by Allison Tebo
Colin chortled but managed to make it sound like a sneeze. Burndee couldn’t have made a sound even if he had wanted to.
Poppy patted Colin on the head. “He’s such a darling,” she said softly.
Colin preened.
“I . . . it’s nice to have friends,” she said.
Burndee glanced sideways at the girl and saw she was drooping; he thought she might be shaking. She looked like a flower that needed to be staked up.
“Never mind what she says,” Burndee said gruffly, not deigning to say Penelope’s name aloud.
The girl’s eyes darted towards him. “It’s all right. Please don’t trouble yourself over it, sir.”
Burndee wanted to complain to someone about Penelope—he also needed to drown out Colin, who was staring at Burndee fixedly in a silent warning that he was going to start speaking soon. Burndee opened his mouth, but the girl cut him off.
“So that’s Duke Horace.” It wasn’t really a question, more like a statement that held more than a bit of surprise and revulsion.
Burndee said irreverently, “He’s a wonder, isn’t he?”
Colin gave a huff of laughter and then hid his muzzle in his paws.
“I almost feel sorry for Princess Penelope,” said the girl, biting her lip.
Burndee gave her an astonished look, and he felt a catch in the pit of his stomach. She was sorry for the girl that had just viciously attacked her for no reason. She was so much like Ella.
“Do you know her?” he demanded, fully prepared to poke holes in her sympathy.
Poppy’s hands made a peculiar fluttering motion before she said in a careful tone, “I know her a little, sir.”
“Then don’t feel sorry for her,” Burndee said, his voice flat. “Besides, she just yelled at you for—”
The girl moved as if she were about to leave. “Please excuse me, sir. I mustn’t keep you.”
Burndee felt mildly abashed, and Ella’s drilling rushed in, causing him to feel compelled to blurt out something neutral and cordial to cover up her discomfort. “Um, I understand you have . . . singing geese?”
Poppy smiled a little, ducking her head. “It’s not exactly singing, sir . . . or perhaps it is, for geese. They can quack out scales, and you can arrange all the notes into simple melodies.”
“Im . . . pressive,” Burndee managed to say at last.
“Did you, uh, train them yourself?” Colin piped up.
Burndee groaned inwardly.
“Oh, no, I just clean up after them and feed them and such,” Poppy wasn’t looking at Colin; she still seemed to believe that Burndee was utilizing his “ventriloquism.” “I’m a nobody, really,” Poppy clarified in an oddly emphatic voice. “I’m not important, sir.”
“Everyone is important, Poppy, and I’ve never met a nobody in my life,” Colin interjected kindly.
Poppy raised her head and gazed at Burndee, her eyes suddenly glistening. “You’re very gracious, sir.” She gave another one of her quivering gestures as if to sweep something away. “I . . . I must be going about my duties. Please excuse me, sir. And . . . thank you.” She hurried away down the walkway.
“I didn’t say anything,” Burndee grumbled as he dumped Colin on the ground.
Colin straightened his tunic with one paw and gave Burndee a frosty look.
“Well, what is it you wanted so urgently?” Burndee asked. “To be disenchanted?”
“Well, since you brought it up—”
“What else do you want to tell me?” Burndee interrupted rudely. “How nicely Poppy’s been treating you?”
“She’s a real doll,” Colin smiled. He polished off his last crumpet with enthusiasm and brushed his whiskers clean. “But you were right, in a way. I did want to talk to you about Poppy.” Colin was suddenly serious. “She’s genuinely terrified of that dwarf, Conrad.”
“Oh?” Burndee said with new interest.
“I thought perhaps he might leave off after you and I set him straight—”
Burndee could not quite retain a snort.
“But he kept speaking sharply to her. She kept cringing as if she were afraid he might hurt her. I think he’s been threatening her. He certainly never seemed to take his eyes off her, but watched her every second and ordered her around like a slave.”
Burndee felt his collar grow tight. Why was the dwarf going out of his way to squash the girl? Ella had caused him to notice and think about servants differently, and he found his ire quick to flare when he saw servants—particularly girls—being unfairly treated.
“The poor girl literally didn’t have a second to herself without Conrad insulting her and nagging her. I managed to give her some relief by chasing the little bully around the courtyard before Raoul caught me and put me in a cage.” Colin scowled briefly at the memory. “Aside from the fact that it was great fun, I did make an important observation while chasing Conrad. He’s unusually terrified of animals.”
“Most people are afraid of skunks,” Burndee pointed out.
“I know that, but Conrad doesn’t seem comfortable around any animals at all. He was agitated in the stables and kept dodging about and keeping as much distance as possible between the animals and himself.”
“Someone who’s afraid of animals in an animal act?”
“Highly suspicious,” Colin added with a firm nod.
“Perhaps he was simply desperate for the job.”
“I’m telling you, something strange is going on.”
“I think you’re being overly suspicious,” Burndee said, merely for the satisfaction of contradicting him.
A garbled yell interrupted Colin from speaking further. Burndee and Colin looked around and saw Penelope and Horace hurrying towards them. A soft, furry object thumped into Burndee’s ankle, and he looked down to see Meck gripping his leg, his eyes squeezed shut.
“What are you doing, you stupid dumovai?” Penelope scolded as she stomped up to them in the most un-royal manner possible. “How many times have I told you not to go dashing off like that? You’re supposed to stick close to me, remember? And what on earth are you hanging around him for?”
Burndee drew himself up to his full height and stared down his nose at her. Penelope didn’t notice since she was too intent on reaching for Meck. The dumovai waited until she was bent over and off balance before scurrying in a figure eight around Burndee, nearly causing Penelope to pitch face-first to the cobbled walkway.
“You rotten little beast!” Penelope screeched, managing to straighten without assistance or without having to grab Burndee—for which he would be forever grateful.
“He’s not an animal!” Burndee snapped. “He’s a thinking, feeling creature, and he can understand everything you’re saying right now, you know.”
“I certainly hope he can.” She leaned down, shoving her twisted face close to Meck. The dumovai leaned back against Burndee. “I’m going to put you in a cage and throw away the key. What do you think about that?”
“I would think you would be grateful that Meck gives you magical assistance and is your companion,” Burndee retorted, stiff with loathing.
“What would you know about it?” Penelope snarled. “And who asked for your opinion?” She turned her glare on Horace, who looked slightly disturbed by what was going on. “I want my dumovai taken to my room immediately. He’s had enough air.”
“Here, allow me,” Burndee said shortly, scooping up Meck. “I’ll take him inside and have a servant put him in your room. Will that be all right?”
Penelope stiffened. “Oh no, you don’t have to—”
Strangely enough, Horace took that opportunity to actually initiate a conversation with Penelope, sufficiently distracting her, although she continued to cast anxious and angry looks in Burndee’s direction.
Burndee ignored her, but he spared a moment to mentally extend Horace some reluctant gratitude. “Wait here,” he murmured to Colin. “Hide in the bushes.”
Colin raised an eyebrow and moved over to a hedge, strutting in spite
of his displeased tone. “What else is new?”
Instead of handing Meck over to a servant, Burndee merely asked to be shown to Penelope’s chambers. A servant showed him the way, and Burndee summarily dismissed him, practically shooing him away, before he walked inside Penelope’s room—a suite that was, in Burndee’s opinion, far too opulent for the brat.
The moment the door thumped closed, Burndee set Meck down on the floor with infinite care, his lip curling in disgust. “I’m sorry about Penelope. You can at least be alone here.” He stepped back respectfully to give the dumovai some space.
Meck peeked at him, and understanding leaped between them; Burndee could feel his magic tingling in his fingertips for an instant as it recognized Meck’s own magical abilities. Then the feeling drained away, and Burndee sighed, railing inwardly at the restraining spell.
The dumovai scampered over to an ornate desk and scurried skillfully up it via a table leg. He grabbed a piece of parchment, uncorked an ink bottle, and dipped a quill into it.
Burndee watched with interest as Meck scratched away at the parchment. The dumovai threw the pen down in almost hysterical haste. With a desperate squeak, he held up the paper and gazed up into Burndee’s face.
It was a crude drawing, but a drawing nonetheless. Burndee blinked. Dumovai really were quite intelligent. He could even make out what it was.
A flower.
Burndee remembered the poppies that Meck had kept bringing him in the gardens. This tiny furball really did have a strange obsession with poppies, but if he wanted one that desperately, Burndee supposed—
Poppies—Poppy.
Everything fell into place. The surprisingly barbaric princess. The frightened girl with the strangely dignified manner who clearly loved animals, clearly disliked Penelope, and clearly had an interest in Horace. The animosity between Poppy and Penelope. The skulking dwarf watching Poppy’s every move. A dumovai who was supposed to be a beloved pet but was obviously distressed and abused and trying desperately to tell Burndee something.
Something about a poppy.
It was ridiculous, preposterous, but it did form a picture—a picture he was going to break into a million pieces.
As soon as he found his skunk.
6
W hat would you say if I said that Penelope is not the real princess of Radorria . . . but Poppy, the goose girl, is?”
Colin’s face twitched as if he were about to make a derisive joke, but then he glanced at Burndee’s expression and seriously considered Burndee’s question. “I’d say that’s probably the nicest thing that’s happened to Radorria in decades.”
“And then what?”
Colin frowned reflectively. “It’s possible. What led you to assume such a thing?”
Burndee quickly told him about Meck’s message and Poppy’s odd exchange with Penelope and Horace in the garden—every scrap he could remember. He felt suspiciously like an overactive conspiracy theorist. He didn’t enjoy putting the theory forward, and he gave a sigh of relief when he had finished.
Colin was thoughtful. “I think . . . you’re right.”
“But we don’t have any proof. We’d look like grand fools if we told anyone this without any evidence. Not to mention embarrass everyone involved if we’re wrong—or endanger someone if it’s true. I have a plan . . . but we’ll need some assistance.” Burndee couldn’t quite bring himself to say help.
“Why can’t you just use your magic?”
Burndee stiffened, and he barely realized that he turned his shoulder to Colin, the way he would if we were trying to shield a wound or a bruise. “I will, but I want to limit how many times I use it. I . . . have to.”
Colin’s brow furrowed. “Why?”
“Never mind about that!” Burndee snapped, steering the conversation quickly away from such a hazardous topic. “I have a plan all worked out—just listen.”
Burndee found Armand sitting on the edge of the courtyard fountain, munching on something. The giant jumped when he heard Burndee approaching, and tried to cram whatever he was eating into his tunic, but when he turned a guilty face around and saw that it was only Burndee, he relaxed.
“Chocolate mouse, milord?” He held out a gnawed-on, brown object.
Burndee peered at it with revulsion, but a certain amount of relief surfaced as he realized that the mice that Armand kept indulging in were actually solid chocolate, molded in the shape of little animals; more specifically, mice. The burgeoning queasiness in the pit of his stomach eased. “Er, no.”
“I’m not supposed to eat it because it makes my tongue swell up and my face break out and my nose almost fall off from sneezing,” Armand confided.
“Ah, really?”
“But I can’t give it up. It’s my favorite snack in the world,” Armand said around a mouthful.
“So I guessed. Armand . . . I was wondering if you could do me a small favor. Nothing complicated, just a joke we want to play on someone. I’d make it worth your while.”
Armand tilted his head. “A joke, you say?”
“Sort of.”
For a moment, Burndee thought Armand would say no, but then the giant’s face grew interested. “Who’s the joke on?”
Burndee was sure he had him there, so he allowed himself a small, satisfied smile.
After a slight “adjustment,” Colin had taken to the bushes, while Burndee slipped around the corner of the outbuilding that was being used as a dressing room by the troupe, and took up careful position to watch the show unfold.
Conrad and Poppy were hanging streamers around the outbuilding that was currently storing the troupe’s equipment. Judging from the girl’s hunched shoulders and red face, the dwarf was lambasting her under his breath. They looked up at the sound of honking, and their mouths fell open as Armand strolled towards them, shooing Poppy’s eight geese ahead of him.
“What are you doing with those geese?” Conrad demanded. “Poppy, you useless girl! You’re supposed to be tending them. What is Armand doing with your geese?”
“I . . . I don’t know,” Poppy protested, looking back and forth between the geese and Armand.
“I was supposed to take them for a walk,” Armand responded, unperturbed.
Conrad’s eyes popped open wide in disbelief. “A walk?” He folded his arms. “Hmph! Well, Poppy can do it.”
“Raoul told me to take them out. He wants to see Poppy in the dressing room.” Armand waved a hand towards the outbuilding Burndee was hiding behind. “He has a few questions about the goose song we have planned.”
“I’ll go with her,” Conrad declared.
Armand held up a restraining hand. “Raoul wants you to help Dusan and Dalasar hoist the stage curtain.”
“I’ll do it later!” Conrad snapped. “First, I’ll go with—”
“Raoul’s in a bad mood,” Armand said amiably, conspicuously unaffected by his master’s supposed bad mood. “He says if you both don’t hop to it, you’re fired.” He fished inside his tunic and found a chocolate mouse. He took a loud bite.
Conrad glared at him as if he were envisioning walking up the giant’s chest and slapping him repeatedly in the face. “Very well,” he grumbled at last, and then he snagged Poppy’s gaze with a smoldering stare. “You watch yourself, missy.”
Armand raised an eyebrow at his hostile tone and reached inside his tunic. “I think you need some chocolate.” He removed a piece of chocolate from a pouch and then sneezed violently on it.
Conrad wrinkled his nose. “Disgusting!”
Armand shrugged. “Oh well. Come on, Poppy, let’s go.”
“Hey, wait!” Conrad yelled after them as they walked away. “You forgot the geese! You can’t just leave them to wander about!”
Armand threw up a hand without turning around. “Oh, I forgot! I’m supposed to be doing something else. Just walk them over to the stage and bring them back later, would you?”
“Are you joking?” Conrad protested. “I can’t—”
The geese,
milling about idly until that moment, turned to observe Conrad as his voice rose to a blustering scream.
The “lead goose,” that Armand had identified earlier as Sonya, arched her neck towards Conrad and studied him. She hissed, and, like soldiers responding to a command, the other geese honked imperiously and began encircling the dwarf in a phalanx-like maneuver.
Conrad twitched a nervous smile and slowly slid his feet along the ground without picking them up.
“Good goose,” he said, his eyelids fluttering anxiously.
Sonya cocked her head and stomped closer to the dwarf with unmistakable intent in her malicious black eyes.
Conrad looked and sounded increasingly desperate. “Good goose!”
One of the other geese apparently had no intention of letting Sonya lead the charge. It let out an impatient war cry and flew into Conrad’s screaming face in a white storm of flapping feathers.
Conrad threw up his fists to defend himself but failed to stop the goose from getting a good grip on his bulbous nose. Conrad let out a roar of pain, which seemed to amuse the geese and invite them to torment him further. In a trice, two of them went for his ears as Sonya aimed for the area Conrad was accustomed to sitting upon. Three of the other geese took to the air and added to the frenzied, shrieking mass by diving at the miserable dwarf, while the last goose seemed content to watch the melee. One of them succeeded in plucking Conrad’s hat from his head, and Burndee could have sworn that the ensuing honks sounded exactly like laughter.
“Daaaaaaaaaagghhhhhhh!” Conrad squealed, managing to fight his way free of the feathery mass long enough to take to his heels.
Conrad’s disagreeable behavior had finally caught up with him. A few curious heads turned to observe the small form legging it across the grounds with his belled jerkin ringing in dismay as he was pursued by an aggressively flapping entourage, but nobody made a single move to assist him. In fact, some of the members of the troupe appeared to redouble their busyness, as if to solidify their alibis for when the abused Conrad eventually returned to their midst.
“Good geese, good geese, good geese!” Conrad shrieked. His small boots fairly twinkled as he raced across the grounds and disappeared from sight with a final bloodcurdling shriek. Colin hadn’t been exaggerating; Conrad really didn’t like animals.
