Princess Juniper of the Hourglass

by Ammi-Joan Paquette

  Alta dropped her schedule and leaned in to read over Erick’s shoulder. “Bookish learning at its finest,” she said with grudging admiration.

  Juniper clapped her hands together. “I approve! Can we get started on that this morning?”

  “It still remains to find a dagnite grove,” Erick said. “But the description is clear, along with the typical elevations and ground conditions. I’m certain we can find one quite easily—I’ve got several possible locations in mind already.”

  “Good, then,” said Juniper. “We have a plan. Dagnite expedition leaves first thing, and the guards’ training session will be held immediately upon their return.”

  • • •

  Over the next few days, the newly established Queen’s Basin Guard came together. The dagnite grove was duly found, and Roddy was able to translate Erick’s book learning into a practical method for hardening the whittled branches into spears that were both sturdy and flexible. The guards’ training began in earnest, and the nightly rotation went off without a hitch. Even Paul pronounced that guard duty wasn’t quite so hateful in this new setting. Through all this, there were no more mysterious noises in the night, nor any other visible mischief or mayhem. One guard or another would occasionally tell of hearing clattering noises off toward the edges of the camp, but further investigation never turned anything up.

  For their part, the noble kids seemed to grow even less a part of the group over time. They’d once again stopped coming to meals; in fact, since the swimming hole excursion, Juniper had glimpsed them only from a distance. She couldn’t help wondering how they were getting by. What did they do all day? What were they finding to eat?

  Mostly, though, it was a relief to have them gone.

  The world outside Queen’s Basin also seemed to have gone quiet. Juniper began rising early every morning and climbing up to the messenger’s cave. She wasn’t keeping the place a secret, exactly. It was just something she preferred having to herself for the time being. Every day she scanned the skies, but there was never anything to see. She also studied the rolling landscape. There was no smoke, no sign of movement, no strange goings-on at all. On the surface, at least, all was well.

  If only she could shake that squirming in her gut that told her this was the wrong kind of silence, the kind that means that everything is so wrong that it might well be broken beyond repair.

  To keep herself—and the others—from thinking, Juniper made sure every hour of every day was packed from sunup to sunset. They no longer had a timepiece to guide their movements, but true to her resolution, Juniper got things even more zealously organized. The cooking area was rebuilt using green clay, which Alta dug up farther along the riverbank. There was so much of this clay, and it dried so solidly when mixed with red sand from the South Bank, that Roddy quickly made plans for a clay-and-daub method of building walls. Everyone decided to keep their sleeping quarters in the caves—except Juniper and Tippy, of course, who still overnighted in the Great Tree—but Roddy’s scheme let them put up a patio roof over the dining hall (they decided on no walls, preferring an open-air feel), and walls and a roof to the kitchen (which Leena said made her feel ever so civilized). Erick also contributed a most inspired plan for a door: tall rush weeds woven into a mat and fastened to the wall, with flexible loops to let it swing open and shut.

  “It’s a slick design,” Roddy said with admiration. “We should make these for our sleeping caves. It’s far better than all that hanging cloth everyone’s using now.”

  More days passed, with no word from the palace.

  Where was that messenger? What could be causing this delay? Was her father all right?

  Something had to be done. But hard as she tried, Juniper could think of nothing that would make any kind of difference. And so she waited and watched. And kept busy.

  With the essentials taken care of, Juniper turned a critical eye to her subjects, noticing their grubby faces and hands, hems of gowns and trousers alike showing tears and stains. No one seemed at all concerned about this state of affairs.

  “Our next task shall be to build a Beauty Chamber,” she declared one morning, waving toward the site she had selected. It was downriver a ways, nearly to the orchard, on the South Bank and right up against—and slightly over—the water’s edge. The house would end in a narrow bathing room, she explained, with the water lapping under the wall to fill a pool that would stay constantly fresh as it flowed downstream. Into the Beauty Chamber she would move all her gowns and slippers, all the hair ribbons and powders and creams and other trinkets that didn’t come near to fitting in her tiny bedchamber-hollow, up in the Great Tree.

  “You may all bring your personal beauty supplies,” she told the girls. “Anything you don’t want to keep in your own chambers, or want to have near to the bathing room.”

  They celebrated their hard work with a day off, which most everyone spent catching up on sleep and relaxation. Juniper wouldn’t let herself stop working, though, not even for a day. She was too restless, too unsettled to slow down. Staying busy kept her from thinking. And there was entirely too much to think about.

  The next day, she charged a group to scour the nearby cliffs for smooth, flat stones. “We’ll set up a system of pathways leading across our kingdom,” she declared. “I’ve sketched it out on this parchment—and it will take a lot of stones, I know”—she raised a hand over the chorus of groans that arose around the early-morning campfire—“but it will be worth it. Think of being able to walk from the caves to your morning meal without getting a speck of mud or dust on the hem of your gown! Er . . . or trousers, of course.” She nodded encouragingly, though the response seemed halfhearted at best. “We shall be able to pull out our best slippers, without need to protect them from the elements. Yes, I think this should be our next task, and all the strongest able bodies shall be assigned to it first.”

  There was a rustle across the group, and Juniper looked over to see that Oona had her hand raised. “Yes?” Juniper asked.

  “Well,” the other girl said, scuffing the ground with her toe, “it’s only that we’ve been here coming on ten days or more, and we’ve gotten ever so much done. But, Miss Juniper, we’re all awfully tired.” There was a murmur of approval across the group, and Oona pushed on with more energy. “That day off yesterday was welcome, but we’ve been working without stopping every day from morning till night. Not,” she rushed quickly on, “that this is out of the ordinary. We’re all the hardest of workers. But we came here for adventure—for work, and to do our share, of course, but also for some fun. We’ve been thinking it would be nice to have a proper day off.” She paused, then added, “Like we did that one day with Cyril and the swimming hole.”

  There was a very loud silence.

  Juniper knew she was pushing everyone hard. With so much outside of Queen’s Basin that was beyond her influence, how could she not grab hold of what little she could control? But they’d just had a day off! And there was something sly, almost challenging in the way Oona had said those last words. Juniper had seen how Oona hung on Cyril’s every word and gesture—the girl was clearly sweet on him—but this was too much. Still, she could tell from the others’ nods and mutters of agreement that she needed to tread lightly.

  “There’s something to that, I suppose,” Juniper said, making an effort to smile. “We’ve all been working both sides of the knot, and you’re overdue for more than just a day’s break. But I’m expecting the king’s messenger any day now. Any time. Next week is to be our planned supply trip back to Torr.” Juniper tamped down her own worry at this train of thought. What if the messenger didn’t come by then? Were they really to wait here indefinitely, as the king had commanded? She swallowed. “Until then, we absolutely must make as much progress as possible. Get our kingdom ready for our new group of recruits, yes? So. I say we redouble our working efforts now, and then see how things look by the end of the week. What do you all
think?”

  Oona looked at the ground. Juniper could tell she didn’t love the idea, but neither she nor any of the others voiced any protest. There were enough frowns and grumblings, though, that Juniper knew she couldn’t leave things like this. She pictured herself back at the palace, dreaming of her own country. It hadn’t been about work, not ever.

  How had things changed so much since then?

  “Well,” she said, “there is one other thing. We are still awaiting the messenger, as I said, but perhaps we needn’t put everything on the sideboard until then. So, let us work doubly hard the rest of the days leading up to next week’s supply run, get everything we can into shape. Then—” Oona looked up eagerly, and Tippy grabbed Sussi’s hand and squeezed it in anticipation. Juniper herself felt a thrill of excitement. “Then, on the last night before we head out, we shall have that promised ball—and it will be the biggest and best party you could imagine. Food and dancing and music to rattle the cliff sides. What do you say?”

  This was met with a rousing enthusiasm, and Juniper relaxed as the mood shifted from grousing to giddy. It was a narrow miss. But really, how could you go wrong with a ball?

  After the buzz died down, another hand went up. Juniper nodded at Filbert. “It’s to do with the food,” he said, arms folded across his chest. “Leena did all right at first. But these days it seems like all we’ve got is bread and dried meats and wild greens made six different ways. Someone needs to take the kitchen in hand and get us some better eats.”

  Leena leaped to her feet, pumping a fist in the air. “I’d like to see you slaving behind a hot fire every day, you—”

  Juniper lifted a hand for silence. “You’re both right. Leena has been putting in countless hours every day on meals, but she doesn’t have the ingredients she needs. I don’t know why we’re not getting any more eggs, or milk from the goats. I know it can take a while for animals to settle, but—”

  “I check them every day,” said Toby. “The goats have been given the prime grazing pasture, leaving the horses to get the pickings. But they’re still as dry as sticks, every one. And we haven’t had six eggs in as many days, across all the hens.”

  “We must find a way to help them produce. Will you look into that, Toby? Check their diet, their sleeping quarters, make sure they’re warm enough. Maybe we can move the enclosure to another spot. We have to get some fresh products into our diet. Surely the fruit trees and berry bushes will bear more soon. And how goes the garden, Paul?”

  “The vegetables are planted, but it will be weeks before they grow up. I think—”

  But what Paul thought was not then to be known, for a sudden boom eclipsed all discussion. The ground under their feet gave a violent shake. It was over in the blink of an eye, but the entire group leaped to their feet in a frenzy. Dashing out of the dining area with the others, Juniper scanned the horizon around them for signs of what was going on. At first, she couldn’t see a thing over the high edges of their bowl-like mountain enclosure, nothing but darkening sky . . . and, off in the direction of Torr . . .

  “Look!” said Alta.

  Just visible over the high mountain’s edge rose a column of smoke. Unlike the faint, distant wisps Juniper and Erick had seen from the swimming hole, this cloud was thick and dark and gritty. It looked like it might be just down at the base of the mountains. With it came a distinct smell of burning.

  Juniper felt a hand grab her arm and yank her off to the side.

  “There!” Erick hissed in her ear. “Look!”

  She followed his pointing finger and saw, blurry and indistinct in the gathering gloom, a light-colored speck winging across the smoky sky. Her heart leaped, but she kept her voice low, for Erick alone to hear. “It’s the messenger, come from my father!”

  Leaving the others to their discussion, she ran toward the cliff’s base, with Erick close behind. They made their way up the rocky pathway, ducking out of the group’s sight line as quickly as they could and weaving among the rocks until they reached the promontory.

  “Yes!” she whispered. The light was fading, but inside the tiny rock cave, she could just make out a pale shape.

  “It’s a bat?” Erick asked.

  “Ghost bat,” she agreed. “That’s our messenger. My father’s game warden had a fleet of them brought over from the Far Continent, and he breeds them specially. Ghost bats have a highly developed sense of hearing, and they’ve been trained to listen for the sound this Beacon makes. I know—I can barely hear it myself, but to these creatures, it’s loud as a bell. Shall we see what news our winged messenger has for us?” She reached into the cave and unfastened a narrow tube tied around the creature’s leg. Breaking off the stopper, she tapped out a tiny sheet of parchment that was closed with her father’s familiar seal.

  Briefly meeting Erick’s eyes, she broke the purple wax blob, unrolled the paper, and began to read.

  My Darling Daughter:

  As I write this, your party has just left the palace.

  You know that our dealings with Monsia have been tenuous in recent decades, and reports of their activities have been increasingly difficult to obtain. Everything I have told you tonight is true: The raiding party at the gate is small, and I am confident we will repel them with ease.

  And yet. Something in me is uneasy.

  You will forgive me, I hope, for seizing this chance to swiftly send you and your subjects—this representation of the youth of Torr—as far from the fighting as possible. No other living person knows the location of the Basin. It appears on no maps. You will all be safe there for as long as is needed. I have taken the liberty of adding my own cart to yours, supplemented with further provisions, along with some items from the palace coffers and from our cultural stores which begged safekeeping.

  I cannot say why I feel this need, and there is no particular event that demands this caution. You have often heard me say that as king I feel some connection with the land I rule, and if that is the case, then perhaps something in the wind or the sky or the call of the birds tells me that everything is not as it should be.

  I am likely growing soft in my declining years. The moment I finish this letter, I will write another, dashing off the bright, happy notice that the invaders are put to rout and all is well. I will line both scrolls up on my desk. And I am certain that within a few hours I will return and toss this missive into the fire, while the good news flies to you on quickest of wings.

  But for the moment, I will indulge my old man’s worry and say: If you are reading this letter, time has passed and the worst has happened. I cannot think how, but the palace has been overrun. I implore you, do not do anything rash. Do not send a reply by return messenger, lest it be intercepted. Most importantly, stay where you are! I will find a way to come for you, but by no means must any of you leave the safety of the Basin until then.

  Do I have your promise?

  All my love,

  Your father

  FOR A LONG TIME, JUNIPER COULD DO nothing but stand, stunned, with the parchment shaking in her hand. Finally, she handed it to Erick. Then she turned and started climbing back down the rocky embankment. The palace had never felt so far away as it did now. She kept to the narrow trail until it split in two, then she scrambled down and, brushing the gravel from her skirts, walked into the large entry cave.

  Stopping only to light one of the torches, she pushed into the narrow alcove where they had stashed the treasure. She grabbed the closest bundle and pulled it out: a flat package wrapped in oilskin and bound with twine. Juniper tugged at the ropes until they came loose, revealing the painting within—a fine masterwork in oils, by the revered Torrean painter Marchello, whose work was so highly prized that he had built himself a one-hundred-foot tower, to which he had supplies delivered and up which subjects might, upon invitation, be raised in a special basket to have their exorbitantly priced portraits painted. For the royal family, he ha
d taken the unheard-of step of descending from his tower and setting up in a south wing turret room for a two-month stretch while he produced a whole series of exquisite paintings.

  Juniper well remembered sitting for this one, though she had been only five years old at the time. The sitting had felt endlessly long (three full days, with irregular breaks for eating, sleeping, and the occasional stretch) but had also been one of the best times of her life. She had sat on the ornate couch-throne, sandwiched between her parents, and for those three days, nothing existed but their little family. They couldn’t shift from the position Marchello was so painstakingly capturing on canvas—she perched on her father’s knee, her mother elegantly to the side, with one arm twined around Juniper’s small waist, head tilted, a half smile on her lips—but every moment was filled with rollicking banter, silliness, and sly good humor. For those enchanted hours, her parents were transformed into giggly teenagers, telling jokes Juniper just barely understood, singing bawdy songs, finding ridiculous patterns in the wall hangings opposite them, the king telling wild stories from his youth. Juniper had been almost disappointed when Marchello had released them and they’d been free to go back to their everyday lives. For a moment now, in her firelit cave, she was transported back to that time when everything around her had felt safe and enclosed, sheltered by the two people she loved most in the world.

  Now she was here, alone, up a high mountain and responsible not only for herself but for a host of other kids—subjects, her subjects, her people—and now her father, the only parent she had left, was in danger, and there was absolutely nothing she could do about it. It was almost too much to bear. The painted image swam in front of her blurry eyes.

  Then she felt a warm pressure on her shoulders, and she remembered. She wasn’t alone. Not completely. She tilted her head to the side and found Erick’s shoulder, just for one moment—that was all she could allow herself. But it was enough.