“Enough chatter,” Squeak interrupted crossly. “Just go get in the bag and wait. The rest of us still have chores to do before sunrise. This has taken far too long!”
“It would have taken less time if we could have talked to her directly,” Oggie pointed out.
“The bag!” cried Squeak, and Flora imagined that he was gesturing imperiously in the right direction.
Oggie and Kipper both chuckled. “Bye, Squeak. Bye, Roly, and Gammon, and Bubble. Tell Haddock and Toad how everything went, would you? If all goes well, we’ll be back in the evening. At the very least, you could have a nifara come to ferret you out sometime tomorrow.”
Goodbyes sounded all around, along with another slew of odd compliments (“We’ll miss your skill with a scrub brush tonight, my dear fellow,” and so forth). Then the room grew still. Flora lay in her bed, wide awake now and certain that she would not get another wink of sleep before morning. It was terrifying to know that strange creatures had congregated in her room and even more so that a couple of them still remained. Even if they were brownies—which were supposed to be helpful to humans—she still didn’t relish the idea of little elfin men tromping about her room, or the house in general.
She lay very still—for how long, she knew not—before she finally gave up on sleep. She threw back the bedcovers and felt around the top of her bedside table for the little box of matches that she kept there. The fledgling flame of her lantern cast long, lively shadows around the room, but one sweeping glance showed the place to be empty. Flora spied her canvas bag where it sat upon a chair in the corner and immediately averted her eyes. They landed instead on her bookshelf, specifically on the thick botany book she had borrowed from Graham’s a few weeks previous. Thanks to everything that had happened to her since then, she had not finished it.
Impulsively she scrambled from her bed to snatch up the tome, thankful that she had something with which to divert her attention. She read from its pages until the gray light of dawn shone through the slit of space between her curtains. Exhaustion had overtaken her in those intervening hours, but it was nothing to the relief she felt when she realized that morning had come at last.
She dressed quickly and then, with shaking hands, she picked up the canvas bag from its chair in the corner. It felt no heavier than usual. First she wondered if the pair of brownies was inside, and then she wondered if they even existed at all. As the stark morning light spread across the room and brightened her surroundings, she wondered if she had dreamed the whole encounter. Creatures that had seemed so real in the mystery of night became absurd in the reality of day. Had she not been guardian to a well of magic, had she not already encountered magical creatures before this, she would have dismissed the nighttime conversation as nothing more than the product of an overactive imagination.
Cook was surprised to see her up so early when she entered the kitchen. “Why, Miss!” she cried. “Breakfast isn’t even ready yet!”
Flora set her bag on the counter and settled heavily on a chair next to it. “I couldn’t sleep. I don’t suppose my box lunch is ready yet, is it?”
“I’ll have it to you in a jiffy,” said Cook. “Are you sure you’re feeling all right? You have terrible bags beneath your eyes.”
She imagined that she did. “I’m fine,” she replied all the same. A sudden recollection occurred to her. “Do you know anything about brownies?” she asked.
Cook frowned. “They’re a newish sort of confection—I’ve never made them myself, but I could probably find a recipe, if you’d like to try them.”
A scandalized gasp sounded from the canvas bag.
“I’m not talking about something you eat,” said Flora with an alarmed glance in that direction.
“Oh! You must mean hobs, then,” said Cook. Her back was to Flora as she stirred a pot of porridge on the stovetop. “The little elfin men that live in the house and fix things? They’re sometimes called brownies.”
“Brownies and hobs are completely different, Oggie,” whispered a voice in the canvas bag.
“Count on humans not to know that, Kipper,” Oggie whispered back.
Flora’s skin crawled. Cook heard only the murmurings and inquired absently, “What was that, dear?”
“Nothing,” said Flora quickly. “I was only wondering whether you thought they really existed or not.”
“Oh, certainly,” Cook replied. “Living this close to the forest, I’d have to believe, wouldn’t I? I leave out a saucer of milk and a bowl of porridge for them every night over by the hearth.” She pointed in that direction with one hand as she continued to stir with the other. “You want to keep them happy, of course. They get easily insulted and can turn into boggarts if you’re not careful—and that causes trouble indeed. They’re magical creatures and can use their power for terrible mischief if they choose to. In general they’re supposed to be very genial and helpful, though. Why, my grandmother used to say that every house in the country had at least one living in it, and that we needed to be on our best behavior so as not to drive them away entirely. Your breakfast is close enough to ready, dear. Did you want to eat in here or wait for your father to come down to the breakfast room?”
“Here is fine,” said Flora. “I think I’ll be heading up to the palace before him this morning.”
Cook plopped a bowl of porridge down in front of her. “What on earth do you do up there, that you would have to go before him?” she asked curiously.
“I’m studying. But this morning I had a question, and I have to go ask it before everyone at the palace has started into their regular schedules.”
It was an inadequate explanation, one for which Cook might have asked any number of probing questions, but she accepted it with a roll of her eyes. “What they be doing having a delicate girl like you involved in any administrative matters is beyond my understanding,” she muttered, “and you half-dead from exhaustion! I’ll have your box ready for you soon, but if you know what’s good for you, you’ll eat now.”
Flora took the advice and found comfort in the warm porridge. As she swallowed the last bite, Cook deposited her freshly prepared box lunch on the countertop.
Instinctively she reached forward to place it into her bag, but her hands froze. Would the brownies get offended? They didn’t want her looking inside the bag, but that was where she always carried her lunch.
“I need to put my lunch into my bag,” she said aloud. Cook, who had returned to the stove, glanced back over her shoulder, looking as though she thought Flora had gone daft. “Let me put my dishes in the sink first,” said Flora, though, and she hurried to perform that task instead.
Either the brownies could pull the lunchbox inside or else they could sufficiently steel themselves for the moment when she parted the top of the bag and nestled it there. Putting her dishes in the sink was only a tactical delay. It paid off, too. When she returned to the counter, the box had disappeared, but a telltale bulge in her bag showed exactly where it had gone.
“I’ll be off, then,” Flora said to Cook. “Thanks for breakfast.”
Outside the kitchen, she encountered Mrs. Finch, who was also surprised to see her up so early. Flora gave her the same excuse she had given Cook and then asked the housekeeper to let her father know that she had gone ahead of him.
A needling wind followed her all the way to the palace gates. She sincerely hoped that the little brownies weren’t freezing solid in her bag. She had not the first clue where within the palace she was supposed to find such a thing as a nifara and could only hope that one of the Morelands would be able to direct her (for certainly she was not going to ask anyone else).
The soldiers at the gates only nodded to her, already accustomed to seeing her pass this way. Flora headed straight for the palace entrance. As she started up the stairs, the door at the top opened, and a familiar figure emerged. She froze in dismay as she recognized Charles Moreland.
He was three steps down the stairs before he raised his eyes and realized that she was
right in front of him. He immediately stopped.
“Miss Dalton,” he acknowledged. “You’re here rather early, aren’t you?”
Flora’s insides quaked at that arctic tone of voice. Charlie was the last Moreland she would have chosen to ask anything of, but she could not deny that his sudden appearance was fortuitous under the circumstances. It didn’t matter whether he was still furious with her over yesterday’s encounter. A pair of brownies lay nestled in her bag with every expectation that she would deliver them where they wanted to go, and according to Cook, they could get easily offended and cause any amount of trouble if she failed.
Still, she hesitated to address the problem to him of all people.
Her expression reflected the desperation she so dearly tried to suppress, for Charlie’s severe countenance shifted into one of worry.
“Are you all right?” he asked her.
“You said if I needed help I only had to ask, right?” Flora blurted. If she asked anything of him, she wanted him to acknowledge first that he had opened that door to her himself.
Charlie hurried down the few steps that separated them. “What’s wrong?” The steady concern in his voice was a welcome change from the sullen, angry manner in which he had addressed her of late. “Has something happened to the well? Did you try to use magic on something?” he added suspiciously.
“No!” cried Flora, offended. “I haven’t done anything of the sort!”
“Then what’s wrong?”
A frustrated noise escaped her lips. “Never mind,” she muttered, and she started up the stairs past him. “I’ll find someone else.”
Charlie caught her elbow. “I’m right here,” he said firmly. “What is wrong?”
Much as she wanted to wrench away from him, she had no guarantee that she would be able to find someone else in a timely manner, short of intruding upon the Moreland home itself. Charlie seemed intent enough, too. Rather than utter any further suspicions, he simply waited for her to speak the issue.
Flora’s resolve cracked. “What’s a nifara?” she asked.
His hand jerked away as though burned. “Why do you want to know something like that?” The wall of suspicion had returned. “Where did you even hear that word?”
She had asked about something she was not meant to know, she realized. Charlie’s demeanor, for all of its sudden hostility, held a measure of fear in it. “I’m supposed to deliver something to a nifara at the palace,” she said frankly, “only I can’t, since I don’t know what a nifara is.” She thought she heard a snort of disbelief from inside her canvas bag.
“Give it to me,” Charlie commanded, and he extended one expectant hand. “I’ll take it where it needs to go.”
Flora did not get the chance to accept or refuse this offer. Instead, from inside her canvas bag a voice piped up distinctly. “Oggie,” said Kipper, “I don’t care if this fellow reeks of magic. If she dares hand us over to him, I’m going to go boggart on them both.”
“I’m with you there, Kipper,” Oggie replied as a blush rose on Flora’s cheeks. “We’ve entrusted ourselves to her, not him.”
“I’m afraid I must refuse your kind offer, Mr. Moreland,” said Flora faintly, and her grip tightened around her bag.
“Ooh, so he’s a Moreland!” mused Kipper appreciatively. “That explains the reek of magic around him.”
“Doesn’t change that we’re not going anywhere with him,” Oggie added, his voice intentionally pitched for both Flora and Charlie to hear him clearly.
Charlie’s eyes had grown as large as saucers over the course of this whole exchange. “What,” he began with an edge to his voice, “is in that bag?”
Flora didn’t know whether she was allowed to name the contents or not, but under the circumstances she thought she had no other choice. “Brownies,” she said curtly. She added, “It seems a pack of them have been trapped in my house since all the wards went up. I’m not allowed to talk directly to them, but they said they would talk to a nifara, and that there were a couple of those here at the palace.”
Her words spurred him to action. He suddenly looped his arm through hers and practically dragged her alongside him as he scurried back up the stairs. “I’ll take you to Father,” he said.
“He’s no nifara,” said one of the brownies in the bag. “We’re not to be handed over to him.”
“Can’t you tell them to keep quiet for now?” Charlie asked her.
“I think you just did,” Flora retorted. “I can’t very well blame them for getting worried. If your father’s not a nifara, then why are we going there?”
“Because we have to have his permission first,” Charlie replied in a hushed voice. “And please don’t say that word any more. Some of the guards might overhear you.”
She surmised from this that the nifaran at the palace were very secret creatures indeed. Thus, she shut her mouth and concentrated on keeping pace alongside Charlie. The guards that lined the halls openly watched as they passed, and Flora wondered what story would result from her being seen first thing in the morning walking briskly arm in arm with Charles Moreland.
Prime Minister Moreland was not yet in his office, according to his secretary. Charlie muttered a curse under his breath and whisked Flora in the opposite direction of the way they had come. She was learning the layout of the administrative wing of the palace well enough; she had traversed this particular route only once before. It led to the apartments of the Eternal Prince.
Charlie breathed a sigh of relief when they turned a corner to see his father halfway up the hall. The Prime Minister was on his way to his office; he saw the pair and continued forward nonchalantly.
“Stay here,” Charlie hissed. He left Flora and jogged forward to meet his father.
“Bossy thing, isn’t he?” said Oggie to Kipper. Flora silently agreed, but she obeyed the command nonetheless. Exhausted, she leaned against the wall to watch as Charlie pulled his father close and whispered something in his ear. Prime Minister Moreland actually jerked in surprise. Both he and Charlie looked back at Flora, and then he asked a hushed question, which Charlie promptly answered in the same tones. For a moment neither of them spoke, their faces grave.
Flora felt instinctively as though she had committed some heinous crime. She wondered if she should have refused to help the brownies. Now that she had time to consider, she realized she might have come to the palace empty-handed and reported the infestation to the Prime Minister rather than cart a couple of magical creatures up with her as proof. A strong sense of foolishness crept up her spine.
Sudden determination possessed the Prime Minister. He squared his shoulders, schooled his expression into one of calm collection, and strode forward. Charlie kept pace beside him.
“Father, what are you going to do?” he hissed.
Prime Minister Moreland’s mouth curved into a welcoming smile as he approached. “Miss Dalton,” he said, his voice pitched to fill the hallway, “thank you for coming so early this morning.”
He was putting on a show for the soldiers that stood stationed further down the corridor. As Flora knew not how to respond, she simply bobbed her head in silence.
The Prime Minister neatly tucked her arm in his. “Come along, Charles,” he instructed his son.
Flora’s sense of wrongdoing grew with every step. She was sure her face reflected her increasing terror, but she could not gather her wits enough to suppress that feeling. They were walking straight for the apartments of the Eternal Prince himself, and though she had approached once before, she had not been smuggling a pair of brownies in her bag at that time.
“Have you gone crazy, Father?” Charlie whispered from his other side.
“I resigned myself to this eventuality some time ago,” Prime Minister Moreland replied in much the same tones. “The palace staff and half the city already think that she’s met with him once before. There’s no purpose in keeping her away, especially under the circumstances.”
Flora knew from this exchang
e that she was headed straight to a meeting with the Eternal Prince of Lenore in the flesh. The Prince was supposed to be a creature of magic, so he would probably deal with the brownies, but she thought that if they had wanted to meet him, they would have said so outright. Not a word of objection did the hidden pair speak, though. Charlie and Prime Minister Moreland, too, had fallen silent. Flora steeled her wits for the impending interview.
The trio paused at the tall, ornate doors. “Miss Dalton has come for her appointment with the Eternal Prince,” said the Prime Minister to the pair of sentries. Then, with a serene smile on his face, he swung open the door and motioned her inward.
Flora passed through with Charlie on her heels. Nicholas Moreland entered last of all and shut the door tight behind him. He then turned to her with an expression that terrified her in its solemnity.
“Well, Miss Dalton, here we are again. Only, this time, it’s a little different.” He pointed toward the Prince’s library. “Within that room is the Eternal Prince of Lenore, who happens to be the nifara that your friends have requested to meet.”
Flora’s breath caught in her throat. She could not stop an instinctive glance toward the door. The Prince was a nifara, whatever that meant. The brownies had spoken of a pair of the creatures within the palace, though. From everything Flora had ever heard, the Eternal Prince was nothing if not unique. Who, then, was the second…?
“It’s something of a formality at this point,” the Prime Minister continued, “but would you please swear that whatever may occur in this encounter, you will never speak of it to any outside soul as long as you shall live?”
“I—I swear,” said Flora, and the terror in her mind amplified that much more under such an oath.
“In we go, then,” he replied, and, giving her no time to compose her nerves, he swept open the door and entered the library. “Good morning again, your Highness. I’ve brought you a visitor whom you’ll no doubt be delighted to see.”
Charlie nudged Flora’s shoulder and tipped his head to the door, a mute command for her to follow. The scowl on his face showed exactly how pleased he was with the situation.
Tournament of Ruses Page 21
