A Well-Timed Enchantment

by Vivian Vande Velde

  "Oh, Oliver," Deanna said, unable to resist the impulse to hug him. Maybe he could help her save the world after all. "You're a treasure."

  "I am?" He sounded a little confused but was obviously pleased that she was pleased.

  She linked her arm with his and started walking him back to the castle. It must be late afternoon and he wouldn't have had anything to eat since breakfast at the farm. "What we've got to do is find you some food. I'm sure if we go to the kitchen—"

  "No," said Oliver. "I've already found food."

  "Oh?" she asked innocently. "What?"

  He gave her that same level look he had given Leonard. "I don't think you really want to know."

  Deanna opened her mouth, closed it. Opened it again, closed it again. Let go of his arm. "Right. Well." She readjusted the hat, which had suddenly developed a tendency to lean to one side. She kept on walking, without looking at him. He looked so real, she kept forgetting. "You came just in time, you know."

  "I didn't know. What happened?"

  "Well, you heard Leonard and Baylen were fighting to see whose fiancée is the fairest. It turns out since Leonard lost so badly, he figures his lady must be a real dog, so he wants to replace her with me."

  Oliver stopped and stared at her. "Leonard is marrying a dog?"

  Deanna sighed. She reminded herself that he had come to her rescue twice already today. She sighed again. "It's just another expression, Oliver "

  SEVEN

  Algernon

  "What we've got to do," Deanna told Oliver as they climbed the garden stairs back to the higher level, "is find that watch fast and get back home. I have a bad feeling about that wizard Algernon. If he gets to the watch before we do, we'll never get it back in time." Oh, why hadn't the elves been more helpful? Just because it wasn't their lives that were on the line...

  "Maybe he has it already," Oliver said.

  "No." Oh, surely it was more than wishful thinking. "No, he can't."

  They stepped onto the packed earth of the courtyard, and she spied Algernon. "Speaking of the devil..." she murmured.

  "Who was?" Oliver asked, even as Algernon, hanging around the front door as though waiting for them to return, caught sight of them.

  "We were." Deanna lowered her voice as the wizard approached.

  "No, we weren't," Oliver said, without lowering his. "We were talking about Algernon."

  The wizard heard that and smiled, a smile involving only his lips, never his eyes. Watch out, she told herself.

  "You were talking about me?" Algernon asked in a pleasant enough voice that nevertheless set goose bumps surfacing on her arms. "What a coincidence. I was just thinking about you." Incredibly, the smile broadened. "I don't believe in coincidence, do you?"

  Deanna's heart thudded guiltily, blocking her throat, blocking any answer.

  "If there is no such thing as coincidence," Oliver asked him, "why would there be a word for it?"

  Algernon shot him a glare which was no doubt meant to be withering. But by the time he returned his attention to Deanna, the lump in her throat was dissolving, never mind the peculiar glint in the wizard's eyes. "On the contrary," she managed to tell him in a wonderfully grown-up voice, "I've recently found that fantastic coincidences happen all the time. It's logic and rational explanations I no longer believe in."

  His lips twitched condescendingly. "How interesting. Have you, by chance, read Aristotle on the subject?" He started again without even giving her time to shake her head. "I have an early manuscript of his. I think you'd find that fascinating."

  "Oh, that sounds very exciting," Deanna said. Exciting was her mother's catchall word. Deanna suspected her mother used it when she hadn't been listening and wasn't sure what she was supposed to say. "Very exciting, indeed." She was feeling self-confident and in control and in another second might even start giggling.

  But Algernon was looking at her with those dark eyes of his that somehow seemed to sparkle, and there was something wrong here, though she couldn't say what, and—as though she were thinking about someone else—it occurred to her that she didn't have the strength to look away from whatever it was that sparkled and flashed in the wizard's eyes. "Fine," he said from far, far away. "It's right up in the tower room I use for my experiments. I'm sure you'll find all of it 'exciting.'" And the lights that had no business being in his eyes swirled and tightened, drawing her in, just as he was drawing her in, pulling her toward the castle. Her body moved sluggishly, as though wading through water, so that she didn't even feel the pressure of the wizard's fingers, though she could see the indentations they made in her arm. People disappear, she remembered Leonard telling her. Leonard? she asked herself. Leonard? Did she know a Leonard? She let the wizard guide her steps.

  Someone had caught hold of her other arm. She realized that when the wizard was pulled up short and turned to look slightly beyond her. Deanna fought the thick air that weighed down her entire body. A youth was standing there, his long fingers wrapped around her wrist. Dark hair framed a face that looked as though it never smiled, but he had pretty green eyes. There was something wrong with those eyes, too, but she couldn't quite say what. Too? she thought Too? Absently, she wondered who he was.

  "We'll return shortly, boy," she heard her good friend Algernon tell him.

  If her body wasn't being so slow to respond, she would already have turned back to the castle. But the youth was faster than she was. He was faster than Algernon was. Without releasing Deanna's wrist, he grabbed the wizard's free arm. His voice came from as far away as Algernon's. "We travel together," he said silkily.

  Did they?

  "Not this time." Algernon tried to jerk away but couldn't break his grip. He narrowed his eyes at the youth—Oliver: she knew that!—and directed the sparkling whirlpools at him.

  Perhaps the wizard could only work his spell on one person at a time, Deanna thought, for she found she had cut through the thickness around her. Suddenly she was moving in real time instead of slow motion, and the fuzziness was gone from inside her head. "Let go of me," she cried, twisting in Algernon's grip. She kicked his leg, trying to distract him before he caught Oliver up in his magic.

  Algernon kept hold of her arm (Oliver had her other arm and one of Algernon's—to anyone watching, she thought, they would have looked like an impromptu ring-around-the-rosy), but the wizard gave all his attention to Oliver. The lights in his eyes whirled faster and faster. Sweat beaded on his forehead. The veins in his neck were distended and the tense line of his jaw showed that his teeth were clenched in concentration. Oliver made no attempt to break away. His eyes, which always looked too long, too deep, never left Algernon's. And it was Algernon, finally, who wilted, who released Deanna first. Slowly Oliver uncurled his fingers from around the wizard's forearm.

  Algernon stepped back away from him. Subdued, he glanced at Deanna, too fast for her to avoid his eyes, but the unnatural glint was gone. "Who are you?" he asked, sounding shaken. "That's worked on every person..."

  Deanna, looking at him sidelong, saw it hit him.

  "What are you?"

  Nothing flickered across Oliver's bland face. Deanna felt a chill spread up her own back. For a moment she could see nothing that was human in Oliver's expression.

  They stood there evaluating each other, Oliver impassively, Algernon with fury on his face, neither one ready to give an inch and both willing to stand there all day to prove it, and it was Baylen who saved the day.

  "Uncle Algernon," Sir Henri's elder son called from the doorway of the stable.

  Algernon turned, slowly, as though to indicate he'd keep on glaring at Oliver if pressing business didn't interfere.

  Baylen, who looked as though he'd been winding himself up for another bellow, waved for the wizard to join him. "That horse with the broken leg," he shouted.

  Algernon spared one more look of disdain for Oliver and Deanna, then strode away.

  A horse with a broken leg. Two summers ago Deanna had read all the novels she co
uld find about horses. She knew what was done with a horse with a broken leg, and it figured they'd call Algernon to do it.

  Watching him walk toward the stable, she found herself shaking over what he had been able to do to her will. She also found herself avoiding Oliver's eyes as fastidiously as she had avoided Algernon's. Oliver wasn't human. She kept forgetting because the fair folk had done such a good job in making him look like one. What was going on in his mind? She'd never know. Algernon's spell had had no effect on him—which was good, which had saved her from ... who knows what? But it also showed that she'd never, ever be able to take things for granted. She couldn't assume she understood Oliver, couldn't try to guess how he'd react in any given situation. Stop it, she told herself. After all, he had just rescued her from the wizard. She forced herself to look directly at him. "Are you all right?" she asked, her voice a little squeak.

  He looked at her coldly, which did nothing for her sense of unease. Cats were hunters, she recalled suddenly. Perhaps he was evaluating her weaknesses. Her unease teetered on the edge of fear. Stop it, she repeated to herself. Oliver wouldn't even be here except that he had tried to save her when she'd been pulled into the well.

  "Why, there you are!" Lady Marguerite's voice chirped, coming up from behind them. "I've been looking all over for you."

  Oliver turned, and something about the shift of muscles or the way the light fell across his cheek ... the alien quality was hidden, or gone.

  Lady Marguerite climbed the garden steps into the courtyard. Despite the exuberance of her greeting, she sounded out of breath, a bit frazzled even. She was dressed in a long-sleeved gown, with gloves and a shawl and a wide-brimmed hat to protect her from the sun. She must have been wandering around the garden for some time. There were bits of twigs and leaves trailing from the hem of her gown and stuck to the scarf around her hat. Her forehead was damp and smudged. But her gaze had lit on Oliver, and her face glowed. "Well," she said, looking down to Oliver's hand on Deanna's wrist, "so how are you enjoying your stay so far? I hope you found the garden to your liking."

  Oliver let go of Deanna. As though unsure what to do with himself, he momentarily rested his hand on his sword hilt, then crossed his arms. "The garden is a good place for eating lunch," he said.

  "A picnic!" Lady Marguerite hooked her arm through his and started walking him into the castle, never checking to see if Deanna was following. "What a splendid idea! I do so love picnics. Except for the sun, of course." She laughed gaily, holding on to Oliver's arm and tipping her head to one side coquettishly.

  Deanna took a step. Found she was steadier than she would have thought. Took another step. Behind them, she imitated Lady Marguerite's gestures. Boy, Oliver was eating all this attention up. Traitor! she thought.

  "Let me show you to the rooms I've had prepared for you," their hostess said, never including Deanna with a glance. "I hope you stay. It's so pleasant to have someone with fresh ideas around the place."

  Uh-huh.

  Deanna rubbed her wrist where Oliver's fingernails had come close to breaking her skin, and followed the two of them up the stairs, whether they knew she was there or not.

  EIGHT

  Afternoon

  Up stairs, through the Great Hall, up more stairs, along a corridor. The more they ignored her, the farther behind Deanna trailed as Lady Marguerite continued to chatter and laugh and cling to Oliver's arm. It wasn't fair. Oliver was supposed to help her. She couldn't handle this stupid quest on her own. Turn around, she wished at his back. Notice me. What was the matter with him?

  Behind her, someone cleared his throat.

  Deanna gasped and whirled around.

  But it was only the pigman. Without his pigs for the moment, thank goodness.

  Deanna held her hand over her racing heart as he took off his cap and slapped it against his leg, producing a cloud of dust. "Miss," he said.

  "Sir." She curtsied and made to continue down the hall. Lady Marguerite and Oliver were just turning around a corner.

  "Miss," the pigman repeated more insistently.

  Just what she didn't need: someone else to take a sudden interest in her, but at least she had an excuse. "I'm sorry," she called back over her shoulder. "I can't stop."

  She rounded the corner at a run and collided with someone. Leonard. He reeled back, but re-covered before she did. He held a bright bouquet of wildflowers out to her. "A thousand apologies for startling you," he said, bowing. "A thousand more for frightening you in the garden."

  Without acknowledging him, she tried to pass, but he grabbed her hand and dropped to his knees. "Forgive me!" he cried.

  "I forgive you," she said, to get him to let go of her hand. "Don't do it again."

  "I won't." He pressed his other hand, the one with the flowers, to his heart. "My lady, I swear my undying devotion—"

  "Yes, thank you, go away." She tugged at her hand but couldn't get it free.

  "Take these flowers," he said, "as a token of my love for you. Take them and hold them in your hand, as I hold you in my heart."

  She took the flowers. "Now let go of my hand, Leonard."

  He stood, then kissed her fingers, and then, finally, let go. Til count the moments until next I see your fair face." He bowed and backed away.

  She didn't dare turn her back on him, so she watched until he disappeared around the comer. With a sigh, she again faced the direction she had seen Lady Marguerite and Oliver going, sure in her heart that they had continued on without her.

  Not only had they waited for her, but Baylen and his father had joined them. Baylen nodded in the direction Leonard had gone, rolled his eyes, and shook his head. Deanna felt her face go a hot red with humiliation.

  Sir Henri didn't seem to notice. "Splendid," he said. "Splendid, you and Leonard hitting it off so well." He beamed proudly. "But now, tell us about this quest of yours. Can we help?"

  Oh, yes, she thought, please. She wanted nothing more than to dump this whole mess in somebody else's lap. But then there was Algernon. Sir Henri's brother. Baylen's and Leonard's uncle. Who made people—albeit unimportant people— disappear. How much did she dare tell them? If Algernon learned what it was that she was looking for, then he might get to it first. And she couldn't very well tell them to trust her, a complete stranger, and not their relative. The more she thought about it, the more her head began to spin.

  "Lady Deanna?" Sir Henri said.

  "We're looking for something..." she said slowly, "...small..."

  Sir Henri nodded as though to encourage her to go on.

  She bit her lip and wondered if she had said too much already.

  "Small things are generally harder to find than large things," Baylen observed.

  Boy, that was helpful. "This would have been lost in or near the pond that's in the clearing in the forest. But I have reason to believe that it's been brought back here."

  Baylen said, "We were in the forest this morning."

  "Yes?" Deanna said breathlessly.

  "We didn't find anything." Baylen turned to his father. "Did we find anything?"

  "I didn't find anything," Sir Henri said.

  "We didn't find anything," Baylen repeated.

  Deanna sighed.

  "But," Sir Henri said, "if it's to be found, we'll find it. How about if you and Marguerite go off and do whatever it is that you women go off and do, and Baylen, young Oliver, and I will start this quest of yours."

  "Oh," said Lady Marguerite. "Must you?"

  Meanwhile, Deanna prickled under the comment about women, but after all that was what she had been looking for to hand this over to someone else. She looked warily at Oliver, who said nothing.

  "Trust us," Sir Henri said jovially, throwing one arm around Baylen's shoulder and the other around Oliver's.

  After all, she thought, the fair folk had specifically sent Oliver to help her, so maybe this was what they had intended. "Thank you," she said. Then, choosing her words carefully, "The only thing is that this is sort of a s
ecret quest, so you can't tell anybody about it."

  Sir Henri put his finger to his lips to indicate they were sealed.

  "Go with them," Deanna told Oliver so that he would cooperate, "and do whatever they tell you."

  He nodded solemnly.

  I hope, she thought, watching the three of them walk down the hall together, oh, I hope that was the right decision.

  The afternoon dragged miserably. Lady Marguerite kept trying to pump Deanna for information about Oliver: Was he always so quiet, what were his interests, did he enjoy the company of older women? That sort of thing.

  Deanna tried to find out more about Castle Belesse and the people who lived there.

  "It's just me and my brothers, Henri and Algernon," Lady Marguerite said. "And the boys, of course. Their poor mother's gone now. And there're the servants naturally. Actually, it's a very small castle."

  "Any bigger and I'd have to drop bread crumbs," Deanna said.

  Lady Marguerite looked startled. "Well," she said, "I suppose if you really wanted to..

  It was eerily like trying to talk to Oliver. And how was Oliver doing? she wondered over and over. If he found the watch, surely he'd know enough to come straight back, wouldn't he? Besides, she found she missed his company. Everything was so strange here: the colorful tapestries that covered all the walls, the flags and banners that snapped in the wind, the stone floors and incredibly high ceilings that made her voice resonate as though she were in a cathedral. But as strange as all this was to her, it had to be stranger yet to Oliver. And if he was the closest thing she had to a friend here, she was the closest thing he had to a friend anywhere.

  Lady Marguerite insisted that Deanna join her in her apartments, where she spent the rest of the afternoon weaving a tapestry that she said was Hannibal crossing the Alps. Some of the women servants joined them to work on their own projects: embroidery or mending. They were all amazed that Deanna didn't know how to sew and insisted on teaching her. Deanna gazed out the window and watched the sun get lower and lower in the sky and wondered if she had made the wrong decision. "Was Algernon in the forest this morning?" she asked.