“It’ll be all right,” Oscar said quickly.
“Do you really think so?” Lucy asked.
To his own surprise, Oscar did. Why was he so sure that Lucy’s story would end happily? Why couldn’t he be sure of his own story?
“I just want to go home,” said Lucy.
So do I, thought Oscar. He might even have said so, too, if something hadn’t drawn his attention away. It was the Queen’s voice, rising shrilly above the low rumble of conversation in the banquet hall. “You’ve said you’re sorry, Bertram, but you can’t possibly be sorry enough!” she cried. “All my birds are dead.”
“For heaven’s sake, Leona — they’re not all dead. What do you call these obnoxious creatures?” The King waved his hand around the banquet hall, which, like every other room in the palace, was filled from floor to ceiling with stacks of bird cages.
“Oh, honestly! Are they fighting again?” said Lucy.
It seemed they were. Oscar couldn’t hear what King Bertram was saying. He was muttering, shaking his fork in the air for emphasis. The look on the Queen’s face made Oscar think of Ma, when Pa would go on and on, ranting about one thing or another.
“It’s my fault,” Oscar murmured.
“Why?” said Lucy.
“It’s as if they can’t do anything but fight,” Oscar said. “Because of the beginning I gave them. The King likes cats and the Queen likes birds. They’re so different they can’t get along.” He could remember the words of his story beginning as if they were right in front of him: And just as cats and birds never get along, so it was that the King and Queen never got along. And everyone in the country suffered as a result.
He looked across the room at Tom’s captains. Some were looking nervously toward the royal table. Some were talking in low, worried voices to each other. Others simply looked glum, sitting with their heads in their hands.
“I suppose The Book of Story Beginnings is writing the rest of the story right now,” said Lucy.
“It’s doing a pretty rotten job of it.” Oscar was thinking of the King and Queen’s story, of course. But he was thinking about his own story as well. The boat carried me to an island, Ma. And then a crazy sort of King changed me into a cat.
There was a crash just then as the Queen threw a plate at the King.
“Why doesn’t she just forgive him?” said Lucy. “He’s said he’s sorry.”
“He can say he’s sorry a thousand times and she’ll never forgive him,” said Oscar. “That’s what the story is about.”
“If she loves him, she ought to forgive him,” said Lucy.
“Maybe she doesn’t love him.”
“Of course she loves him! He’s the King. She’s the Queen. Kings and queens in fairy tales always love each other,” Lucy argued.
“What makes you think this is a fairy tale?” Oscar asked curiously.
“It’s just like a fairy tale. Everybody’s doing silly things that don’t make any sense. It’s like the king in ‘Sleeping Beauty’ ordering everybody to burn their spindles, and everybody does it, just like that. Or in ‘Cinderella,’ when every maiden in the land has to try on a shoe, just because the prince says so. Only here it’s a king changing people into cats and a queen locking up all the birds and nobody questioning it.”
Oscar looked at Tom’s captains. With every crash, they cowered deeper into their chairs. Lucy was right: they were fairy-tale subjects, at the mercy of the King and Queen. Not a very pretty situation, he thought. He had given all of them a bad beginning, not just the King and Queen. The bad beginning had led to a terrible middle, and he supposed it would all lead to a terrible end. A fury as sudden and strong as a tornado rose up in Oscar. What kind of story was it, where a person’s fate was determined by a cat eating a canary, by an unforgiving queen, and by a king so full of rage he turned people into cats?
Dimly, he heard Lucy’s voice. “She does love him,” she was saying. “She has to love him. Otherwise it doesn’t make any sense. You’re the one who said stories have to have the right ending. You were right about my father. I didn’t believe you, but he was fine in the end. It’s the same with your story about the King and Queen. There’s only one right ending.”
My story, thought Oscar. It was his story now, in a way he had never expected or wanted. For all Lucy’s talk of the right ending, of a happy ending for the King and Queen, Oscar couldn’t see how it would make up for what had happened to him. How could it make up for losing his family, for losing everything he loved?
No. If there really was a right ending to his story, he couldn’t see it.
Oscar looked so upset that Lucy had the uncomfortable feeling she had said the wrong thing. The feeling didn’t last long. We’re going home, she thought with rising joy. “I wish my father would come back,” she said.
Before Oscar could respond, however, a shout rose above the King and Queen’s bickering voices. “Beggin’ your pardon!” a voice called.
Looking toward the royal table, Lucy saw a girl jumping up and down in front of the King and Queen. She was waving her arms for attention, and her long yellow braids were swinging like ropes. Lucy remembered (rather foggily, because the memory came from the time when she was a pigeon) that the girl’s name was Cora.
“Beggin’ your pardon, Your Majesties!” shouted Cora.
“What is it?” said the Queen, stopping midscold and glaring like a hawk.
“If you please, Your Majesty — there’s folks here. Bird traders, they call themselves.”
“Bird traders? I don’t want to sell any of my birds,” said the Queen.
“Put the whole lot of them up for sale!” roared the King.
“They ain’t here to buy birds, sire, just to sell ’em. They got a whole flock of ’em.”
“We want no more birds here unless they’re plucked and ready to parboil!” growled the King, and the Queen gave him a stabbing glance.
“Send them in directly, Cora!” she said.
As Cora trotted obediently toward the far end of the banquet hall, Lucy heard an odd noise. It sounded like the wail of an approaching siren. As the noise grew louder, she detected smaller, squeaking overtones, as if someone were pulling along a wagon with loose wheels. Then the noise stumbled into the room. It was Captain Mack and Jarvis, loaded down with cages full of squeaking, shrieking seagulls. Behind them, a wailing Phoebe bobbed along in Millie’s arms.
“What are they doing here?” said Oscar.
As the visitors traipsed forward, the Queen gave a cry of surprise. She shoved her chair back and hurried around the royal table. She leaned down from the dais and whisked Phoebe from Millie’s arms. “My little lark! My sweet child! Whatever is the matter?” she exclaimed as she bustled back to her seat.
“The baby’s a bit tired, Your Majesty,” said Millie, trailing behind.
“She doesn’t look tired. Perhaps she’s hungry.”
“Beggin’ your pardon, Your Majesty, but she ain’t hungry,” said Captain Mack, climbing up on the dais herself. She set down her load of cages with a clatter. “She’s been eatin’ like a whale since the day she was born, and today wasn’t no different. It’s these birds have got her riled. We took this lot of gulls on board the Rosalie just this mornin’. Found ’em flappin’ about the docks. Caught ’em straightaway. Poor little mite there crawled over and put her hand in a cage. Nearly had her pinkie taken off by one of these feisty fellows!”
“Oh, no!” The Queen looked horrified.
“No harm done. But the kid’s terrified of birds somethin’ awful now,” said the captain.
“Those naughty birds!” said the Queen, switching into baby talk. “Seagulls are nasty, bullying creatures, aren’t they, my pet? Naughty, naughty birdies!”
Captain Mack cleared her throat. “About these birds, Your Majesty. We been busy as can be all day, feedin’ ’em the best food to be found. We was sure you’d want to buy ’em.”
“The birds are mine already. They escaped from the palace this mo
rning,” said the Queen.
Captain Mack looked caught off-guard, but Millie quickly stepped in. “That’s just what we figured, Your Majesty. We knew you’d be pleased to have ’em returned to you.”
“Thought there might be a reward, Your Majesty,” added Captain Mack.
“A reward,” murmured the Queen.
“Compensation like — for the care of the birds,” said the captain.
The Queen, preoccupied with Phoebe, barely looked up. “Cora — fetch twenty silvers from the treasury.”
“Twenty silvers!” Captain Mack protested. “We got a dozen birds here! We missed the outgoin’ tide on account of ’em.”
“Twenty golds, then!”
At this the King, his voice full of disbelief, burst out, “Am I to understand, Leona, that you are going to pay this woman twenty gold coins for your own birds?”
“Fetch the money, Cora!” the Queen commanded.
“If you please, Your Majesty, there is no money. I gave you the last of it yesterday.”
“No money?” said the Queen.
“No money! What’s happened to the money?” blustered the King.
“Stop fussing, Bertram. Take this child while I find something to give these people for their trouble.” The Queen thrust Phoebe into the King’s arms and began to search her pockets, scattering birdseed on the floor. At last she looked about and seized a jewel-encrusted gold cup from the table. “Take this,” she said.
“Ouch!” said the King just then, and Captain Mack thrust the cup inside her jacket as if she thought the King would take it back.
“Ouch!” said the King again, and Lucy saw that Phoebe was tugging on his beard.
“Look at that! She likes you, Bertram!” said the Queen.
“Take her!” said the King.
“Get your sister, Millie, and we’ll be on our way,” said the captain.
“No!” said the Queen, seizing Phoebe from the King’s arms. Unfortunately, Phoebe didn’t let go of the beard, and the King was yanked into an embrace with the Queen. With Phoebe sandwiched between them, Lucy thought they looked like an old-fashioned family portrait, all frowns.
“I don’t want you to take her!” cried the Queen.
“We got a ship to sail back home, Your Majesty. It don’t make no money sittin’ in the harbor. We’ve stayed longer than we should’ve already.”
“No!” The Queen drew away from Captain Mack. “Bertram! Do something!”
“Do! What can I do?” The King was trying to disentangle his beard from Phoebe’s fists.
“Let me keep her. What do you want?” the Queen asked Captain Mack. “There’s more gold cups. You can have all of them!”
“I ain’t sellin’ my own niece!”
“But I want her!” said the Queen, bursting into tears.
“Now, Leona. Don’t cry.” The King put his arms around the Queen.
“I can’t help it!” she sobbed. “She’s such a beautiful baby.”
“Stop, Leona!” he begged her. “I can’t bear to see you cry!”
He does care about her, thought Lucy. And then it struck her. “They aren’t fighting anymore,” she said.
“What?” said Oscar.
“Look! They’re not fighting anymore.” An idea was unfolding in Lucy’s mind. “It’s just like your brother Morris getting the croup!” she said.
“What are you talking about?” said Oscar.
“Don’t you remember what we talked about in the rowboat? Your ma and pa had that big fight, and your pa moved out. But he came back in the middle of the night because Morris was sick.”
“What does that have to do with anything?” said Oscar.
“I never heard anybody making up. That’s just what you said about your ma and pa. But they must have made up. Or if they didn’t, it’s because the fight never really mattered in the first place. It didn’t matter because Morris having the croup and almost dying was more important.”
“I still don’t see —”
“Oh!” said Lucy in exasperation. “Just look at the King and Queen. They haven’t made up their quarrel, but all the same, they’re not fighting anymore. They’re not fighting because they care more about Phoebe, just like your ma and pa cared about Morris!”
Just then Captain Mack’s voice rang out. “She ain’t your baby! So give her back!”
“But she can’t take her away,” said Lucy, alarmed to see that the scene on the dais had become a scuffle. The captain was shouting and trying to tug Phoebe away from the Queen. The Queen was crying and trying to hold on. “Captain Mack!” Lucy shouted.
The captain didn’t hear.
“Captain Mack!” Lucy stood up and yelled as loud as she could.
This time the captain stopped shouting and looked at her. The Queen stopped crying and looked as well. Everyone was staring at her. Lucy could feel her face getting hot.
“What is it?” said Captain Mack.
“You musn’t take Phoebe,” said Lucy.
“Who says?” The captain was squinting at Lucy. Then recognition dawned on her face as her eyes alighted on Oscar. “Why, it’s Billy Boy!” she exclaimed.
“Lucy, what are you doing?” whispered Oscar.
“I’m trying to give your story a happy ending,” Lucy murmured. Then she called out, “I believe you are in need of a nurse for Phoebe, Captain Mack. Someone to take care of her while you’re at sea!”
“A nurse?” said the Queen.
Lucy moved toward the dais. “Phoebe’s an orphan,” she explained. “Captain Mack was boarding her in town, but now she hasn’t got a place to keep her. . . .”
“How d’you know about that?” said the captain.
“An orphan!” The Queen’s eyes widened.
“I treat her like my own child,” said Captain Mack.
“Bertram, we could adopt her!”
“Phoebe’s my own kin! Nobody’s goin’ to adopt her!” said the captain.
“Oh, Auntie!” cried Millie. “Please let her be adopted! I can stay with her.”
“We can make her the Royal Ward, Bertram. She’ll have her very own nursery, and a nanny.”
“I could be the nanny!” Millie said eagerly.
“Hold on!” said Captain Mack. “You can’t just take a baby from its family. It ain’t right. And as for you, Missy,” she said to Millie, “last I heard, you was to be captain after me. It’s always been my dream to have you take over when I’m gone.”
“But I don’t want to be a ship’s captain!” cried Millie. “I want to be a lady!”
“And here you are hankerin’ to be a nanny!” Captain Mack scoffed.
“I’d be a nanny at the palace! That’s just like being a lady!”
“I’ll not have it, Millie! Get your sister. We’re goin’.”
“Captain Mack!” called Lucy.
“What is it?” said the captain.
“You could ask for a ship.”
“A ship! I already got a ship!”
“But you want a bigger one,” said Lucy. “You want a ship with three masts!”
“If it’s a ship you want, you’ll have it!” said the Queen. “There’s a whole fleet down at the harbor. You can have your pick of them.”
Lucy thought she saw the captain’s eyes flicker with interest.
“You can’t just give away a ship!” said the King.
“You don’t need them all, Bertram!”
“Never heard of such a thing! A king trading a ship for a baby!”
“Honestly, Bertram!” The Queen stamped her foot. “We’re the King and Queen! We can do as we wish! And here is a baby — a child we can call our own!” The Queen burst into tears again.
The King took Phoebe from her arms. “My dear! I would give the entire fleet to make you happy! Surely you know that!”
“I didn’t know it!”
“Well, it’s true!” The King shifted his head sideways as Phoebe grasped his beard.
“If that’s a real offer, I’ll take
it! You can have the baby,” said Captain Mack.
“Oh, Auntie!” cried Millie. “You mean I can be a lady?”
“A glorified nanny,” Captain Mack snorted. “And when you get tired of it, Missy, don’t be surprised to hear me say I told you so.”
“Oh, Auntie! Thank you!” Millie threw her arms about the captain.
“Oh, Bertram!” said the Queen, gazing at Phoebe. “Look at our beautiful baby!”
A happy ending, thought Lucy, and she looked around for Oscar.
Oscar caught only a glimpse of Lucy’s face, just enough to see that it was flushed with triumph. Then the air in front of him exploded with a loud crack. A flash of red and green sparks showered down on the table. Oscar coughed and leaped back as blueberry-colored smoke billowed out of nothing. He rubbed his stinging eyes and looked up to see Lucy’s father standing on the table. He was holding a small branch in his hand. There was a white mouse on his shoulder. “That worked well!” he said, grinning. Then he noticed that he was standing on a tray of cold omelets. He stepped out of them and knocked over a jug of wine.
“Ah! Our honored guest returns!” the King’s voice boomed from the dais. “Welcome, sir! Welcome to our celebration!”
Lucy’s father bowed, then climbed down from the table.
“We are pleased to present the new Royal Ward, Princess Phoebe,” said the King, sparking a delighted smile from the Queen. “Not to mention our new Admiral of the Royal Fleet.” The King gave an imperial wave in Captain Mack’s direction.
“And me, sire! Lady Millie!” clamored Millie.
Lucy’s father gave a pleasant nod toward the dais, then murmured, “Will someone please tell me what’s going on?”
“We finished Oscar’s story about the King and Queen, Dad,” said Lucy.
“And the one about the ship of orphans,” said Oscar.
“You’re right! I hadn’t even thought of that!” said Lucy, looking pleased. “And now that we’ve found you, Dad, that’s three stories ended.”
Oscar wished that Lucy would remember the last story, but she didn’t. “We can go home now, Dad!” she said.
The Book of Story Beginnings Page 20
