by Jean Ferris
Before he could lose his nerve and run upstairs, ready to blab the whole plan to the queen, he forced himself to remember how much he didn't want to live under her boot. Even if the plan didn't work, he had to know that he had tried.
He straightened his uniform, licked his palms and smoothed his hair with them, and woke King Swithbert first. "It's time, sire," he said. "Today's the day of your execution."
This announcement is guaranteed to get a sleeping person on his feet instantly. Which it did.
"I hope never again in my lifetime to hear those words," Swithbert said as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes.
Soon everyone was awake and surprisingly hungry. They had all assumed apprehension would kill their appetites, but instead it seemed to have made them hungrier. No one wanted to utter the words "last meal," but perhaps that's what they were all thinking. Because they hadn't expected to be so hungry, they had not asked Christian to bring in adequate breakfast provisions from Zandelphia.
They shared what unsatisfying leftovers they had, hoping it would be enough to see them through what lay ahead. "There's not even any gruel," Ed said. "I'm sure Olympia doesn't want to waste any provisions on the condemned."
"I'd prefer it if you didn't refer to us as the condemned," Magnus said. "We haven't been tried yet." He pulled his dressing gown closer. Even though he now had on a shirt and pants, he'd grown attached to the garment he'd been wearing for days on end. Besides, it seemed appropriate to keep it on as long as he was still wearing his bedroom slippers.
Swithbert gave him a baleful look, indicating he had no faith in the fairness of Olympia's trials, even if they were to get one.
"I think we'll be more alert if we're a bit on the hungry side," Marigold said brightly. "It'll give us an excuse for a big celebratory meal once we've taken care of our business."
This announcement was met with sullen silence. But there was nothing they could do except sit listening to their growling stomachs and glaring at Christian as he started out the disposal tunnel to prepare for his part in the rebellion.
He noticed the glares and came back. "I promise I won't eat a bite while I'm over in Zandelphia getting ready. My middle name is Solidarity."
"It is?" Finbar asked. "Funny name."
"It's not really Solidarity," Christian explained patiently. "I was just indicating supportiveness. Actually, I have three middle names. Errol Achilles Linus."
"That's nothing," Ed said. "My whole name is Edric Ulf Orion. Orion means 'giant' in Latin. Great name for a guy who's four feet tall, don't you think? My parents knew I was a troll. What were they thinking? Anyway, that's the whole name I want on my headstone."
"There aren't going to be any headstones," Chris said. "I'm pretty sure. Now I've got to get going, but I'll see you soon at the trial." He kissed Marigold thoroughly and then disappeared out the disposal tunnel.
He hadn't been gone more than a few minutes when the sound of many marching feet could be heard coming down the stone steps. Magnus, Ed, and Swithbert quickly went into their cells, where Finbar locked them in. Marigold hid in the shadows behind Ed's pile of discarded treasures, and Finbar stood at attention, waiting.
A unit of guards, with Rollo at its head, came pounding down the stairs and stood in formation in the corridor between the rows of cells. "At ease," Rollo said, and the guards supposedly relaxed, but not in any way that was apparent to the naked eye.
Finbar raised his pike in salute. He'd been informed by Christian that Rollo was on their side, but in a castle as full of intrigue as this one was, he wasn't taking any chances. Not until he had to, anyway.
Rollo came close to Finbar and, looming above him, said, "So what happens now?"
"Well, uh, now we take the prisoners up to the queen for trial, don't we?" he said cautiously.
Rollo gave Finbar a hard look. "I know that. I mean, how soon before the"—he lowered his voice, but it still echoed all through the dungeon—"rebellion begins?"
"Didn't King Christian tell you?"
"Yes. But I'm the edgy type. Tell me again."
"Well, he'll be coming with a surprise. We have to be up in the bailey with as many armed rebels as we can gather, ready when he blows the whistle. Then we surround the queen and hold off any of her defenders. Since it's Market Day, there'll be a lot of peasants and farmers there who haven't heard what's going on, so we'll have to watch out for them. You never know—some of them might want to support the queen, and they could give us trouble."
Out of the shadows came Marigold, filthy and ragged and completely unconvincing as a queen. "But I'm sure there are enough of us from the castle to keep things under control. I'd prefer to avoid any bloodshed. People with weapons threatening those without them usually works just fine as a means of restraint."
"Who's that?" Rollo asked Finbar.
"Why, that's Queen Marigold."
"It is not," Rollo said. "It's true she wasn't a very good dresser when she lived here, but she never looked that bad. I think that's the interloper Mrs. Clover had me kick out of the castle yesterday."
Marigold giggled. "This is a disguise, Rollo. I've been able to go all over the castle like this."
"Excuse me, then, Your Majesty," he said, still eyeing her dubiously. "It's a better disguise than that awful wig your husband was wearing, I'll say that. But shouldn't you be more dressed up so you can have some authority when you go out against Olympia? She sets great store by outfits, you know."
"I do know. I haven't forgotten all those awful gowns she made me wear when I was growing up. Now I like to think my authority comes from the way I comport myself—as well as the moral authority of my cause."
Rollo still looked dubious, but he'd been well trained to not argue with queens. "I guess I'd better round up the prisoners, then, and take them up for their trial. And don't worry—all these guards know what's going on, and they can be trusted."
At that, Somerset and Grumley wiggled their fingers in a little wave, and then stood back at attention.
Rollo went on. "Another guard will be down in a few minutes to get the rest of Ed's weapons and distribute them to those rebels who are still unarmed. All right, let's go."
Finbar unlocked the cell doors, and Ed, Magnus, and Swithbert came out. Rollo bound their hands behind them and led them up the stairs, with Finbar taking up the rear. Even when one knows the guards are on your side, and that a rebellion is on the way, a hungry person in bondage can be excused for having a heavy sinking feeling at the thought that everything might not work out exactly as planned.
Swithbert cast an anxious glance back at Marigold before he vanished around the curve in the staircase, leaving her alone in the dungeon. She was experiencing a bit of her own sinking feeling just then.
After the sound of footsteps faded, she stood, still looking up the empty staircase, wondering if their plan could possibly work.
Then she gave herself a hard shake and thought maybe Rollo was right about the way she looked. She should at least wash her face and hands before she went up against her so-called mother.
32
Olympia sat on the throne that had until recently been Swithbert's, which had been carried out into the castle courtyard by a few grudging servants who hoped that was the last command of hers they'd ever have to obey. The throne was put up onto a platform, from which Olympia waved regally to her subjects, some of whom had come in from the countryside to find their Market Day decorated with three gallows, three hangmen dressed in black (including masks), and a queen so done up in jewels, medals, and brooches that the glare was positively blinding. Not to mention the ferret on her shoulder, which wore a jeweled collar.
As those subjects gaped and others waited tensely, the troop of guards escorting Ed, Magnus, and Swithbert came marching into the bailey, scattering the gapers who then had even more to gape at.
The prisoners were lined up in front of the queen, who looked down at them with a smile. "Hungry?" she asked, speaking so softly that only they could hear.
/>
Of course there was no answer. Anyway, she could hear their stomachs growling.
"I decided not to waste any final gruel on you," she said, "since you weren't going to be around long enough to digest it."
"We could be found innocent," Swithbert said. "That's what a fair trial implies."
Olympia waved her hand dismissively. "Of course a trial is important. But a trial is just a formality if the culprits are clearly guilty. As you three are."
"You still need proof. Or else it's just your opinion," Swithbert argued. He knew it was useless, but somebody had to stall things until Christian showed up, or he, Ed, and Magnus might be swinging from the gallows by the time the revolt started. He looked over his shoulder at the crowd, but saw no sign of Christian or his surprise.
Olympia rose up from her throne, towering on her highest heels, her purple velvet, ermine-trimmed cape billowing around her in the breeze, her diamonds flashing dazzlingly in the sunlight. The gapers took an awed breath in unison. The other subjects tightened their grips on their concealed weapons. "My opinion," she thundered, "is the only opinion that matters in this kingdom. How dare you question that? It only serves as further proof of your traitorous state of mind. I need no more proof than that. But because I am a fair and judicious ruler, a jury panel of three distinguished citizens will make the final judgment."
She continued to stand there, her cape billowing, her words ringing out over the crowd. A baby was crying somewhere, then was quickly silenced. Even Bub, Cate, Flopsy, Mopsy, and Topsy stopped fighting over the blue squeaky toy, which they had brought out into the bailey, and looked up at Olympia.
It seemed to all the rebels who had been going to great lengths to hide their weapons that this would be an excellent time for Christian to show up and start the revolt. They were armed, they were ready, they were eager—and they were so scared their mouths felt full of cotton.
"I declare this trial over," Olympia intoned into the hush. "Jury, what is your verdict?" She turned to three old men in long brown robes standing at the side of the platform.
"What?" said one.
"The trial's over?" said another.
"Wait," said the third. "I must have missed something."
Olympia's glare seemed capable of igniting them. "Remember what I told you," she hissed. "You are the jury—my jury—for this very important trial. The trial that will show all my subjects how judicious I am. And how futile and how dangerous it is to commit treason in this kingdom. Now, what is your verdict?" She lowered her voice. "And don't forget, there are sacks of gold coins waiting for you. There are also three gallows over there that can be used more than once."
"Oh," said the first old man. "Well, then, guilty, I guess."
"Me, too," said the second.
"Ditto," said the third.
Olympia faced the crowd again, her arms spread. "You've heard the verdict of the impartial jury. Rollo, ready the criminals for execution."
Rollo looked over his shoulder toward the drawbridge, but saw nothing coming. "Uh he began. "I don't ..."
Olympia's eyes narrowed. "Do you have a problem with my command, Rollo?"
"Uh, no, Your Majesty," Rollo said. "Absolutely not." He poked Swithbert in the back with his sword, the tip of which was still bent. "Get moving," he ordered.
"Are you sure?" Swithbert whispered.
"No talking!" Rollo told him, and poked him again. "Grumley and Somerset, you bring the other two. Now!"
Marigold, in the shadows behind a pillar, put her hand over her mouth. Had Rollo betrayed them?
Grumley and Somerset (both looking confused) and Rollo marched the three prisoners to the gallows. "Up!" Rollo commanded, pushing Swithbert toward the steps. He beckoned to the masked hangmen. "Come get them." The hangmen descended the stairs, each one taking hold of a prisoner and escorting him to the top.
Marigold was frantic, racking her brain for a way to begin the revolution now, without Christian and the plan. Maybe she could start a distraction, a commotion—but what good would that do? None of the rebels would know what was happening. She cast a desperate glance around, looking for Susan, or Mr. Lucasa, or anybody who could help.
The hangmen were putting hoods over the heads of Ed, Magnus, and Swithbert, and then testing the strength of the ropes by yanking on them.
Marigold had no choice. She opened her mouth and let out a scream that could have shattered glass. If anyone had been able to hear it, that is. Completely obliterating her very proficient scream was a sound none of them had ever heard before—a loud, strange trumpeting sort of sound. It came from behind them. Before the crowd turned as one to see what was approaching, they observed the look on Olympia's face. It was so priceless that it delayed the turning around for a couple of seconds. Never before had they seen such an expression of disbelief, outrage, and fury on their queen. It was pretty impressive.
But then they turned—and there, coming under the portcullis, was an enormous white elephant. On his back was an old, old man in a ratty purple robe, and—could it be King Christian from Zandelphia dressed in his swankiest regal regalia, holding a strange instrument?
The elephant had its trunk in the air, trumpeting away, as if announcing its own arrival. The crowd quickly parted before the creature, which marched purposefully to Olympia's raised throne where, with one last blast from its trunk, it stopped. The crowd closed rank again behind the elephant (though directly behind an elephant is sometimes not the smartest place to stand) and waited expectantly.
"Who are you?" Olympia commanded. "What are you doing here?"
"You know me," Christian said. "Maybe you just don't recognize me with a crown on."
"I do know you," she said disdainfully. "And it takes more than a crown to impress me. Who is that with you? And what is this—this animal—for?"
"This is Wendell the wizard," Christian said. "And the animal is an elephant. It belongs to Wendell and its name is Hannibal. We thought this would be an imaginative way of announcing that you're in the middle of a popular revolt, starting right now. You have this opportunity to free Swithbert so that he can resume his throne, and to step down yourself. Or else you will be forced to do so."
"Forced by whom?" she asked, quite correctly.
"By your subjects." Christian gestured to the crowd around him. "Right?" he asked them.
Cheers erupted, with people waving their weapons in the air.
"Don't be absurd," Olympia thundered, ignoring the weapons, which irked the rebels and made them even more committed to the revolution. "You've interrupted a very important execution here."
"That was the idea," Chris said, loading a projectile into the miniature trebuchet he'd finally finished, and firing it over the heads of the crowd. It hit the upright post of the gallows Ed was standing in front of and broke the thing in two, rendering it useless. Two more projectiles shattered the other two gallows, and the next one broke the high carved back off the throne.
"You asked for it!" King Christian yelled, and blew the whistle around his neck.
33
After a moment of frozen shock, the masked executioners yelped and jumped off the platform. Ed, hooded and with his hands bound behind him, was yelping, too.
"What's happening?" he hollered. "What was that crash? Chris, has the fighting started? Somebody tell me something!"
"Be calm," Swithbert, equally bound and hooded, encouraged him. "I'm sure Chris and Marigold have everything under control. Has anybody else noticed how awful these hoods smell? I don't believe they've been washed in years. And they're very hot."
Magnus recognized that Swithbert was sounding a bit delirious. Fear could do that, he knew, no matter how levelheaded one might normally be. "I agree, sire." Magnus spoke soothingly. "As soon as we have a chance, we must make sure they get laundered."
In the meantime, the noise around them—shouting, and screaming, and the elephant trumpeting—grew louder and more chaotic. Ed added to the noise by yelling, "What's happening? What's happening
? What's happening?"
"Ed," Magnus said calmly, "I believe this is what a rebellion sounds like. As I'm sure you're aware, we are quite helpless as we are, so we must be patient and wait for someone to come help us. But they will, I'm sure they will."
Ed stopped yelling. "Magnus? Was that you? I thought you were the one who believes good luck is as scarce as a happy clam's teeth."
"Hmmm," Magnus mused. "You're right. I usually do feel like that." He raised his voice over the din around them. "But something changed when we were in the dungeon making plans. I wanted to believe things would work out. I wanted to believe I would survive, and that I could have the kind of life I've dreamed about. I figured that when there's no way of knowing what the future holds it's just as easy to believe it'll be good as to believe it'll be bad."
"What?" Ed yelled. "I can't hear over this noise!"
Magnus had to laugh. "Never mind. I'll tell you later."
"You're absolutely right," Swithbert said. "Good for you, Magnus. You know, I feel a little light-headed. I'd like to sit down."
Just as he began to sway, Lazy Susan and Mr. Lucasa were on either side of him, supporting him. Mr. Lucasa pulled the hood from his head. "Take a deep breath, sire," he told Swithbert as he eased him down to sit on the top step. "Susan, untie his hands, and then do the same for Ed and Magnus. They should see what's going on here."
The rebellious citizens had formed a ring around the platform where Olympia stood, and around the triple gallows scaffolding. They bristled with weapons—halberds and quarterstaffs, pitchforks and rakes—that kept anyone not with them at bay. Every now and then, one of the farmers would throw some of his produce—cabbages, rutabagas, broccoli—into the crowd. It was hard to tell who, if anyone, they were aiming at. Everyone yelled at the tops of their voices while they did whatever they were doing. Others rushed to get out of the way. As part of the plan to help separate the active rebels from the undecided and to boost support for Swithbert, Mr. Lucasa dipped into the shiny brass kettle he and Lazy Susan had carried into the bailey and began tossing out cookies decorated with Swithbert's face. The cookies were so good that some of the active rebels became distracted and lunged for them.
