by E. D. Baker
“Now, isn’t this just perfect!” said the toad. “As if my day isn’t bad enough, a human has to come along and . . . Hey, what are you doing?”
Grassina carefully lowered the toad into the sack. “Taking you home with me,” she replied, forgetting her resolution not to talk to the toads.
“Really? But we just met. Aren’t you being a little presumptuous?”
“My mother needs someone like you,” she said, peering into the bag.
“What for?” asked the toad.
“I’m not sure. She didn’t say and I didn’t ask.”
“Is she a nice person or should I be worried?”
“She used to be very nice, but lately . . . Let’s just say that she’s not quite the same person anymore.”
“In that case . . . ,” said the toad, and with a giant leap, it flew out of the bag, hit Grassina squarely on the chin, and landed sprawling in the mud.
“Ow!” said Grassina. “Hey, come back here! I need you! My mother will turn me into something awful if I don’t bring her a toad with seven warts!” As the toad hopped away, Grassina chased it, half bent over and nearly stumbling over the hem of her gown. She was still chasing the toad when she noticed the first paw print in the mud. It looked like it might belong to one of her father’s hounds, only it was bigger and slightly longer. “That’s odd,” she said to herself.
Seeing another paw print a short distance from the first, she forgot about the still-hopping toad and knelt down to examine the prints. Grassina was familiar with nearly every kind of creature that had ever set paw in the swamp, yet this print was new to her. She went on, hoping to see which way the animal had gone, and stopped short. Another print was placed right where the creature’s next step would have landed, yet it was different enough from the first that it could have been made by some other, perhaps larger, beast. The pads were longer and set farther apart. The print beyond that was also different, and the one beyond that was . . .
Grassina looked up at the sound of leaves rustling in the underbrush. It was a very little sound, yet it was loud in the still afternoon air. There was a smell as well—a musky kind of odor that was as unusual as the paw prints. Grassina shivered with the feeling that someone or something was watching her. Slipping her hand into the leather sack, she wrapped her fingers around one of her smooth, round throwing stones. She glanced at the prints again as she backed away. Whatever had made them was heading toward the enchanted forest. From the way the prints seemed to change with every step, Grassina was almost sure that it had come from there as well.
The rustling stopped as she backed away, but the sudden silence made her uneasy. Pulling the stone from her sack, Grassina took two more steps backward, then turned and started back the way she’d come, her ears straining to hear anything unusual behind her. The same sixth sense that had kept her safe so many other times had told her it was time to go home.
Grassina left the swamp and was passing the practice field when Chartreuse called out, “Grassina, is that you? Come over here and give me a hand!” Chartreuse tapped her toe with impatience until Grassina reached her side. Handing her younger sister the small wooden bucket she’d been carrying, Chartreuse said, “Mother is ruining my life! It didn’t take me long to find those butterflies, but when I took them to her, she sent me out to pluck dandelion fluff. And I so wanted to talk to Prince Pietro. I told him how much I like poetry, and he was going to write me some. But look at what that fluff did to my fingers! No one will want to write poetry to my beauty after this.” Still talking, she shoved pink fingertips under Grassina’s nose. “It felt soft at first, but I’ve pulled so much of it that my fingers are worked nearly to the bone. It was bad enough that they were practically pickled in that vinegar last night. My hands are probably scarred for life. A princess shouldn’t have to do things like this. It’s a disgrace! I’m so tired, I could lie down right here and fall asleep—if the ground was cleaner. What have you been doing?”
“Looking for the toad I told you about,” Grassina said, her face flushing as she remembered that she’d let the toad get away.
“And it took you all day? Just be glad you didn’t have to pick dandelion fluff. My back is so sore from bending over that I feel like an old crone. Take that in to Mother for me,” Chartreuse said, pointing at the bucket. “I need to wash before supper. I just hope I don’t run into any of my princes before I change out of these dirty clothes.”
Without the toad in her possession, the last thing Grassina wanted to do was go see her mother. “If that’s what you want, but won’t Mother think that I picked it all?” Swinging the bucket for emphasis, she raised it in such a big arc that the soft fibers threatened to fall out.
“Never mind!” Chartreuse said, snatching the bucket away. “I’ll do it myself.”
When they reached the castle, the two girls parted; Chartreuse went in search of their mother while Grassina headed for the dungeon. She knew she’d have to face her mother sometime, but she hoped to find another toad first. In the meantime, she wanted to talk to her father, the one person who could truly commiserate with her.
“I can’t really talk to Chartreuse about it,” she said from her seat on an old chest that her father had had carried down to the dungeon. Grassina was sitting in the room he’d taken over when Olivene decided that he’d been a rat long enough and changed him back into a human. It was a lot more comfortable than it had looked the first time she’d seen it; he’d had it cleaned out and a few pieces of furniture brought in, making it almost homelike. “When I try to talk to Chartreuse,” Grassina continued, “everything is either about her or the kingdom. I don’t think she cares about anything else. She can’t see any of this from my point of view, or yours, and certainly not from Mother’s. Although I suppose I can’t blame her for that last part. Mother is terrible now. I know she hasn’t been like this for long, but it’s getting harder to remember her any other way.”
“Not for me,” said King Aldrid. “I can still close my eyes and picture her exactly the way she was the day we met. I started loving her that very first moment and never stopped, despite what she might have thought. It was my fault she became a victim of her family curse, and I’ll never forgive myself. If only I’d listened to her mother.”
“But you said that everyone thought Grandmother was crazy. I don’t remember her very well, but I do remember that she did the strangest things. Once she had me stand with my feet in two buckets of water for most of an afternoon. She said she was trying to protect me from the fairies.”
King Aldrid sighed. “That sounds like her. Maybe she knew something that we didn’t. And now your mother . . .”
“Mother isn’t crazy, she’s cursed. There’s a difference. A curse can be undone, and when I’m older, I intend to find out how. I want Mother back the way she was.”
“We all do, sweetling,” said the king. “Everyone that is, except your mother. She seems content with her new condition, although that might be part of the curse, too.”
“She should be happy, since we’re doing so much work for her,” grumbled Grassina. “Even so, if we don’t do exactly what she wants, she turns us into all sorts of things. I told you about being a rabbit. I was a mole yesterday morning. Chartreuse was a chicken for a few hours, but she won’t admit to anything else.”
“At least your lives are interesting,” said the king.
Grassina laughed, but not because she thought it was funny. “Too interesting, if you ask me.” Seeing a wistful expression on her father’s face, she asked, “Is it that bad down here, Father?”
“I don’t mind it,” said her father. “I even like it in a way. My men come to see me, so I’m current with everything I need to do. And when I’m not working on the affairs of the kingdom, I’ve found time to write. I started creating a history of Greater Greensward years ago, but never had the time to finish it. I’ve been able to make some real headway the last few days because it’s so quiet. I can’t even hear the squabbling going on upstair
s.”
Grassina turned her head, unable to meet his eyes. She knew that at least part of the problem was the way she and Chartreuse couldn’t get along. Even though she’d known that their arguing had disturbed their father, she’d never really tried to stop. And now that there seemed to be more than ever to argue about, she didn’t see that it would ever end.
Grassina slid off the trunk. “It’s getting late. I’d better go. But first,” she said, remembering why she’d returned from the swamp, “I meant to tell you about something I saw today. There were paw prints . . . like a dog’s or a wolf ’s, but very odd. They changed from one step to the next. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
King Aldrid’s gaze was sharp and direct. “How did they change?”
“The paw seemed to grow longer, the pads wider. . . . Why? Is it important?”
“I’m afraid so,” said her father. “I was wondering when something like this would happen. I just wasn’t expecting it so soon.”
“Expecting what?” she asked.
“Paw prints like that belong to werewolves, my dear. It’s a sign that things are about to go very wrong in Greater Greensward.”
Seven
Grassina got up early the next morning, borrowed a basket with a lid from a scullery maid, and made her way down to the swamp. This time she was going to be prepared; no toad would get away from her again. She had just set her wicker basket down and lifted the lid when something hurtled over the lip, making the wicker creak. “What was that?” she said, peering inside.
A surly-looking toad blinked up at her and said, “I’m a who, not a what. The least you can do is be nice to me, considering I put myself in here.”
Grassina picked up the basket. “Why did you?” she asked, already counting the toad’s seven warts.
“I don’t rightly know,” said the toad, sounding genuinely puzzled. “There I was, slurping up a worm, when all of a sudden my legs just carried me in. I’d jump out if I could, but my legs are locked up tighter than a snake’s jaws on a muskrat. I don’t suppose you’d want to take me out and set me back on the ground so I could finish my breakfast?”
“Not a chance,” Grassina replied, closing the basket’s lid. “You have seven warts, so you’re just what I need. I’m not one to look a gift toad in the mouth.”
“I never said I’d open my mouth so you could look in,” said the toad, his voice muffled by the wicker. “You’re awfully arrogant, thinking I would do that for you.”
Grassina slid the little piece of wood to latch the lid. “I would like to know what compelled you to do it. Toads don’t just jump into baskets for no reason. Something or someone,” she said, looking around her, “made you do this. I wonder why.”
“Because they’re mean and ornery and hate me for no good reason that I can think of ?” said the toad.
“Maybe . . . or maybe someone is trying to help me. Whoever you are,” she said, raising her voice, “thank you!”
“Yeah,” grumped the toad. “Thanks a lot!”
Pleased that she finally had the toad she’d been ordered to find, Grassina hurried to take it to her mother. She found the queen alone in the Great Hall, crouched on a bench while she pulled leeches off her dripping legs.
“That moat’s full of leeches,” said Olivene, glancing up at her daughter. “Good thing, too. Means I have a steady supply. A little boiled leech paste and . . . What is that you have there?” The queen’s long nose quivered as she eyed Grassina’s basket.
“It’s that toad you asked for. I brought it as soon as—”
Olivene’s lips pursed, and her eyes grew as cold as iron. “I told you to get that toad yesterday! A day late is almost as bad as not at all. I think you need a little lesson about being slow, my girl.”
The color drained from Grassina’s face when her mother raised her arm. Setting the basket on the floor, she backed away, saying, “I’m truly sorry, Mother. It won’t happen again! I’ve already learned my lesson.”
“I’ll be the judge of that,” sneered Olivene. “Next time I’m sure you’ll do whatever it takes to be prompt!”
The turtle skirted a moldy clump of tansy, shaking its head in disgust. The herbs that covered the floor of the Great Hall should have been replaced weeks ago, but ever since the queen had fallen prey to the family curse, a lot of things had been neglected in the castle. Two pages were just returning from watching the knights practice with swords and lances when one of them discovered the turtle. The freckle-faced boy, the son of a minor noble and the youngest page in the castle, stopped to poke the plodding turtle with his shoe. “Look at this! How do you suppose it got in here? Do you think it belongs to somebody?” The boy picked it up and flipped it over to examine its underside. Startled, the turtle pulled its head and limbs into its shell and squeezed its eyes shut.
A page with curly black hair rapped on the shell with his knuckles. With the authoritative air of someone a full year older, he said, “Nobody brings a turtle into the castle unless it’s meant for supper. I love a good turtle soup.”
“Maybe it escaped from the kitchen,” said the first page. “Do you think Cook will give us a reward if we take it back?”
“Let’s see if she has any tarts left from last night,” the older boy said, reaching for the turtle. “Give it to me! I’ll take it to her.”
“And claim all the tarts for yourself ? I don’t think so!” Snatching his prize back, the younger boy took off running with his friend right behind.
Acting in a very unturtlelike manner, the captive stuck its head out of its shell, looking for a way to escape. Its head bounced painfully on its scrawny neck as the boy ran, but the turtle knew what would happen if it reached the kitchen: a little discomfort was the least of its worries.
“Cook!” shouted the page. “We found your turtle!”
“My what?” The head cook blinked sleepily at them from her seat by the fireplace, where she’d been dozing with a cat on her lap. She peered at the turtle as the pages held it up for her to inspect. “Ah,” she murmured, “it’s a nice turtle, too. Thank you, boys. I like a bowl of turtle soup now and then. Give it to Lettie there. She’ll know what to do with it.”
Thrusting its legs out of its shell, the turtle struggled to get down, but the boy held it away from his chest so that his captive had nothing to push against.
“Drop that right in this pot,” said a chubby young woman with cheeks bright red from the cooking fire. “Oh, that’s a good-sized one, that is! This water’s cold, but it’ll soon heat up over this nice hot fire, so . . . I say, what’s this? Turtles aren’t supposed to glow like that, are they?” The scullery maid was staring down into the pot with eyes as big as trenchers.
“What are you going on about, Lettie?” Cook said, dislodging the cat as she leaned forward in her seat.
“Agh!” shrieked the scullery maid. She dropped the pot, which had suddenly become too heavy to hold. It hit the floor with a clang, splashing water everywhere. While the maid backed away from the fire, the pages fought to see around her. They gasped when a person shot up out of the pot and went sprawling on the floor.
“Well, I never!” said Cook.
Grassina groaned and rubbed her head where she’d hit it on the edge of a table. Shaking her foot until it came unhooked from the pot handle, she sat up and looked around. “Sorry about the mess,” she said, seeing the scullery maid’s horrified expression.
Lettie gulped. “That’s quite all right, Your Highness. Think nothing of it.”
“Does this mean we won’t get a tart?” the freckle-faced page whispered to his friend.
Grassina’s cheeks were crimson as she hurried from the kitchen, leaving a trail of wet footprints behind her. Avoiding the eyes of everyone she passed, she fled to her room, shivering in her damp clothes. It was the first time she’d had an audience when she changed back, and she felt oddly embarrassed. “I shouldn’t worry about what other people think,” she muttered, wriggling out of her clammy gown and into a cl
ean one.
Grassina glanced out the window when she heard the rumble of thunder. The sky had darkened, and rain was already pattering on the sill. A breeze blew the dried plants that hung from her ceiling, making them rustle the way they had while alive. When the door flew open behind her, Grassina turned to see Chartreuse stalk into the room. “I heard what happened,” said Chartreuse. “The whole castle is talking about it. What were you thinking of, turning back in front of so many people?”
Grassina flipped her braid over her shoulder. “I didn’t have any choice. It wasn’t as if I wanted to be a turtle or could choose when I turned back.”
Sighing like someone carrying a great weight on her shoulders, Chartreuse flung herself on her sister’s bed so that she was lying on her back with her arm covering her eyes. “It’s bad enough that she likes turning us into things, but does she have to make it so obvious? My princes are bound to find out now, and I’ve tried so hard to keep it quiet. I’ve sent them on every errand I could think of just to keep them away from Mother. Clarence isn’t back yet or I would have sent him, too. What’s the point, though, if Mother insists on making these spells so public? Someone is bound to tell my princes sooner or later. I’ll never be able to live this down! Greater Greensward is going to be the laughingstock of all the kingdoms! On my way here, everyone stared at me as if I was about to turn into some awful creature. How could she do this to me?”
Chartreuse rolled over onto her stomach and stared accusingly at her sister. “Come to think of it, the entire thing must have been your fault. She turns us into horrid beasts when she wants to teach us a lesson, which means you did something to make her angry. What did you do this time?”
Grassina looked away and shrugged. “I was a little late bringing her the toad, that’s all.”
Chartreuse sat up abruptly. “I’ve nearly killed myself doing whatever she’s asked me to do, but you couldn’t bring her one stinking toad! Would it be too much for you to make a little effort to please the woman?”
