The Goose Girl

by Shannon Hale

  She looked at her face now as she might study a coin from a foreign country, deciphering what it was worth and what it could buy her. The reflection was not unkind, though it appeared raw and untested in the bleached light. She thought now it was time to be tested, to make decisions and find her own roads, to stop falling where she was told to fall and to stand only when allowed to stand.

  “I would break my mother’s heart,” she whispered. She remembered her mother saying those words the day she left, and the memory brought a grim smile. The handkerchief, that peculiar tie to her mother’s heart, was gone. It had been temporary, artificial. Her mother had never given her heart, Ani thought, just three drops of blood, blood that could be washed away, a handkerchief that could be lost. She had leaned against the idea of her mother’s perfection all her childhood, as though it were the cane to her lameness. But that crutch had not served her.

  She was little like her mother, though that was all she had ever longed to be. She lacked the gift of people-speaking, that power to convince and control that laced every word her mother uttered. She did not possess that grace and beauty that all in a room turned to watch. But had the queen ever told a nursery story to a room of captivated listeners? Or handled fifty head of geese? Ani smiled at the thought, and then she surprised herself by feeling proud. I’ve done that much. What more can I do?

  Chapter 11

  The dawn sun cut through the rain-cleaned air, and it seemed to pierce the eyes and skin, quick and impatient. Ani wore her orange rose tunic and skirt and her hat with the orange ribbon, feeling like the resplendent lizards and frogs from the south that men sold in tiny cages to rich marketgoers. Razo said if you licked the sticky flesh of the frogs, you saw colors bright as their skin. What a strange city. She thought about lizards and merchants and the bright, scoured air to keep from thinking about where she was going.

  Into a trap, she thought. But she did not want to wait for a safe time to address the king. She must find a way to see Falada—today.

  The palace sat like a ponderous beast in the shadows of morning, rising ever taller, gaining width and art and intricacies as she approached and as the sun lit out its stony features. Already a serpentine queue of marketday supplicants reached near the palace gate. Ani stopped behind the last person, just as she had on this day one month ago, but this time when the line moved forward, she slipped out to the inside of the palace wall. She passed several guards and errand boys along the cold shadow of the wall, and they nodded, greeting the goose girl as a fellow laborer. She nodded back and began to smile at the simplicity of the break-in as she neared the stables.

  The horse fields were cut into the back of the palace hill, acres long and just as wide. The grandeur of the palace gardens to the east competed for attention, with autumn roses and ice blue fountains and trees hanging their leafy heads low like long-haired waiting maids drying their tresses at a fire. But to Ani’s eyes, the horse grounds were more beautiful.

  Ani scurried to the nearest stable and ducked in. A worker passed her by without looking up, and she jogged down the long line of stalls, searching for a white head and mane. No luck. She jogged to the next building, where there were no workers and the stalls were nearly empty. She checked each one, calling, Falada, Falada, in her mind. There was one sleeping white mare that made her heart leap in her chest before she saw clearly that this was not the horse she knew.

  Ani had finished investigating the far side of stalls when the hushed tones of a familiar accent froze her where she stood.

  “In here, you dog,” he said.

  Ani dropped to the straw floor and held her breath. They were a long way down, but his voice echoed on the high roof, and she could clearly hear the Kildenrean accent.

  “Now just listen to me for a moment, before it’s Ungolad that is setting you straight. There is no time for pranks and pleasantries. The princess is not in yet, if you understand me.”

  “We are here. I don’t see what all the hush-hush fuss is still about.”

  “You dull-witted bumble.” This was the first voice, and Ani knew him now. One of her guards, one of Ungolad’s men, a curly-haired soldier named Terne. “This is not over. There is still a marriage to take place. And don’t forget we have the little impostor running around the forest somewhere, sure to shoot off her mouth and require all kinds of doctoring to keep our position. And did you forget that we still have a kingdom one forest away that will be sending emissaries and little sisters and such nuisances? The two masters’ plan for dealing with that is still not enacted.”

  “Yes, but I don’t see why all the sneaking still, and no travel and no fun. I feel like a chicken in a cramped coop and Ungolad checking my unders for fresh eggs.”

  There was a sound of a brief scuffle, and the second man quieted. “Look,” said Terne, sounding as though he spoke through clenched teeth, “are you begging for a private audience with her puissantness? Is that what you want? I’m telling you to be sober for a while. You pick a side and you stay on it, you hear me, Hul?”

  The conversation went quiet when she heard a third person enter the stable.

  “Sirs,” said a Bayern accent.

  “Yes, morning,” said Terne, and the two men left.

  Ani sat still, feeling each heartbeat rage in her chest. If those two men had spotted her, darkened eyebrows and a wide-brimmed hat would not hide her identity. They could escort her to a nearby wood without trouble, run her through, and leave her body to be disposed of by wild beasts. The fear lodged in her throat ran to her knees, making them shake under her weight as she stood up.

  The men were gone. There were five more stables to be searched. She shook herself and continued on. On the way to the third stable, Ani glanced around with a thought that Geric might be near and was stopped short by what she saw. No need to continue the search. There was her horse. In a far arena, she saw Falada. A stranger rode him, and Falada bucked.

  She walked toward him. All around her were horsemen, stable-hands, guards, ladies walking with sunshades, pages. She did not meet their eyes and kept her head slightly bent to the weight of the shadow on her face. She could hear him neighing now, a savage sound she had never heard him utter before, and it made her stomach feel like a stone.

  Falada, she said, what is wrong?

  The rider held the reins tight to his mane. Falada’s neck was sweating, and his head was thrown up with wild eyes open to redness. He looked at Ani.

  Ani reached the fence and stood beside it, hugging the wooden rail and calling to her horse.

  “That cursed thing won’t break,” said a stable-hand.

  The rider only grunted, working on getting the horse to make a circle, but Falada lunged as though he had never seen a rider, as though wearing the saddle were torture.

  Calm, Falada, calm. They might hurt you if you do not tame.

  The horse kept one ear pointed at her as he pounded to the far side of the corral, but he spoke no words. Ani’s head felt tight and heavy. She could not reason why he ignored her words. Or how he had forgotten how to hear them.

  The rider was flung from the saddle, and he darted away from the stallion’s striking hooves. Ani slid between the fence rails and approached. Falada trotted to a halt and watched. Her hand was held out, her palm up.

  Falada, remember? Do you remember me?

  He snorted, and his eye roved like a tormented thing. She thought he wanted to speak, but no word entered her head.

  Falada, friend, all is well. Peace. All is well.

  The horse sniffed at her palm, and her hand trembled under his breath. She wanted to throw her arms around his neck and cry into his mane, as she had after finding her father prostrate under his horse, as she had when the mournful cries of Rianno-Hancery stripped away her vigor until she felt small and thin and unable to take another step after the funeral wagon. Who would comfort her at the loss of Falada? The thought broke into a sob, and she clenched her teeth and stepped closer in.

  Easy, easy. She ran her h
and slowly from his nose to his cheek and down his neck, hoping to awaken his old self with her touch. His skin shuddered under her hand. She held still, afraid to spook him. Peace, she said. No harm.

  Falada jerked his head up, away from her hands, and rose on his hind legs and pawed the air. She jumped away as a hoof met her cheek. A pair of hands pulled her away and pushed her through a space in the fence.

  “Get out of here, girl,” said the rider. “You’re wanting a knock on the head for acting like that.”

  “I thought she had him for a minute,” said the stable-hand.

  “What’s wrong with him?” said Ani. Her head throbbed. She watched Falada dance in the corral. The morning around him seemed to dim, and the sunlight on his white coat was so bright that it pierced her eyes until she had to look down.

  “He’s got the animal dementia.” The rider waved her away. “None of your mind, so go on.”

  Falada was pacing again, and foam hung from his jaw. Ani pressed her hand against her throbbing cheek. Her head felt as hollow as her chest.

  Falada, she said.

  “You, girl.”

  Ani turned, expecting to see Ungolad or Terne, but was accosted instead by a palace attendant, who grabbed her elbow and walked her swiftly toward the palace. “Another lost supplicant? Moseying about the horse grounds like it was your own court.”

  “I’m just—”

  “Just lost,” he said. “I know, and I don’t care. Not allowed.” He shut his mouth and would say no more.

  Ani nearly fell flat as she struggled to keep his pace and to loosen his grip on her arm. The speed and the pain made her angry. For trying to calm my own horse I’m treated like a criminal, she thought. Across the field, Ani spotted Hul and Terne in conference under a garden tree, and she stopped tugging at her captive arm and kept her head down.

  The attendant left her in a small room and locked the door behind her. It seemed to be a cell for criminals—bare, empty, cold. A small window high on one wall threw a square of light onto the stone floor. Ani sat in that bit of sun in the middle of the room, wrapped her arms around herself, and cried silently for some time. She did not know if she shivered from the cold room or the sound of booted feet in the corridor. She jumped at every sound and waited for a guard to open the door. Her aching head did not allow her to think of Falada.

  When she finally heard the noise of a key in the lock, Ani was so exhausted of being afraid that she barely made herself stand. She had followed the square of sunlight’s movements closer to the wall until it had disappeated with noon. She leaned against the wall and squinted in the half-light, waiting to make out Ungolad’s form in the opening door. It was a woman.

  “Come on,” the woman said. Ani submitted her wrist to the attendant and was pulled up stairs and to a more decorous level. “I’d forgotten that man brought you in, it’s such a busy day, marketday and all, but the king usually sits in judgment today, so let’s see if we can’t slip you in and out of our hair.”

  They waited in a wood-paneled corridor that Ani guessed ran beside the king’s receiving chamber. She could hear the king’s large voice and the high tones of a supplicant, and for the first time that morning, Ani thought she might leave the palace alive.

  After a few minutes, the attendant signaled to the chamber-mistress then escorted Ani through the side entrance to stand under the noon roof window before the king.

  “Not an assassin, I hope.” There was tired humor in his voice.

  “No, sire, a supplicant who lost her way,” said the attendant, “and was found on the royal equine grounds, putting her hands to tame the princess’s demented stallion.”

  At the word demented, Ani winced.

  “Leave,” said the king and the attendant withdrew. Ani raised her head and looked him in the face, and his countenance softened. He was not a handsome man, though the thoughts of good looks of youth remained like a reflection of a face on glass. She thought he might be as gentle as her own father with children, but more strict. He motioned for her to step forward.

  “Ah, the new goose girl,” he said. “With the comely curtsy. Where’s that curtsy now?”

  “It was difficult, sire, with one arm held at my back.” Ani was not certain she had hidden the irritation and fear from her voice, but she gave a low curtsy. The king smiled.

  “Hmm, now, when last you were here, you requested a post in the stables, and were denied, and now you’re found there—accidentally. Was it accidentally, my girl?”

  “No, sire, I never claimed it was.”

  “Ah.” He had seemed bored when she first saw him addressing complaints, and now he leaned forward with an expression that was almost amused.

  “I’m brimful of guesses,” he said, “but, for time’s sake, why don’t you report your reason, straight and simple.”

  “ I . . . I wanted to see the princess’s horse, and when I saw him I was sorry, for he was terrorized in the spirit, and I climbed the fence because I was confident I could help him.”

  “And did you help him?”

  “No,” said Ani. She thought of Falada’s eye, dim as a cow’s, looking at her before his hoof struck. “I think, I think he’s beyond the place where human and animal share language.”

  Then she forgot the image of the tormented horse and became aware of the king’s critical gaze.

  “Sire,” said the chamber-mistress, warning him of time and of a queue that waited.

  “Yes, well, young goose girl, you’ll explain to me one day what precisely that means. As for now, there must be a damage of some kind for the trespass, or by next week’s end we might have a city of citizens strolling the palace grounds to sightsee mad horses and trample the royal rosebushes. Do you support a family in the forest?”

  “No.” My family’s in Kildenree, she wanted to say. I’m Anidori- Kiladra, I’m the princess. But her stomach clenched with dread and warning. Not now. It would not be wise. He would not believe.

  “Then, the month’s salary will do. Do you carry it with you?”

  The workers had been paid the night before marketday. She took from her apron pocket the thin, gold coin stamped off-center with a running horse and handed it to the king.

  “One steed? That’s all? Well, we can’t deprive you of that entire trivial sum. Counselor! Can you make change?”

  A counselor approached, pouring coins from a pouch into his palm.

  “It’s a sad state when the king doesn’t own a copper.” The king plucked a silver and a copper coin from the counselor’s hand and gave them to Ani. “There you are. No complaints, no return to the stables, and off you go.”

  “Sire,” said Ani. She stood awkwardly a moment, waiting for his attention to return to her. “What’s to become of the horse, the princess’s horse gone wild?”

  “I don’t know.” He spoke with sudden severity, and her head throbbed anew with the bruise Falada had given. “The king doesn’t concern himself with other persons’ horses. Dismissed.”

  Ani walked out of the palace gates and beyond sight of the guards before she stopped and sighed that she was free. She rested her shoulder against a wall and pressed her bruised cheek to the cold stones. Touch made the spot pound with her pulse as though Falada hit her again and again.

  Falada had turned mad.

  The realization was as real as the pain. Perhaps the cause was what he had seen in the Forest. Or after he had been used to present the false princess to Bayern, and Selia no longer had use of him, perhaps then she or Ungolad had done—something. Ani winced away from the thought. She decided she wanted to feel the pain in her head, so she left the cool wall and walked. The general movement of the people pulled her down a wide avenue, and she did not slow until she reached the first ring of the market.

  The market-square was an enormous circle of noise and people that enveloped the central square and several streets beyond. She walked carefully through the fringed outer loop, a circle of beggars who sat on ragged blankets and displayed maimed limbs an
d sickly children like wares for sale. Some shook tin cups of coins, a noise like babies’ rattles.

  The next ring of the market belonged to the performers, groups of children with their arms around shoulders singing lays of heroes or tavern songs, and men strumming lap harps and playing wood flutes, and women in tight trousers (that made Ani blush and look away) who stood on their head and on others’ shoulders, and the magicians with their juggling balls and dancing wood-men.

  The third loop was formed by the food vendors with their steaming pockets full of buns and women with baskets on their heads, and some, the richer ones, with wooden carts and an extra man to watch for food pinchers. Pigeons pecked at the ground and croaked warnings to each other—My bread, my rind, my plum, stay away, stay away. Ani saw a chunk of pork fall to the ground and was tempted to coo back at them, My meat, stay away. She had not yet broken her fast. Regretfully, she breathed in the smell of the sausage breads, hot cabbage salads, and syrup apples and kept walking.

  And then she saw in the inner ring, surrounded by the sellers of goods, a platform where two men swung a little on their neck ropes. A man passed her waving muttonchops, and the smell twisted her stomach. She held her breath and hurried on.

  Ani found Finn’s group near the center of the square with their backs to the execution. She turned her back as well and came up behind them. There was an appreciable crowd bartering for Gilsa’s knitted goods and the other forest wares. The day had dawned with a real autumn chill, and the people’s minds turned to winter and what the Forest dwellers knew of the cold. No one seemed to mind that the goods were a bit damp from yesterday’s rainstorm, and Ani imagined Finn and his neighbors camped in the drizzle around a flooded fire pit and thought to be grateful for her thin metal roof.