The Book of Story Beginnings

by Kladstrup, Kristin

  “Excuse me, ma’am.” The boy’s voice was louder this time, though still polite.

  The woman looked up, and though her eyes were red and her cheeks were streaked with tears, Lucy instantly recognized her. The woman was called the Queen.

  “Please, ma’am,” said the boy. “I was wondering if you might have seen a pigeon.”

  “A pigeon!” The Queen’s eyes traveled across the bodies and bones and feathers on the floor. “You want to know whether I’ve seen a pigeon?”

  Lucy was quite sure that the word pigeon was important. Then she remembered why it was important. I am a pigeon, she thought, and the very impact of having a full sentence speak itself inside her mind was so overwhelming that she nearly fell off the ledge.

  The Queen began weeping again, and Lucy began to mull over a vague suspicion she felt herself harboring: perhaps she wasn’t really a pigeon. She was just about to seize upon the truth — she could tell by the way her heart was racing — when there was yet another distraction. A man strode through the doorway beneath her. Cats leaped out of his way like grasshoppers.

  From her bird’s-eye, top-down view, Lucy could see that the man was clutching a wooden staff. There were bits of leaves and twigs clinging to his tattered robe and his tangled hair. His head looked oddly bare to Lucy, and a question popped into her mind: Where’s his crown? That was how she remembered that the man was called the King.

  The King nearly tripped over the Queen. “Leona?” he said, stepping back.

  The Queen looked up. “You!” she said, gulping back a sob.

  “Leona — what has happened here? We came up through town — we saw birds flying out of the palace.”

  “What do you mean? You know very well what has happened, Bertram. It was your servant, carrying out your command, who caused this — this massacre.” The Queen’s voice trembled.

  As the King surveyed the room, he noticed the window-breaking boy for the first time. “You!” he said in a voice that made Lucy jump. “You stole our familiar!”

  “I did not!” said the boy.

  “I suppose you are responsible for killing Her Majesty’s birds!”

  “No, I’m not!” said the boy.

  The Queen stood up then. “I have no idea who this boy is —” she began.

  “My name’s Oscar,” the boy interrupted.

  “It was another boy — your own servant, Bertram — who killed my birds. He ordered your cats to attack them. It was a despicable thing to do!”

  “Our servant?” said the King, looking puzzled.

  “It was Tom,” said the boy named Oscar.

  “Tom?” said the King.

  “Yes! He had me change him back into a boy, and then he led all the cats here to the palace.”

  “You changed him into a boy! So you did steal our familiar.”

  “I didn’t!”

  Just then, Lucy’s eyes caught sight of movement across the room. Another boy was approaching the King and Queen, stepping over cats as he did so. A crowd of people followed him.

  “There’s Tom now,” said Oscar.

  The boy named Tom came forward and knelt before the King. “Your Majesty,” he said, bowing his head.

  “Murderer!” said the Queen.

  “Tom! Did you kill the Queen’s birds?” said the King.

  “No, Your Majesty. The cats did that.”

  “Only because you ordered them to do it!” said Oscar.

  “Who are all these people?” said the King.

  “They’re my captains, Your Majesty,” said Tom. “They was cats before. And I changed ’em back into people so they could help me. That boy there had a bit of magic potion.”

  “This boy? This sorcerer?”

  “I’m not a sorcerer!” Oscar exclaimed.

  “So you say!” said the King. “And yet you have stolen our familiar! You knew we would be powerless once he had changed from animal to human.”

  “I didn’t know any such thing!”

  All the talk of sorcerers and change was bewildering to Lucy, and her mind closed itself off from the conversation. The word potion had caught her attention. She poked at it with her thoughts. She prodded it like a potential tidbit of food. She had a picture in her mind of a little blue bottle. Strangely enough, in this picture, the bottle was in Oscar’s hand, and he was holding it over her head. Who was Oscar? Did she know him somehow?

  “You are clearly a liar, sir!” said the King, shaking his finger at Oscar. “Not only do you have the audacity to steal our familiar, but you use him to conspire against us!”

  The Queen broke in. “I don’t understand this talk of people conspiring against you, Bertram, when it’s clear that the only conspiracy is the one between you and your servant that led to the murderous attack on my birds.”

  “But Leona. You can’t believe that we had any knowledge of that!”

  “Of course you had knowledge!” cried the Queen. “And stop saying we! There’s only one of you, and that’s quite enough!”

  “Leona — please! You must believe us! You must believe me,” the King implored. “How could I know what this boy was planning? He came to my camp. He stole my familiar from under my nose. He stole my magical powers. And for reasons completely unfathomable to me, he has set my cats against your birds!”

  “Please, listen!” said Oscar. “I didn’t steal your familiar. And I didn’t want the Queen’s birds attacked. All I wanted to do was to find Lucy and her father.”

  Lucy’s brain seemed to give a jump sideways. I’m Lucy! she thought, and suddenly a score of connections snapped together in her mind. She was Lucy, and her father was a bird, and of course she knew who Oscar was. He was helping her to look for her father.

  “I don’t know anyone named Lucy, and I don’t know her father!” said the Queen. “All I know is that my birds are dead. I hope you’re sorry, Bertram!”

  “I am sorry, Leona. I’m as sorry as I can be,” said the King.

  “If you’re sorry, then why don’t you change all the cats back into people! It’s the only way my birds will ever be safe!”

  “Please, Leona — if I could, I would. But this sorcerer here has stolen my familiar. I can’t perform magic without a familiar.”

  “There’s always an excuse with you, Bertram. First your cat eats my canary and you won’t do anything about that. Now it’s all the cats — all of them your pets, and you don’t care one bit about my birds!”

  “Stop it! Stop arguing for one minute and listen!” Oscar’s voice was so loud that Lucy took several sideways steps along the ledge. “You have to believe me, Your Majesty. I didn’t have anything to do with attacking the Queen’s birds. All I want is to find Lucy and her father. Don’t you understand? They may have been killed!”

  The word killed was one that Lucy understood immediately.

  “Who is Lucy?” said the Queen.

  “She’s a pigeon, Your Majesty. And her father is a crow.”

  “How can a pigeon have a crow for a father?”

  “No! He’s not a crow — he’s a man. He changed himself into a crow.”

  “I see,” said the Queen. “And he changed Lucy into a pigeon.”

  “No, ma’am. I did that. I was afraid the King was going to change her into a cat.”

  “I was not going to change her into a cat,” said the King.

  “This is all very confusing. I hate magic!” said the Queen.

  “Please!” said Oscar. “What about Lucy and her father? I’ve got to find them.”

  “Well,” said the Queen, “come to think of it, there was a pigeon. Just came yesterday — a nice fat one with rainbow markings on her neck. She was in a rather odd-looking brass cage.”

  I’m up here! Lucy called. She called several times before she realized that no sounds were coming from her throat.

  She tried cooing but saw that Oscar couldn’t hear her. She ruffled her wings. She grabbed the air, lifting herself up off the ledge.

  “Look!” cried a voice
— Oscar’s. Lucy dropped down, sliding toward him through the air.

  “Let me get her!” cried another voice — Tom’s.

  “Get away! Get away!” shouted Oscar.

  And then hands closed around Lucy, and she forgot everything except that she was terrified.

  For the next minute, Lucy was aware of nothing but a spectacular blur of sounds and colors and smells, all of them human and all of them horrible. She couldn’t tell who was holding her. She couldn’t understand the voices clamoring about her.

  “Do something, Bertram! Change her into a girl!”

  “I can’t! I haven’t got a familiar anymore!”

  “Get the potion! Get it! Tom’s got it!”

  “Tom!”

  “No, Your Majesty! No!”

  “Give it to me! Give it to me, I say!” This barked order was accompanied by the sound of something whooshing through the air. Without knowing what it was, Lucy caught a flash of the King’s wooden staff coming swiftly down. She heard a yelp of pain.

  “Hold her tight!”

  “Stop it, Lucy! Stop it!” The hands that were preventing her from escaping clutched even tighter. There was another hand above her — a paint-smudged hand that reeked of turpentine. It was holding something shiny and blue.

  Then Lucy bit down hard on human flesh. “Ouch!” shouted a voice, and the hands let go. For one moment, she was flying upward. The next moment, her wings turned to lead and she plummeted to the ground. Her wing — no, her elbow — slammed into the stone floor. The rest of her followed like a sack of birdseed. And then came pain, and thoughts of pain, and thoughts of everything, and she knew who she was once again.

  “Are you all right, Lucy?” said Oscar.

  She had forgotten what it was like to be so heavy. Trying not to groan, she pushed herself up on her hands and knees. Something metal clanked against the floor. The medallion she had taken from the attic — the medallion she had worn for luck — was still around her neck.

  “Your elbow is bleeding,” said Oscar as he helped her up from the floor.

  “It’s all right,” said Lucy. Gingerly, she touched her elbow. It wasn’t all right at all. It hurt like fire.

  “I thought you were dead,” said Oscar. His voice was weak, and he was staring at her as if he couldn’t believe she was really alive after all.

  “I’m fine.” Lucy felt embarrassed, actually; she wished Oscar would stop staring.

  But he didn’t. “Where did you get that?” he asked, and Lucy looked down, following his gaze.

  “What? This?” she said, holding up the lucky medallion. “I took it from the attic? Why?”

  Before Oscar could answer, Tom’s voice broke forth. “But Your Majesty — you don’t understand! The Lady Lucy’s father is a sorcerer. I was tryin’ to protect you from him.”

  “Oscar, what’s he talking about?” said Lucy.

  The King echoed her question. “What are you talking about, fool?”

  “Don’t you remember, sire?” said Tom. “When we was studyin’ the laws of magic? That is, you was studyin’ and I just listened. But I remember what the law said, just as if it was printed on the backs of my eyes: Abuse of power shall be punished by loss of familiar and power, said punishment to be administered by the governin’ body. That’d be the Lady Lucy’s father, Your Majesty. He’s the governin’ body — a sorcerer come to pass judgment on you.”

  Lucy murmured to Oscar, “What does he mean, governing body? What’s that got to do with my father?”

  “Tom’s the King’s familiar, Lucy. Don’t you remember that black cat that was always hanging around the King? It turns out he’s really a boy. Somehow he got it in his head that your father has come here to punish the King for changing his subjects into cats.”

  “That’s ridiculous!” said Lucy.

  Oscar turned to Tom. “I told you already that Lucy’s father never had any intention of punishing anybody,” he told him. “But you didn’t listen. What’s more, you knew he might be in the palace. I think you wanted to kill him.”

  Kill him! Lucy stared at Oscar, then looked down at the birds scattered like dead leaves on the floor. “Oscar! Where is my father? He isn’t here, is he?”

  “What’s this?” said the King.

  “I’ve been trying to tell you,” said Oscar. “Lucy’s father is a crow. Tom came here to get rid of him.”

  “I didn’t!” Tom protested. “I wanted to protect Your Majesty.”

  “By killing the Lady Lucy’s father?” said the King.

  “He was going to take away your powers,” said Tom.

  “That’s no excuse for murder,” said the King. “You are no longer our familiar. You are banished from our kingdom.”

  “Please, Your Majesty!” Tom pleaded.

  “Get away before I throw you in the dungeons!” shouted the King. He swept his arm toward the door, and Tom, sobbing, went out.

  “Where is my father?” cried Lucy.

  Everyone was silent.

  “He’s dead, isn’t he!”

  “We don’t know that, Lucy,” said Oscar.

  “How could he not be dead? Look at this place!” An unbearable pain in Lucy’s mind — in her heart — was making her voice shrill.

  “He could have flown out the window,” said Oscar. “He must have flown out the window. It’s a story, Lucy. It’s got to end happily.”

  “Who says?”

  “I thought you were dead, and here you are, safe after all.”

  “Suppose he did fly away! How will we ever find him?” said Lucy.

  “I don’t see why the poor girl thinks her father is here,” said the Queen.

  What could Lucy say? That she was sure her father was in the palace because she had written it in a book?

  Oscar answered for her. “We heard someone sold a crow to you. We thought it must have been Lucy’s father.”

  “But I haven’t had any new crows,” said the Queen. “Only that pigeon — that was you, dear,” she said to Lucy. “And a robin not too long ago, and a wild goose, and a raven.”

  “A raven!” said Oscar. “They’re black, aren’t they? Don’t they look like crows?”

  “Well, I suppose one might say that a raven looks a little like a crow,” said the Queen. “Much larger, though. Hard to mistake a raven for a crow, I think.”

  “Lucy! Could your father have turned himself into a raven?” said Oscar.

  “He looked like a crow to me.” Lucy had read a poem about a raven at school. Quoth the Raven, “Nevermore.” It had never occurred to her that the raven in the poem would look like a crow.

  “Where is the raven you bought, Your Majesty?” said Oscar. “Not in the throne room . . .”

  “Heavens no!” said the Queen. “Ravens can’t abide cages. I keep them on the small courtyard lawn, outside those windows there. I have to keep their wings clipped, of course.”

  Lucy and Oscar were already at the windows. “Lift me up! Lift me up!” said Lucy. Oscar made a step of his hands, and she pulled herself up to the window sill.

  “Do you see him?”

  “I can’t tell. There’s about a hundred ravens out there.”

  “Eighty-seven!” said the Queen. “Don’t just stand there, Bertram! Do something!”

  “What would you have me do?”

  “I don’t know — some sort of transforming spell,” the Queen said impatiently. “After all, you do have a talent for changing one thing into another.”

  “I’ve already explained, Leona, that I no longer have a familiar. I have no power.”

  “The problem isn’t changing Lucy’s father back into himself, ma’am. We’ve got a potion for that. The problem is finding him in the first place,” Oscar explained. “How do we get down to the courtyard?”

  They followed the Queen through a small door at the far end of the throne room, down a steep flight of stairs, out an open doorway, and into a field of moving ink spots. There were ravens everywhere, circling about a large rectangle
of weedy grass that was surrounded by high stone walls. Lucy watched as one raven — it did look like an enormous crow — leaped across the lawn toward them, its wings sweeping upward like exclamation points. “Dad?” she called.

  But the raven veered away, bossing other ravens out of its path with its raucous cries. “This isn’t going to work,” said Lucy. “Even if he is here, we’ll never get him to come to us.”

  All the same they tried. Lucy called for him over and over. She even tried singing “Billy Boy” in the hope that the familiar song would stir up memories. But none of the ravens showed any interest. They did nothing but mill about, peck at the ground, and chase each other.

  “It’s no use! He’s been a raven for too long,” said Lucy.

  “Isn’t there anything you can do?” Oscar asked the King.

  He shook his head. “Even if Tom were to come back, I would be powerless. A sorcerer’s familiar must have the form of an animal.”

  “Maybe we could test the birds one by one. We could put a drop of potion on each one to see if it turns into my father.” Even as Lucy made this suggestion, she saw its shortcoming. What if they ran out of potion before they found her father?

  “Lucy,” Oscar said suddenly. “Could I see that necklace of yours?”

  “This?” Lucy held up the medallion. “Why?”

  Oscar took it from her. His finger traced the design around the pentagon-shaped hole in the medallion’s center. “There was a picture of this in the attic,” he said. “I think Lavonne drew it. But I didn’t know you had the real thing.”

  “So what if I did?”

  “Lavonne called it a traveling talisman.”

  “A what?”

  “It’s supposed to be magic. You put your finger through this hole and tell it where you want to go.”

  Lucy took the traveling talisman from Oscar and pointed at the hole. “You mean this?”

  Oscar looked alarmed. “Careful! If it really works, it will take you anywhere. Egypt, the moon, wherever you tell it.”

  “What if it does? What’s that got to do with my father?”

  “Well, suppose it is magic. Why couldn’t you tell it to take you to your father?”

  “Oh!” Lucy’s eyes traveled across the courtyard, watching the shifting pattern of ravens on the grass. “Oh, I see!”