that he hadn’t invited me.

  “Gonna do a little looking around,” he replied.

  He was taking Dulcie to chart the passages!

  “Fine,” I said. “I’m busy tonight.”

  “Where are you going next?” Gillian asked, turning a page.

  “Oh,” I said, acting as if I had lots of options, “I haven’t decided yet.”

  “Let us know if you find anything,” Gillian replied, already lost in her book.

  * * *

  —

  Lyric sang to me as I sat cross-legged on the rose-patterned carpet, key in hand. The dresses oscillated around me, vying for my attention. But I was fresh out of ideas. I’d tried every lock I knew about, every lock I could reach. Not that there weren’t lots of locks in rooms I’d never been in, but I didn’t know which rooms to try.

  I sank back against the stone wall under the great peaked-arch window. One Hundred hung close by, wrapped in its train, ignoring me.

  “What does it open?” I asked One Hundred, holding up the key. “Will you tell me?”

  The dress didn’t even so much as flash a crystal at me.

  “Not talking?” I said, closing my eyes and letting the magic ripple across my back.

  It splashed into me, filling me with wonder, joy, laughter, and calm. Whatever happened, the magic wasn’t worried. I sank a little deeper into its flow. It was a comforting escape—tempting, even. I could do like the mice and fall behind its curtain. No one could find me then. Well, there would probably be a stone Darling sitting here in the closet, and that was bound to raise questions.

  Under the trilling buzz of magic, the dragons snarled hungrily. At the Princess’s orders, the King’s regalia had been brought out for polishing and cleaning. Not that it needed any, but Her Highness wanted nothing left to chance.

  Now, the dragons hissed in my mind, we will have the regalia; we will break free.

  Their claws raked my back as if they meant to reach through the magic and compel me to fetch it for them. But I, Darling the Undaunted, was no dragon minion! I lurched forward, snapping free.

  Besides, if I didn’t figure out what to do about the slippers, the dragons might be the least of my problems.

  A furry paw touched my hand.

  I jumped. Iago sat next to me, nose twitching.

  “Hi,” I said. “How is your family?”

  He dived at my hand, kissing it with a whiskery peck.

  “Happy?” I said.

  He spun around, arms flung wide.

  “Really happy!” I said.

  He chattered at me; he was so excited that he forgot I didn’t understand Mouse. I pretended to listen. No doubt he was telling me all about his family’s reunion.

  “That’s wonderful,” I said as he wound down. “I would have rescued your wife sooner if I’d realized she was there.”

  Iago put his paws over his heart and then held them out to me.

  “You wish you could repay me?” I guessed.

  He nodded.

  “Oh, that’s not necessary,” I said.

  But his tiny brow furrowed in concentration.

  My heart warmed at his loyal friendship. If only he could get the key to closet two…

  “If you could sneak into Marci’s room—” I began.

  He squeaked indignantly; it was Marci who’d put out the mousetraps.

  “Of course, you can’t do that,” I said quickly. “If only there were some way I could stop the Princess from wearing those starlight slippers.”

  Iago tipped his head to one side, considering.

  Even if he did get the key for me, what would I do with the slippers? Hide them?

  No, the Princess would turn the castle upside down looking for them. But she wouldn’t find them if I put them in a hidden passage….An image of the Prince
ss’s tear-streaked face flashed into my mind. I was torn. She wanted so badly to wear those slippers. There had to be another way. If only the magic hadn’t gotten into them in the first place!

  The day Father bound the dragons to the castle’s magic, the earth shook. The stones rumbled. The trees quaked. At the tumult, the Queen ran out on the terrace. She saw where the starburst had formed in the stones. She knelt down and grazed it with her fingers.

  “Wonderful,” she said, amazed.

  Squinting, I could see the tiny figure of the King on the castle roof. His men were with him. And writhing in anger, the chained dragons screamed. Their golden collars flashed in the sun, atop the glorious white castle they’d built and were now imprisoned by.

  I marveled. Father had poured a magic into those collars that allowed the King to subdue the dragons. My father had seen the castle he’d drawn become substance. He’d sealed the magic into the very stones of that castle. He’d safeguarded the kingdom and the King and Queen. And he’d done all of it to protect the future.

  I sat under the rosebush, reading about the history of the Wrays. The world spun beneath me. Dizziness whirled in my head. I felt myself thinner, weaker, colder. The page before me blurred as the words changed.

  I gasped, rereading what I’d already read. Only now, the page no longer said what it had before.

  The past was altered. The Wrays, once so proud and mighty, were diminished. And I knew then that the future Father had sought to protect would ever pay the price for his plunder of the past.

  Rose, the Head Seamstress, lined us Girls up, inspecting the fit of our new sky-blue dresses and lace pinafores. She tweaked a sleeve here, a collar there, smoothing ruffles and double-checking buttons. Not that there was time to alter them; the wedding was two days away.

  I flounced my skirt. The dress had been beautiful by itself, but the delicate lace pinafore with its heart-shaped pocket transformed it into a work of art.

  “Hold still, please,” Rose told Dulcie.

  “Do I have to wear a petticoat?” Dulcie asked.

  “Certainly,” Rose replied. “That skirt is designed to stand out.”

  Kate rolled her eyes.

  “Maybe we all should forget our petticoats,” Ann sniped. “That way we can all look silly together!”

  “Everyone will wear a petticoat,” Francesca said, straining to catch her reflection in the Seamstress’s mirror. “The Royal Dress Designer created these dresses. It’s a privilege to wear them.”

  “Did she?” Ann said.

  “Ooh,” Kate breathed, fingering the ruffle on her lace pinafore.

  “You have Darling to thank as well,” Rose said. “She did much of the sewing.”

  All the Girls turned to gape at me, except for Dulcie, who was too busy scratching at her waistband. And Gillian, who smiled in my direction.

  “You let her sew on my dress?” Gloria said. “She—she’s just a—a—a—”

  “Excellent Under-assistant to the Wardrobe Mistress,” Marci said, walking into the Seamstress’s workroom.

  Gloria turned a funny shade of green.

  “Her Highness wants to know if the Girls’ dresses are finished,” Marci told Rose. “I can see that they are. You all look lovely.”

  “Maybe we should check the mirror and see for ourselves?” Kate suggested, pushing Ann out of her way.

  “Good idea. Girls, line up single file,” Rose said. “And once you’ve admired yourselves, please hang your dresses and pinafores back on the hangers.” She pointed to a rack of hangers off to the side of the room.

  As Girl after Girl primped before the mirror, several Seamstresses glanced up from their work to watch. Their hands flew over the buttonholes they were sewing into the Messenger Boys’ vests. They looked tired but pleased with their efforts. I was glad I’d helped them.

  “I wonder if you could punch another hole in this,” Marci asked Rose, tugging on her new mauve belt.

  “It doesn’t seem too tight,” Rose replied.

  “No,” Marci said. “It’s a little too loose.”

  Rose studied Marci’s waist.

  “That chatelaine is a bit heavy for it,” she agreed at last. “Another hole might not hurt.”

  “If you’re not too busy—” Marci began.

  “Calling in your favor?” Rose grinned. “Take it off, and I shall punch a quick hole for you.”

  “Oh, thank you,” Marci said, unclipping her chatelaine. She stood a moment, holding it, as if she were not sure what she should do with it.

  “I’ll hold that for you,” I said.

  “Thank you, dear,” Marci said. She handed me the chatelaine and began unbuckling her belt.

  The weight of the silver chatelaine pulled on my hand—and my conscience. I eyed the keys, all silvery and tempting. Stealing was wrong; I knew that. But if I borrowed a key—just for the afternoon—

  I felt my free hand drift toward the key to closet two.

  “Darling,” Francesca said.

  My hand froze.

  “Good work.” She stood at my elbow, once again wearing her everyday uniform.

  “Um, thanks,” I said.

  “I mean it,” Francesca said. “I didn’t think you’d make it as a Princess’s Girl, but you’ve done all right.”

  My mouth fell open. Francesca Pepperwhistle, Bestower of Sneers, was complimenting my work?

  “I’ll take that back now, Darling,” Marci said.

  Numb, I handed over the chatelaine with all its keys still attached.

  * * *

  —

  “You haven’t told me a story in ages,” Gillian said, lounging against one of the bronze lions guarding the stairs to the east lawn.

  It was late spring, and warm enough that the Under-servants had strolled outside to enjoy the evening. Gillian and I stood at the top of the stairs, watching the others gathered into clusters, chatting.

  “Huh.” I’d been too worried over the starlight slippers to daydream.

  “Don’t tell me you’ve run out of them,” she said. “Not Darling the Great Storyteller!”

  That needled me. I didn’t have a made-up story to tell her, but I had the next best thing: the tragic tale of me, Darling, Shoe Despoiler. And maybe if I told it to her, she’d come up with a solution for me. Because I was willing to try almost anything to save the castle—and everyone in it.

  “So, once upon a time there was this girl—a servant—who…mended potholders,” I said, improvising.

  “This doesn’t sound like one of your usual stories,” Gillian remarked.

  “It gets better,” I replied. Actually, it got worse, but I was building up to that. “So, one day this girl found a magic—er—potholder, and she—”

  “Darling,” Gillian said, “you’re a great storyteller, but a terrible liar.”

  “No, I’m not,” I said.

  “No, you’re not a great storyteller, or no, you’re not lying?”

  “Um, well, it’s not that I’m lying, exactly.”

  Gillian folded her hands; the evening breeze ruffled her curls. “Go on,” she said.

  “I’m in trouble,” I blurted out.

  “With who?” Gillian’s brow wrinkled. “You haven’t done anything lately.”

  “Not that kind of trouble,” I said. “You know how overnight my hair got prettier?”

  “That’s not trouble,” Gillian said. “That was a miracle.”

  “That’s the starlight slippers,” I said.

  Gillian’s eyes widened. “Tell me everything,” she commanded.

  I told her, whispering so that the milling Under-servants wouldn’t hear.

  “Do you really think the castle is in danger?” she asked.

  “Those slippers are loaded with magic—the kind that chained the drag
ons and fills the dresses. It’s potent stuff.”

  “But the dresses aren’t mean,” Gillian argued. “They wouldn’t hurt the Princess.”

  “No, but the slippers are different,” I said. “The dresses protect the castle. We don’t know what Magnificent made the slippers for. Or what the starlight unlocks.”

  Gillian thought about that.

  “So the slippers weren’t a problem before they got filled up with magic,” she said. “Those opals were just gems to start with.”

  “True, but—”

  “Listen,” she said. “The Princess wore those slippers, and so did you, and nothing happened.”

  “At first, yes, but—”

  Gillian smacked my shoulder. “Pay attention, I’m telling you what to do,” she said. “But when you wore one of the dresses and the shoes, the magic behaved differently. Didn’t it?”

  “Y-yes.”

  “And you can only wear a dress and shoes once, right?”

  “Uh-huh.” I watched Marci and Lindy walking, looking chummy and conspiring. I wondered what they were up to.

  “So just get the shoes and wear them with the wedding dress! That should put the slippers and their opals back to sleep.” She snapped her fingers. “Problem solved.”

  “That’s a great idea!” I said, relieved. Why hadn’t I thought of that?

  And then it came crashing back to me.

  “Marci locked the slippers up in one of the Princess’s closets,” I said. “And the key is on her chatelaine. She never takes it off.”

  “Never?” Gillian asked.

  “She sleeps with it under her pillow.”

  “Does she wear it in the bathtub?” Gillian asked with a naughty grin.

  * * *

  —

  I polished the crown that Princess Mariposa would wear to her coronation, which would be held the day after the wedding. The royal robes had been brought out from the treasury, along with the Queen’s regalia. And now the regalia lay about the Princess’s rooms in jeweled chests, waiting to be brushed, polished, shined, and whatever else Marci determined ought to be done with it.