by Jean Ferris
Lazy Susan heard a peasant say, "I'm glad I'm not in King Swithbert's shoes right now. If we were glad she's been gone, think how happy he must have been without her."
"Come on, Mr. Lucasa," Lazy Susan said, grabbing a mule by the bridle. "Let's get out of this mob." She pulled the flowers from her hair so as not to be conspicuous. She didn't think the crowd sounded as welcoming as Olympia apparently did.
Together they located the stables and deposited the mules and the wheelbarrow with a bewildered stable boy, then followed his directions to the kitchens, where Mrs. Clover could be found.
Explaining what they were doing there took quite some time, as Mrs. Clover kept interrupting to say things like "Queen Olympia is really back? Oh, dear," and "Are you sure it's her? Couldn't there be some mistake?" and "Everything has been so lovely and calm here for the last year. Oh, dear."
Finally Lazy Susan was able to make her understand the situation—that she was meant to be Olympia's handmaiden, and that Mr. Lucasa was to work in the kitchen and with the chief seamstress.
So Mrs. Clover sent both of them off to see Sedgewick, the head butler, about getting the proper uniforms, and spent the rest of the day wringing her hands and fretting.
AS OLYMPIA MOUNTED the staircase to the breakfast room, she felt quite pleased with the sensation she had caused in the bailey. How smart of her to arrive on Market Day. Making a dramatic entrance was important to maintaining one's image, and she thought she had done very well. The flowers and the mule had turned out to be brilliant elements—a touch of the commoner, but with a regal presence. Really, that entrance had had everything: surprise, drama, whimsy, pathos.
Swithbert waited at the top of the stairs. Oh! she thought, he has that dreadful troll with him, the one who had been part of that melee at Marigold's wedding.
What was he doing here? Why wasn't he in the dungeon where he belonged? She could see that things had gotten out of hand in a big way since she'd been gone. But that was Swithbert for you. Too softhearted, and way too incompetent to be a decent ruler.
She held both her hands out to the king, ignoring Ed.
Swithbert had no choice but to take them. While he was normally gentle and good-hearted, at that moment he thought that a lot of trouble could probably be avoided if he just gave her a little shove down the stairs. He was immediately ashamed of himself.
"It really is you, isn't it?" Swithbert said. He'd been hoping she was an impostor, or a joke, or a nightmare. But face to face, he could see that it really was Olympia. A little worse for wear, to be sure, but there was no mistaking that cocksure gleam in her eyes. Or that ferret on her shoulder.
"I thought you'd be happier to see me," she said.
"I guess I'm—" he stammered. "I'm—in shock, I suppose. We all thought you were—well, you know."
"Dead. Yes, I know."
"Where have you been, then? Why didn't you come back sooner?" He wanted to withdraw his hands, but she had a vise grip on them. Involuntarily, he shivered.
"I lost my memory from the trauma of falling in the river. But evidently I washed downstream to a little village called Granolah where I lived until I recovered my memory. They called me Angelica."
"Angelica?" Ed said. He couldn't help himself. "How on earth did they come up with that one?"
"Who asked you?" she said, turning her glare onto him. "For your information, they thought I was very sweet and kind. As indeed I am."
Ed stifled a snort.
"You do remember," Olympia said to him, "what the dungeon looks like, don't you?"
"It doesn't look like that anymore," Ed said. "It's a horse that's changed its spots. Now it's a storehouse."
"A storehouse? Storing something besides prisoners?"
"Storing my collections. I've been living here ever since Christian and Marigold got married and moved into my crystal cave in Zandelphia, turning it into their royal residence."
She narrowed her eyes. "Is that so? So she did marry him. Well, no one can say I didn't try to stop her."
"Nobody but you wanted that wedding stopped," Ed said. "Now Marigold is Queen of Zandelphia."
"I don't find that the slightest bit credible," Olympia said. "What does Marigold know about being a queen? The very idea is ridiculous."
"It's actually not," Swithbert said. "She's an excellent queen."
"You can believe I'll be checking into that. Well, there's plenty to do here at Beaurivage, I can see, before I take on anything with Marigold. But I can do that. It'll be fun."
Not for everybody, both Edric and Swithbert thought as they escorted Olympia into the breakfast room.
8
While Olympia, Ed, and Swithbert were out in the great hall at the top of the stairs, Christian had sat in the breakfast room, his head in his hands. In his misery, he had missed all the dramatics of Olympia's arrival. He'd also missed the departure of Ed and King Swithbert, so he'd kept talking to them, even when they were no longer there.
"This is the worst I ever felt in my life," he moaned. "Even worse than when I got shot with that poisoned arrow on my wedding day. Maybe that was an omen. Wedded bliss—ha! Marriage has a lot in common with having a poisoned arrow in your guts."
Then he raised his head and saw he'd been addressing an empty room—and he was glad. Until that morning, being married to Marigold had been completely like bliss, and nothing at all like being skewered by a poisoned arrow. But now he felt so awful, the only thing he could think of that would make him feel worse would be if Olympia came back. Thank goodness there was no chance of that ever happening.
MARIGOLD FINALLY raised her head and stopped crying, though the dogs continued to bay. Baying was fun as well as a way of sympathizing with Marigold.
Bawling and feeling sorry for myself is no way to solve a problem, she thought. She and Chris had both been childish and unreasonable that morning. Because that was so unlike their usual way with each other, they needed to talk about what had happened, and now, before the black mood that had taken them over got any stronger. She missed him too much already.
When a thorough search of the cave-castle didn't turn him up, one of the footmen remembered seeing him cross the bridge to Beaurivage Castle. Marigold ran to the bridge with the dogs on her heels.
AS SHE CROSSED through the bailey in Beaurivage Castle, there seemed to be an unusual amount of commotion for Market Day. The noise level was higher and the tone was more agitated. But she didn't stop long enough to overhear any of it. She had to find Christian and fix things.
She pushed through the crowd of marketers, entered the castle, and rushed up the staircase to Swithbert's breakfast room. She knew she was likely to find her father and Ed there at this hour, and they would know where Christian was. As she got to the top of the stairs, Bub and Cate came racing down the hall toward Flopsy, Mopsy, and Topsy, growling like tigers. They stopped, hackles raised and fangs bared at the smaller dogs, who snarled right back.
"Stop that! All of you!" Marigold ordered.
Of course they ignored her.
"Whatever disagreements you have among yourselves," she went on as she kept going down the corridor, "now is not the time to be airing them. We need to find Christian."
At his name, all the dogs abandoned their conflicts and jealousies and followed Marigold. When she opened the large carved door to the breakfast room, the dogs surged past her. They leaped on Ed, bringing him down in a pile of fur as they competed to get the blue squeaky toy, which they had all sniffed out and located in his pocket.
In the distraction of the dog attack, Marigold hardly registered who else was in the room. Once she knew that the dogs hadn't hurt Ed, she looked around and saw Christian (with relief), Swithbert (with affection), and Olympia—wait—Olympia?
"Mother," she gasped.
"Yes, it's me," Olympia replied. "Surprised?"
"That is hardly the word for it," Marigold said, having trouble catching her breath. For the last year she'd been fervently grateful that she'd never have
to deal with Olympia again. She'd been so sure that the woman who'd made her life as Princess of Beaurivage so miserable, with her constant criticism, and punishments, and insistence on that horrible bow-laden wardrobe, was gone for good. Once Marigold had learned that Olympia was not really her mother—not even any blood relation at all—she had vowed never to refer to Olympia as her mother again. But shock and habit can make one do odd things. And now, here Olympia was again, a bad dream that didn't disappear upon awakening.
But Marigold had something else, something more important, to take care of first. Turning to Christian, she asked, "Are you all right?"
"No," Christian said. "My heart hurts."
Tears came into Marigold's eyes. "Mine, too."
Christian held his hands out to her. "I'm sorry. I don't want to ever hear you say that again."
She went into his arms. "Me, too."
Olympia cleared her throat. "Marigold!" she snapped. "That is no way to welcome your mother who was believed to be dead."
"You're not my mother," Marigold said, her voice muffled against Christian's chest. "I'm never calling you 'Mother' again. My real mother was a village girl whose name you never even bothered to remember. But even if I'm adopted, Swithbert has been my father in a way you never were my mother."
Olympia turned a basilisk glare at Swithbert. "What is she saying?"
"The truth," Swithbert said, sounding very kingly. "As you well know."
For once, Olympia was at a loss for words. But not for long. "Be that as it may, I'm the only mother she's ever known. And I'm the queen!"
"I'm a queen now, too," Marigold said. "I'm no longer the Princess of Beaurivage that you can push around. And unless you're even more self-involved and oblivious than I think you are, you must have noticed that no one seems especially glad to see you."
Although she was making this part up, Marigold had always sensed the moods of Beaurivage in a way Olympia never could. And Marigold knew how the populace had felt about their queen. Oh, maybe there were a few subjects with extra-large hearts who would be happy she wasn't dead—but she couldn't think who they might be.
"That's a lie!" Olympia exploded. "Everyone in the market square shouted out my name in welcome. They've missed me. Even Swithbert missed me. Didn't you?" She turned to him.
"Hmmm," he said. King Swithbert was never deliberately unkind to anyone, even people he didn't especially care for. But he also tried to be scrupulously honest at all times. His dilemma was plain.
"Didn't you?" she insisted.
Marigold had to wonder why people sometimes did this—forced an answer out of somebody when it was clearly going to be something they didn't want to hear.
"I believe I missed what we might have been," Swithbert finally said. "But I missed that when you were here, too."
"Never mind," she said, dismissing him with a wave of her hand. "The important thing is I'm back. I get to be a queen again, and I'm starting right now. Get that troll out of here. He doesn't belong in Beaurivage. And Marigold, if you're a queen the way you say you are, shouldn't you be in your own kingdom, taking care of your business, and not in mine, getting in the way? And you," she said, pointing at Christian. "I'm sure you should be somewhere else, too." She grabbed Swithbert by the upper arm. "You and I need to have a talk about whatever it is you've done to the north turret. It seems to be paved all over with tiny white bricks. Whatever possessed you to do such a thing?"
Swithbert yanked his arm out of Olympia's clutches. "Those are baby teeth, and I think they look quite beautiful. Like little pearls. Ed's business, Tooth Troll Limited, operates out of Beaurivage Castle now. It's been a source of revenue for us, with visitors paying to take tours of the tower."
"Revenue, you say?" Olympia looked thoughtful. "We could get more out of these visitors, I'm sure. Sell them honey tarts and marzipan and pheasant kidneys on a stick. Charge them to let their children wield one of our battle-axes or pet the unicorns. Sell them little replicas of the turret, or shirts embroidered with i saw the beaurivage turret of teeth."
"Oh, for goodness' sake!" Marigold said. "Come on, Chris. Let's go home."
"With pleasure," he said, taking her hand. They departed together, leaving the dogs under the breakfast table quarreling over the blue squeaky toy.
"No, Olympia," Swithbert said. "We're not doing that. We're not turning this castle into some sort of—of Beaurivage World. We will continue to have a simple turret tour, for a small, reasonable fee."
The two monarchs faced off, and it seemed that a charge crackled in the air between them. Swithbert had rarely said no to Olympia before. And never before had she considered him any obstacle to doing exactly what she wanted. It was clear that something about Swithbert had changed. Something important. Olympia would bet anything that troll was behind this somehow. Which meant the troll had to go. And not just as far as the other side of the bridge, either.
And Marigold! Marigold, who had been nothing but trouble her entire life. In her youth, her troublesomeness had been manageable by punishments, threats, isolation, and swill (or nothing at all) for dinner. Now she was a queen in her own right, which would make managing her a bit more difficult. But definitely not impossible.
Olympia could see that a year's absence had caused them to forget just how commanding, how masterful, she could be.
"I need a bath," she said. "And some decent clothes, and a hairdresser, and a feast of my favorite things. Then I'll be ready to sit down with Rollo—he's still captain of the guards, I assume—and Sedgewick and Mrs. Clover and get this place straightened out."
"I'll call a maid for you," Swithbert said. "As for straightening this place out, I've been ruling alone for a year and I'm quite satisfied with the direction the kingdom is going. Rollo and Mrs. Clover and Sedgewick are not the ones you need to be talking to."
"We'll see about that," Olympia said, sweeping out the door and slamming it behind her.
"Uh-oh," Ed and Swithbert said at the same time.
As the queen headed down the corridor to her suite, she said to Fenleigh, "We have a lot of work to do, don't we? Won't it be fun? It'll be even more fun once I've eliminated Swithbert—and that troll, while I'm at it—and I'm sole monarch."
9
Olympia had her bath. Then she had her feast while wrapped in a dressing gown. And before her meetings with Rollo, Mrs. Clover, and Sedgewick, she summoned Lazy Susan and Mr. Lucasa to her dressing room to service her wardrobe.
"Ooooh," Lazy Susan said, examining Olympia's court dresses. "These are too gorgeous for words. All that silk and all those ruffles. All those bows and all that ermine."
Olympia pulled a dress off its hanger and threw it on the floor. "Completely out of fashion, I'm sure. And even if it isn't, I'm not about to be seen in a dress that's a year old. I'll need all new things. Immediately!"
Mr. Lucasa picked up the dress. "I can do something with this," he said. "The material is beautiful."
"Do whatever you want with it," Olympia said. "And this." She threw another dress on the floor. "And this, and this, and this—" She kept at it until they were up to their knees in discarded clothing. "Now this one," she said, indicating the single remaining dress, "was made for me to wear to the reception after Marigold's wedding. The reception I never got to because I fell in the river. So no one but the dressmaker and I have ever seen it. This one I can wear. Lazy Susan, you help me. Lucasa, you get busy with this other stuff." She kicked at the pile on the floor.
Mr. Lucasa gathered up as many of the gowns as he could carry and left while Lazy Susan stayed to help Olympia dress. This involved a lot of ordering about, complaining, shouting, one incident of hair-pulling and two slaps, all of the above delivered by Olympia. By the time the queen was finally dressed, coiffed, and perfumed, Lazy Susan was exhausted, sulky, and rebellious, and wondering again what had turned her sweet friend Angie into this selfish, demanding shrew. She had also just done more work in a single day than she had done in any previous year, and she hadn't
liked that one bit, either.
"I'm going down to my meetings now," Olympia said grandly. "Be here when I get back to help me undress."
"Fat chance of that," Lazy Susan muttered as Olympia left the room. "Figure out how to get your own self out of that complicated monstrosity of an outfit." The simple life of Granolah, which had seemed so dull and repetitious when compared to Beauty's circumstances, now seemed almost unbearably precious. Oh, to sit on the stone bench by the well again, doing nothing but watching the village go by. To lie in her bed at midday resting from the rigors of eating breakfast and lunch. To have time to rehash her old resentments against Beauty. Though, at the moment, seeing what life in a castle could be like, Lazy Susan wasn't sure she was as envious as she used to be, no matter how handsome Beauty's prince was. Being a queen was apparently quite a strenuous job.
She headed for the small attic cubicle that Mrs. Clover had assigned to her, threw herself on the narrow cot, and was instantly asleep.
THAT NIGHT, no one slept soundly except Olympia—and that was only after the episode of bellowing when she discovered Lazy Susan was not waiting to disrobe her. Four other maids and seven footmen were sent to scour the castle, and Lazy Susan was delivered to Olympia just in order to be demoted to scullery maid.
Ed lay awake worrying that Olympia would find a way to dismantle his tooth-covered turret, or bring a halt altogether to Tooth Troll Limited.
Swithbert lay awake in despair at the prospect of life with Olympia again, just when he was finally getting used to the blithe feeling of life without her.
Bub and Cate lay awake, making plans to somehow get that blue squeaky toy all to themselves.
So did Flopsy, Mopsy, and Topsy.
Christian pretended to be asleep so he wouldn't disturb Marigold, but he worried for Marigold's safety. He hadn't forgotten that Olympia had once contemplated arranging a fatal accident to get Marigold out of the line of succession. Theoretically, as Queen of Zandelphia, Marigold was already out of the Beauri-vage line of succession. But if Swithbert's plan for uniting the two kingdoms came to fruition, she would be back in it.
