by Jeff Rosen
“He’s a dog, and dogs are loyal. Dense … but loyal.”
NEIVE and Caley waited outside the castle for Kip the next morning after breakfast. The duchess had insisted Neive go with Caley to visit Kip’s family, informing her, “We cannot have princesses of the realm visiting the countryside without being properly attended. Who knows how rural folk run their estates these days? What if you were served from the right instead of the left? It’s situations like that which foster the complete unraveling of society.”
So really, who could argue with that?
They spotted Kip trotting toward them, his backpack overflowing with food.
“Brought a little snack for the trip. Mom’s already complaining she doesn’t have enough food and it’s not fancy enough for royalty, Dad’s complaining about the monarchy, and my brothers are complaining about having to dress up on holiday. Should be fun!”
Caley regarded the castle, surprised by what she saw. Compared to the day she arrived, it looked a thousand years older. Its fish-shaped turrets and towers were shedding their scalelike shingles, and you could see holes right through its root-walls. There were guards clunking around in boxy red armor with helmets that had tiny little slits. They reminded Caley of walking mailboxes. The mailbox-men were checking everyone coming and going from the castle (mostly “non-persons,” Caley noted).
“We’ll take a worm,” said Kip.
He led them down a set of stairs to what looked like a subway station, except there were no tracks. Caley often wondered how everyone got around in Erinath (aside from carriages with harried horses). There were signs everywhere with dire warnings from the Sword:
STAY SAFE! REPORT SUSPICIOUS ACTIVITY
IF YOU’RE NOT US, YOU’RE THEM!
While they waited, Kip chewed on some mixed nuts and checked his bee.
“Look at this …”
Kip’s bee showed a report from the Sword. Another “non-person” attack, along with a sketch of the assailant described by the victim. Everyone exchanged surprised looks. It looked like one of the mechanical wolves from the Wandering Woods.
Before anyone could say anything, the station shook and a giant wormlike creature came rumbling down the tunnel. Kip dove into the side of the worm, disappearing into it as if he’d jumped into jelly, followed by Neive and Caley. Caley found herself suspended inside the worm, like a marshmallow in mousse. Kip mumbled an address through a mouthful of nuts. The next thing she knew, Caley felt like she was being spun around in a blender, though her body did not appear to be moving at all. When everything unscrambled, she found herself beside Neive in the middle of a farmer’s field next to a surprised cow.
A moment later, Kip tumbled out of nowhere and landed beside them. He stared around at the empty field.
“Never give worm destinations with your mouth full. Good to know. We can walk from here.”
AFTER a short hike, they arrived at a big, rambling cottage in the country, surrounded by a well-tended garden dressed in autumn colors. Like all houses in Erinath, it looked like an overgrown mushroom covered in bits of worn glass and shells. It had a mossy roof with a lopsided belvedere that made it seem like it was wearing a jaunty hat. The cottage was dotted with spore-like additions, helter-skelter as if it had barely been growing fast enough to hold its inhabitants.
“Better not say anything about the attack,” Kip advised as they approached the cottage. “Dad will insist it’s a government plot and try to storm the castle. Lunch will be ruined.”
“Your concern is overwhelming,” replied Neive.
The door swung open, and the Gorsebrooke family came tumbling out. Four boys were directed into line by a short, barrel-chested man in crinkled tweed pants, jacket, and cap. He had jowly jaws and droopy eyes and reminded Caley of a Saint Bernard. Kip’s mother, wearing an amazing dress that seemed to be made from a field of poppies, gave Kip a kiss, leaving a big red lipstick mark on his cheek.
“Lovely to see you again, Princess Caley.” Mrs. Gorsebrooke curtsied to her.
“Please, just call me Caley. And this is Neive.”
“Neive’s a servant,” said Kip. “She’s not having pudding.”
The boys all regarded Neive, their heads cocked curiously, their hair bristling, the exact same way Kip always looked at her. Neive’s nose twitched back at them.
“Allow me to introduce my family,” said Mrs. Gorsebrooke. “This is my husband, Robert.”
“Welcome,” said Mr. Gorsebrooke. “Kipley talks about you nonstop.”
The rest of Kip’s face turned lipsticky.
“And this is the pack.” Mrs. Gorsebrooke gestured at the boys, who ranged in age from seventeen to twenty. “Riley, Kirby, Henry, and Garby.”
They all had the same long noses as Kip, and their clothes were just as rumpled.
“Please come in.” Mrs. Gorsebrooke smiled at Caley and Neive. “You must be famished from your journey.”
“We only left twenty minutes ago—” Neive began.
“Starved!” Kip cut in, and the Gorsebrookes clambered into the cottage, with Caley and Neive following along in their wake.
“It’s nice to have all our boys home for the holiday,” said Mrs. Gorsebrooke, “and two beautiful girls in the house, isn’t it?”
Kip’s brothers glanced at Caley and Neive and exchanged grins … which made Caley and Neive turn a bit lipsticky too.
The big rambling cottage was cozily furnished with overstuffed furniture that seemed slightly chewed on with a layer of fur over everything, although Caley didn’t see any dogs.
Mrs. Gorsebrooke beamed at Caley. “We have not entertained royalty since your dear mother left. I was her lady-inwaiting, you know. We had the honor of hosting her on three occasions.”
“Two,” corrected Mr. Gorsebrooke.
“Three if you count the time we had tea in the village,” said Mrs. Gorsebrooke, leading everyone to the kitchen, where a wide wooden table was laden with food. “Please sit here, Princess Caley.” She patted a chair at the head of the table. “And Neive, here beside the princess.”
“Oh, no, I have to serve,” protested Neive, “and from the left!”
“Nonsense,” Mr. Gorsebrooke said sternly. “You’ll eat with us. There are no servants or masters here. No high born or low. We don’t observe artificial hierarchies in the Gorsebrooke household—”
“Mr. G,” Mrs. Gorsebrooke shot her husband a warning look, “no politics at the table.”
Caley eyed the table. There were steaming heaps of pasta and potatoes, vegetables of every kind, an enormous roast that appeared to be made from beans, countless bowls of dips and sauces, and platters of cheese and fruit, all heaped so high Caley could barely see anyone sitting across from her.
Mrs. Gorsebrooke turned to her. “I apologize for the meager lunch and the humble condition of things in general.”
“The state confiscated everything we owned.” Mr. Gorsebrooke scowled.
Mrs. Gorsebrooke shot her husband another look, and he removed his cap and bowed.
“On this One Day,” began Mr. Gorsebrooke, “we give thanks for the generous bounty Erinath has provided and remember that all living things arise together, as one, bound in harmony, unity, and equality. No royals or commoners, no—”
“Thank you, Mr. G,” interrupted Mrs. Gorsebrooke. “The food is getting cold.”
The Gorsebrookes dove into the meal like a pack of hungry wolves, barely seeming to breathe. Miraculously, it disappeared in almost no time. Caley and Neive had hardly begun eating when Mrs. Gorsebrooke began removing dishes.
“That’s the appetizers out of the way. Garby, please help me clear room for the main course.”
“I understand you’re trying out for the Equidium along with Kipley,” Mr. Gorsebrooke said to Caley, “and you’re a first-rate trapper.”
“First-rate,” Kip repeated.
“It would be quite an achievement,” Mr. Gorsebrooke went on, “two first-years making the team. The Gorsebrookes have bee
n House Cross Cheetahs for generations. The older boys all made the team in their final years, but no wins. Do you think we have a chance?”
“Definitely!” Kip nodded enthusiastically. “Especially because Caley is an athruc—OW!”
Neive had kicked Kip under the table.
“A cow?” Garby asked. “Is that your baest?”
“Kip has a sore ankle.” Neive glared at him.
“It was doing fine …” Kip glared back.
“Speaking of baests,” said Mrs. Gorsebrooke, carrying more food to the table, “the Gorsebrookes have also all been trackers, like Kipley. Riley is a beagle, Kirby and Henry are both bassets, Garby’s a spaniel, and Mr. Gorsebrooke is a Saint Bernard.”
“Almost won the darn thing the year I competed,” said Mr. Gorsebrooke, “but I had hay fever. Couldn’t smell a blessed thing. Anyway, paws and tails crossed this time.”
“And of course, Kipley is a mutt, bless him,” said Mrs. Gorsebrooke.
“But mostly bloodhound,” corrected Kip. “Ninety-eight percent.”
“They all have dog baests,” Neive whispered to Caley as the Gorsebrookes began to make more mounds of food disappear into their mouths like a magic act. “Explains a few things …”
When the meal was done (seven courses by Caley’s count, but she was so stuffed by the fifth her brain couldn’t add anymore), Mrs. Gorsebrooke stood up and announced, “I hope everyone saved room for dessert.”
“Dessert?” Neive groaned to Caley.
“THROW the ball!”
Garby handed Caley a chewed-up tennis ball, and Kip and his brothers trotted to the other side of the yard. After lunch, everyone had gone outside to “work up an appetite for tea.”
Caley spent the better part of an hour throwing the ball for the Gorsebrooke boys. They raced after it, and whoever caught it brought it back to her. It looked like they could go on doing this forever, and Caley’s arm felt like it was going to fall off.
Suddenly, someone shouted, “Squirrel!” Neive curled up into a ball, and the boys went chasing after a squirrel that scurried up a tree. Then they stood there staring up at it, tongues hanging, looking frustrated.
“Stupid squirrels,” murmured Kip.
“Dumb dogs,” murmured Neive.
•
AFTERWARD, everyone sprawled on couches in front of a roaring fire, playing card games while Neive helped Mrs. Gorsebrooke bring out hot cocoa and what appeared to be dog biscuits.
Caley stared around at everyone’s faces, flushed and happy from playing outside, chatting easily about this and that, and a thought came to her. This is what a real family must be like (aside from the dog biscuits). No burnt toast for breakfast, slave labor for lunch, and locks changed on her room in the dead of winter for dinner. She felt an odd tinge of bitterness. Why had her mother abandoned her to that?
“Princess Caley, may I show you something?”
Mrs. Gorsebrooke was standing in the doorway to the kitchen. She led her to a greenhouse attached to the back of the house, bursting with rose bushes in every color imaginable.
“They’re beautiful,” said Caley.
Mrs. Gorsebrooke picked a few petals. “These are clothes-roses.”
“How do you make the different fabrics and designs?”
“It all depends on what you feed them.” Mrs. Gorsebrooke began opening tins from a shelf neatly lined with them. “I use Dandelion Dust if I want a nice sheen.” She sprinkled some yellow dust from the tin on a rose, instantly turning it gold. “Or Moon Meadow for a warm glow.” From another tin, she removed a dried blossom that shone like a little moon and crumpled it over a rose. It began to glow magically. “The styles I create by careful pruning.” She fetched a pair of delicate silver sheers. “Neive tells me your clothes are a bit out of style.”
“No, I love them,” Caley insisted, shaking her head.
“I grew all your mother’s clothes-roses.”
Mrs. Gorsebrooke deftly trimmed a purple and white rose into the shape of a dress.
“Would you like to try it on?”
Caley nodded eagerly, and Mrs. Gorsebrooke handed the rose to her. She blew on it, and it began to shimmer over her school uniform, which vanished and was replaced by a flowing white dress, cinched at the waist with a purple ribbon that seemed to be made of the finest lace, dotted with tiny purple buds. It was almost weightless. Caley did a quick twirl. The fabric floated around her like a suddenly surprised field of butterflies.
“Teatime.”
Kip poked his head in the greenhouse. He froze, staring at Caley.
“Do I have something on my face?” asked Caley.
Kip snapped out of it. “Mom, can you grow me a few school ties?”
“What do you do with them, Kipley?” Mrs. Gorsebrooke shook her head, perplexed. “You seem to go through one a week.”
Kip gave a weak shrug and hurried off again.
Mrs. Gorsebrooke adjusted the ribbon around Caley’s dress and stood back admiringly. Caley was surprised to see her wipe a tear away.
“You’re the spitting image of your mother.”
“What was she like?”
Mrs. Gorsebrooke began to put away her tins, an odd look on her face. “We played together as children. Then I was her lady-in-waiting, but I don’t feel I ever truly knew her. There was always something about her that wasn’t of this world. She would talk to things only she could see, and she was gone a lot. No one ever knew where she went. And then one day …”
“What?” pressed Caley.
“She disappeared for good. Not long after her parents were killed. The king and queen were on a carriage ride in the country. The authorities claimed it was a wolf attack. Only the horse survived. Cedric, I think his name was. Or Cecil.”
Caley’s eyes widened.
“Things changed after that. With your mother gone, the Council took over. Or, should I say, General Roon, and his frenzy against ‘non-persons.’ Odious term. A lot of people don’t agree with what is happening, and there have been violent protests. My husband led one with the academy faculty. That’s why he was fired. I worry about Kipley. He’s a lot like his father.”
Mrs. Gorsebrooke stared out at the garden, bathed in the golden glow of late afternoon, then turned back to Caley.
“What I do know about your mother was that she was kindhearted but tough as a thorn. A lot like you, I suspect. And I’m positive she must have loved you deeply. She never would have left here, left you … unless she had a very good reason.”
Mrs. Gorsebrooke plucked a dying rose and put on a smile. “Brighter days ahead now that you’re here. Shall we join the others for tea?”
IN the living room, the Gorsebrookes were devouring mounds of little sandwiches and slurping tea. Neive sidled up to Caley when she entered.
“They’re eating. Again!”
Kip sprang up when he saw Caley.
“Want to see something?”
Kip led Caley and Neive into a small library off the living room. Caley suddenly realized she hadn’t seen any books in Erinath before.
“These are Dad’s,” said Kip. “Pick one.”
Caley noticed a book with an oroc on the spine and took it from the shelf. She opened it randomly to a page about the variety of tail shapes.
“Read it.” Kip nodded encouragingly.
Caley read the description beneath one of the illustrations: “The fan-tailed oroc is one of the most graceful flyers, using its wide tail as a fifth wing.”
To her surprise, as she read the words, the image of the fan-tailed oroc came alive, like a hologram. It soared off the page and around the library, gliding and swooping between the shelves.
“It’s a look-book,” explained Kip.
“An unbound one, at that.”
Everyone turned to Mr. Gorsebrooke entering the library.
“That is to say, not connected to the Web and censored. They’d burn these too. If they knew about them,” he added with a wink.
“Dad used to
teach history at the academy,” said Kip.
“No use for history anymore.” Mr. Gorsebrooke frowned. “Not when you make up your own.”
Caley regarded the book in her hand a moment thoughtfully, then turned to Mr. Gorsebrooke.
“Do any of your books have something about my mother in them?”
Mr. Gorsebrooke shook his head. “Sorry. Not that I’ve read.”
Caley nodded resignedly and began to put the book away. The oroc flew back and took its place on the page as she closed it.
Mr. Gorsebrooke made a reluctant grumbling sound and removed reading glasses from a pocket.
“But as you will be queen one day, perhaps you should know something of our history. Our real history. Not the lies General Roon spreads.”
He closed the door firmly and located a book on a top shelf. The others joined him around the fire, pulling their chairs closer as he opened a page and began to read.
“‘Before time was measured, a great kingdom arose in Erinath.’”
Caley saw a kingdom appear above a map of Erinath, green and pleasant.
“‘Living things evolved together in an intelligent and benevolent Oneness. Baests were born, and nature bound with technology for the good of all. It was a Golden Age. But a shadow was growing.’”
Caley watched as cities and factories spewing smoke dimmed the sea and sky and spread like spilled ink, closing in around the kingdom. It reminded her of where she used to live—a poisoned place.
“‘In the Gray Land, Olpheist—a dark magician—twisted the minds of men to believe the kingdom was plotting to use the power of baests to exterminate their empire of ashes. From the depths of the earth, he raised foul things, long dead, and set this army of shadows against all who stood in his way.’”
“You mean … zombies?” asked Caley. “On Earth, we call them zombies. But they’re not real. Except for a few frogs … crickets … an ivy or two …” Caley’s voice trailed off uneasily.
Over the book, shadowy monsters swarmed toward the kingdom.
“‘But there were those who resisted. A few, noble-hearted and brave, joined together to defeat Olpheist and send him to the Black Gate.’”