“The King, right. OK, I’ll sing in front of ‘the king’.” Another eye roll. Really? I don’t remember seeing someone acting as King and Queen tonight, but clearly, I had missed a lot while I was in the tunnels or outside on the terrace in the gardens.
He lead me down the hall, my arm still in his grasp. What, did he think I was going to run away in this getup? I looked around the hallway, trying to get my bearings. I wasn’t sure if I’d been in this part of the castle before. The castle looked different. It was much darker than it had been before. They must have turned off the lights when they went out to do the bonfire. It was the only explanation I could think of. We were on an upper level and I looked down over the balustrade to see what was below. I gasped at what I saw, and when I realized where I was. I was walking along the very upper hallway I had walked earlier with my parents. But it was all different.
No rugs along the hallway, no electric lights. I looked across to where the musicians had been before, but it was an empty balcony, shrouded in darkness. There was no music. The throne room below was filled with people, sure enough. Some were standing around talking, some eating. But it was dark, so much darker than it had been before. Gone were the fairy lights, replaced by wall sconces like the ones in the bedchamber I’d just left. A large iron chandelier hung high above the room, lit with what looked like real candles. I could think of a hundred reasons why that couldn’t be safe, I thought. As we descended the stairs, I looked at the faces of the people in the room, trying to find those I could recognize. Were Alex and the others my age still in the tunnels? I didn’t see any of them. In fact, I didn’t recognize a single face. Now my heart started to beat in double time. Where were my parents? Please tell me they’re outside or somewhere near. Maybe they were looking for me? As we crossed the floor, people moved aside for us, bowing to the “prince” as we passed. They must all be actors? I looked to my right, out the windows to see the Loire River and assure myself I wasn’t going insane. But it was pitch black there too, no lights shining on the river as they had been earlier that night. Maybe the town was having a blackout? That would explain all the candles. I looked to my left, out the glass doors that led to the gardens. But all I saw was dark as well, no more fairy lights. Just lingering red coals from what looked like a bonfire, set much closer to the castle. That certainly wasn’t there before. No one else was outside. It was clear the bonfire had burned down and everyone had come back inside. Now I was becoming alarmed. Did my parents leave without me? Where was everyone? And more importantly, who were these people?
We’d made it to the middle of the room, everyone continuing to clear a space for us, and when I glanced up, I noticed the thrones up on the dais. The rope to keep people from sitting on them that I’d seen earlier was gone. For there were people sitting on them now. People that looked very regal. In fact, one could even say they looked, well, like a king and a queen.
Charles stopped and bowed toward the king. “Father, Mother,” he acknowledged them both. “May I introduce Mademoiselle Isabelle Blanchet, the musician for whom we have been waiting.” He let go of me then, and took a step behind me. What was I supposed to do exactly? Keep up the act? I raised my eyebrow at him in question. He gave a quick cough into his fisted hand and gestured for me to bow to the king and queen. Alrighty then, charade it was. I faced forward and did my curtsy and bow thing to each one respectively.
“Your Majesties.” I managed to croak.
The Queen gestured with her hand that I could rise, so I did and looked on expectantly. What am I supposed to do next?
“You are here to entertain us?” the king asked me. Err, I guess so? What was I supposed to say? Actually, I’d just really like to find my parents if you’d point me in their direction, is what I wanted to say. Instead:
“If it pleases your Majesties,” I replied while inclining my head toward the king. Hey, I’ve seen enough movies set in this time period, I could surely act as well as the rest of them. I decided to channel my inner Drew Barrymore a la “Ever After”.
The King seemed to give consent with yet another hand wave motioning me to begin. What was with all the hand gestures anyway? I looked around at the expectant crowd. Wait, was that a Leonardo da Vinci look-alike over there in that corner? How cool is that! OK, don’t lose your nerve. I guess this would be good experience for me to sing in front of a crowd before going on tour. I was used to singing in front of a camera, at least. Granted, it was a little different than a live performance. But what the heck, I could do this right? I wish I had my guitar. Unfortunately, another quick look around the room for a piano, or musical instruments of any kind, didn’t fare any better. OK then. Acappella it is. I glanced up at the king and noticed a goblet in his hand, which gave me an idea. Hey, if Anna Kendrick could do it, why not me?
“May I have the use of your goblet, Sire?” I inquired. He looked a bit startled at my request, but downed the rest of its contents and handed it over to me. I glanced down at the floor and knew at once that sitting down there was out of the question in this dress, not to mention it looked like it hadn’t been mopped for centuries. So I turned to Charles, oh excuse me, I mean the prince.
“I will require that small table over there, and chair, if you please.” Again with the hand gestures. He motioned to what seemed to be servants standing in the background against the wall. They moved the table and chair to the center of the room. One of the men eyed me holding the king’s goblet. Like what, did he think I was going to steal it? There were a million of them being sold in the castle gift store. I’d seen them there. All fake gold plated on the inside with plastic jewels hot-glued to the outside, just like the one in my hand. The servants melted back into the woodwork again, and Charles held out the chair for me to sit. I did so and placed the goblet on the table in front of me. I noticed the quiet room around me, intent on my next move. OK, I thought, here goes.
I turned the goblet upside down on the table. It seemed like the whole room gasped in unison, though I couldn’t see why. Surely they’d seen this before? It was all over YouTube, even before the movie “Pitch Perfect” made it famous. I let out a breath and found my zone. Just pretend there’s a camera in front of you, I thought to myself. Taking a deep breath, I clapped my hands and started a rhythm on the goblet, moving it from side to side and flipping it over in beat with my hands. Then I started to sing.
I could tell I had a captive audience. Not a single soul moved or spoke. Not even whispering to one another. I lost myself in the song like I normally do, letting my voice take over. Adding runs, sustaining notes. Keeping up the rhythm with my hands and the cup, sorry, goblet. Pausing for dramatic effect before going into the last chorus. Singing my heart out because I sure didn’t think I was going to miss this place when I was gone.
Clap, clap, and cup turn over, done. I put my hands in my lap.
Then I slowly looked up, waiting for the applause. But everyone just stared at me with wide eyes. As if the cup song were the most outrageous thing they’d ever seen or heard. They looked toward the king waiting for his response. It seemed like they were all holding their breath for some reason. What in the world was going on here? Only the da Vinci look-alike seemed to be smiling in my direction. I looked at the king and shrugged a shoulder, as if to say, there you go, your entertainment for the evening. All of a sudden he stood, and then, with a broad smile spreading across his face, he began to clap. The whole room seemed to let out a collective breath at once and joined in on the applause. Charles pulled out my chair and helped me to stand. I curtsied toward the king and queen, then to the audience who continued clapping.
“That, m’moiselle,” Charles said under his breath. “Was either the most ridiculously stupid thing I have ever seen. Or the bravest.” And then he flashed those baby blues my way, and I glimpsed the tiniest gleam of approval before he turned and walked away.
Chapter 6
“Ohhhh, gracious, that was just the most amazing thing I have ever seen or heard!” A girl who looked to
be about my age ran over to me and grabbed my hand. Her excitement had her bouncing on her heels, with her wavy blonde hair keeping time to her movements.
“When you started banging the king’s goblet around on the table I thought I was going to faint straightaway.” She placed her other hand over her heart as if she were about to swoon. Or at least, that’s what the Southern Belles in “Gone With the Wind” looked like when they were about to swoon.
“My name is Nicole Clermont. Come, I’ll introduce you around.” Just like that she turned and tugged my hand after her and I had no choice but to follow. We paraded around the room while she introduced me to the other women standing about, whose names and faces all became a blur. Thank goodness I don’t have to remember all these names, I thought. I kept my eyes out for a glimpse of my parents, thinking as soon as I found them, I could make my escape from this crazy 16th century reenactment. I mean, these people took their jobs seriously. I wonder where they found them all. And did they tell them not to bathe for a week or something to make it more legit? The body odor emanating from some was a bit much for such a crowded room. Then again, this was France after all. Public transportation alone could attest to the French aversion to antiperspirant.
We had been standing in a group of gossiping ladies-in-waiting, which I was only half listening to. I was aware of Charles, oh pardon me, Prince Charles as he moved about the room. A beautiful girl hung on his arm. Perfectly curled golden ringlets, creamy unblemished skin, and the most gorgeous dress in the room, save the queen herself. A beatific smile showed a row of shiny pearly whites, but her eyes gave her away. They had the look of every typical, most-popular, mean girl: cruel and calculating.
“Who is she?” I asked Nicole, motioning with a slight nod of my head. She seemed to be the one girl at court I hadn’t been introduced to.
“Oh, her.” Nicole whispered with a note of disdain. The circle of girls we were with gathered closer so as not to miss out. “That’s Genevieve Touraine. She has her claws sunk so deep into Prince Charles he couldn’t get away if he tried. Watch out, she bites!” The girls all giggled and launched into stories of mysterious things happening to girls who even so much as looked at Prince Charles. They were fantastic stories. They spoke as if people really did poison each other on a daily basis, and leave rodents in unsuspecting victims beds. Where did they come up with these stories? Was there a script somewhere? I was going to have to step up my game in pretend-land. Especially considering my parents were still a no-show and I had no idea how I was going to get back to our rented apartment on my own in this crazy costume. Not to mention, it was dark out there and I already knew my iPhone battery was dead. I had discreetly sneaked a peek at it again, hoping for a text message from my mom, or Alex, or well, anyone! But the screen refused to light up. Just as I thought about checking again, I felt someone tug my right elbow.
“ ‘Scuse, mademoiselle. If I may, I’d like to make your acquaintance.” I turned to see the Leonardo da Vinci look-alike. He looked so genuine, I loved it.
“Signor,” I turned and curtsied his way. “The pleasure is all mine. For you must be Signor da Vinci.” I said in flawless Italian, just to see if the actor could hold his own in that language. He smiled and took my right hand, bestowing a dry kiss on it. He had a twinkle in his eye and his smile was infectious. I found myself smiling right back at him.
“That I am, signorina, at your service.” He answered in Italian and nodded his head my way. “I rather enjoyed your performance this evening. Very inventive, producing a rhythmic tone with a goblet alone. I do hope we will have the pleasure of hearing more of this enchanting talent here at court. Why, I haven’t been so entertained in quite sometime.”
Wow. OK, fake da Vinci or not, it was pretty cool to even think that I was being complimented by Leonardo da Vinci. Seriously, that’s gotta be worth a few hundred likes on a YouTube video in my book.
“Why thank you,” I answered him, feeling a slight blush in my cheeks. Darn Celtic skin. “I would, of course, be honored if their Majesties would allow me to stay and continue to entertain the court.” Alrighty, might as well keep up the charade. I wasn’t sure what else to do.
“Magnifico!” Da Vinci exclaimed. I smiled back at him and saw Charles looking in our direction; looking none too pleased, I should note. “Ah, Charles. Just the person we need.” He motioned Charles over to our little group. “Could you please have a room readied for Signorina Isabelle? And perhaps you can show her the music room as well. She has agreed to continue in our company.” For all that da Vinci looked pleased with this statement, Charles looked like he’d just popped in a mouthful of Sour Patch Kids.
“As you wish,” Charles replied through his teeth and gave da Vinci a curt bow in his direction. He then grabbed my arm and began walking away. Genevieve made as if to follow, but Leonardo effectively turned her, gesturing toward something in the opposite direction, and led her away. None too happily, I’d say. I saw Nicole give me a wave and mouth something to the effect of “I’ll find you tomorrow.” And then it was just me and the ever-charming Charles.
I yanked my arm out of his grasp. “You don’t need to hold on to me so hard, you know.” I had to rub the spot where his grip had been. Geez, it hurt.
“My apologies, m’moiselle.” He kept his arms to his sides, but I noticed his hands were balled into fists. “You may have won the good graces of everyone else at court, but remember, I’m the one who found you sneaking about my private quarters. I have not yet found reason to trust you. Nor to believe who you say you are.”
“Blah, blah, blah. Whatever. You’re like a broken record, you know that? Lighten up a bit. Who else would I be?”
“You see? That there. I hear French, but do not understand these words you speak. Something about you does not add up. Until I find out why, I will be watching you.”
OK, creepy much?
“I’m beginning to see why this is a good gig for you. You must be one of those professional stalkers or something. Never mind. I won’t be here long. And I sure don’t want to be the one to see your watchdog Genevieve’s claws come out.” A shiver ran down my spine just thinking about poisons. And rats. Ick. No, I’d much rather stay off her radar thank you very much.
“Claws?” He stopped walking to look at me.
“Yeah, you know.” I curled my fingers and tried to make a face like a mean cat, slashing my hands in the air like claws. “Grrrrrrrr.”
Ha! His mouth twitched, I saw that. Then he was all back to business, briskly stepping down the corridor again.
We turned this way and that, until I was sure I would be thoroughly lost. We went up a flight of stairs, and he threw open a huge wooden door. Taking a lighted torch from the sconce on the wall outside the room, he led the way in, lighting a few ready torches as he went. I looked around the room and gasped in awe. I had never seen anything so beautiful in my life. How had I missed this room on the tour of the castle?
The walls had high arches, all with inlaid wood. There were portraits hanging within the arches, depicting the royal family, I assumed. There were three arched windows on one wall, beyond which I could see the night sky twinkling with stars. The floor was, again, an intricate pattern of inlaid wood, forming diamonds across the room. In the middle there was a gorgeous rug; with deep reds, blues, and greens, and flowers so real looking I could imagine their scent filling the room. Placed all about the room was furniture of various shapes and sizes; mostly chairs and double chairs, all with cushions for comfort. I looked up at the domed ceiling, thinking it strange that no light fixtures had been placed up there. Maybe they were trying to keep it as authentic as possible. It was a shame though. I would have liked to see the paintings on the ceiling better. But even the beauty of the room paled by comparison to the instruments it held within. In one corner, a harp stood majestically. In another was what looked to be a harpsichord, or early version of a piano. A shelf along one wall held stringed instruments of every sort. They all looked strangely bizarre, ye
t familiar at the same time. I didn’t see a guitar, for instance, but there was an instrument that looked very much like one. I would have to brush up on musical instruments in the 16th century to find out what they all were. Where was Siri when you needed her?
Charles stood and watched me as I wandered around the room in awe. Trailing a hand across the strings of the harp, touching each instrument with a reverence only someone with a musical background could have. They were beautiful. My fingers itched to play them all. Finally, I looked up at the imposing figure, still holding a torch in the center of the room to cast light as I took my tour.
“This room is beyond beautiful.” I told him. “I’ve never seen it before, or one like it. If it had a comfy couch in here, I think I could live in it forever.”
“I’m sure the king will be pleased to hear his music room meets with your approval.” He turned toward the door as if he were ready to go. What? I just got here.
“Wait!” Thankfully, he’d stopped in his tracks and looked back at me. “Please, may I play just one?”
Part of me was exhausted and wanted nothing more than to curl up in a bed. I had no idea what time it was, but it felt like I’d been up for hours. Yet the other part of me needed to find the comfort and solace I could only get from music. All the worry about the curious disappearance of my parents, and everyone else I had spent time with at the ball earlier, was stressing me out. I needed a dose of music. Gesturing toward the stringed instruments with my hand, I walked over and gently lifted up the one I thought looked most like a guitar.
I’d seen them before in history books. They were actually precursors of the guitar, which was eventually made by the Spanish. This one, however, was called a lute, if my memory was correct. I carefully turned it over in my hands, examining the workmanship. Wow, it looked like it was new. Which would be impossible, right? It was made of wood like a guitar, but the body was pear-shaped and rounded in the back. It had six strings, but I couldn’t tell what they were made out of. The neck wasn’t as long as it was on a guitar, and the most peculiar detail was the headstock where the tuners were, which was bent backward. Not sure why. I looked up at Charles waiting for his consent to play; not that I believed for one minute that he owned any of this stuff. But, yep, there he went with a nod in my direction. So I sat down and picked at the strings, tuning them by ear.
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