And then there were the buildings, all made of wood, and all in a general state of disrepair that clearly showed the residents didn’t have enough money to keep up-to-date on maintenance. “No wonder everyone in this city is so unhappy!” she said with her hand over her mouth so no one would see her and think she was talking to herself.
“What do you mean?” Dexter asked, looking around happily at the city he had loved so much back when he was alive. It appeared pretty much the same as it had 83 years ago, except some buildings were gone and had been replaced by others; probably they had burned down and others had been put up in their places, but that was to be expected in a city whose buildings were made almost exclusively of wood. Some of the crooks he had known back in the day had taken advantage of the fact and set fire to the houses of their adversaries; while Dexter had been present at some of the fires, he had never actually set any of them—a guy had to draw the line somewhere, after all.
“What do you mean, what do I mean? This city is disgusting pit of grime,” she muttered. “Really gross grime,” she added as though there were varying degrees of griminess, which maybe there are.
“Princess. You are currently walking through one of those most affluent neighborhoods in the city.” This was true. The closer they got to the gates of the castle, the nicer the buildings got. “You have no idea,” he added derisively, “what a pampered existence you lead.”
“Yes. I do,” she responded tiredly. This conversation with Dexter was approximately as old as her ability to speak. “How could I not know, with you always reminding me and making me feel bad about it? As though I personally handpicked my parents or something.” She had to admit, though, that she had never really known until this day just how very, very, very much better off she had it than the citizens of Fritillary. Hearing about it was one thing. Walking through it—and slipping and falling in it—was another thing utterly.
A few minutes later, Julianna was walking into the very nicest part of the city. It was the only part of the city that had streetlights, but to her it didn’t look any better than the area she’d left behind. The only difference was that, due to the streetlights, she could now see all the grime better. These buildings were a story or two taller on average than the ones before, and they were almost all well-maintained, but to her eyes it was all still pretty much disgusting. It was only when they got within sight of the gates to the castle that the houses started to look remotely livable to Julianna. One even had a little fountain in its front yard; she felt very happy to see this purely ornamental, non-functional thing sitting there merrily spewing forth water—it was the first decorative thing she had seen since she’d left the castle walls, and it made her feel strangely comforted.
Dexter led her on closer and closer to the castle gates, and it was only when she saw the guards standing in front of them that it occurred to her to cover her face with the hood of her cape; odds were very, very slim that someone would recognize her, since besides her mom and dad and brother, there were only five people who would be likely to recognize her: Delia (who Julianna knew for a fact was in a drugged sleep down in the dungeon), the wizard Wendell, the gardener who tended her houseplants, the real maid who cleaned the dungeon, and the interior decorator. A few other people had seen her, of course, but not with any regularity. She was glad, for maybe the first time in her life, that her parents guarded her so closely in their quest to keep any potential connections between her and Farland to a minimum.
They took a left at the bustling intersection right in front of the huge, ornate iron gates, and though Julianna wanted to stop and stare at them, she didn’t dare do so for fear of attracting attention. But, when Dexter finally guided her to the front door of the Dawdling Donkey, she did peek out from under her hood at the huge gates, and at the castle beyond them.
The gates themselves must have taken an army of blacksmiths to create; they were as tall as the wall encircling the castle grounds, and they were festooned with twists and curlicues, leaves and flowers, dragons and birds. From the distance she was observing from, it looked to her as though every single length of iron that went into the creation of the gate must have some sort of detail worked into it. It was opulent in the extreme. Complete overkill. But that was her family.
A few yards past the decorative gate was one that appeared much more functional; it was just as tall as the iron gate but was made of solid wood reinforced with iron beams. This was the gate that the soldiers would slam shut in the event of a riot. She looked up, and, sure enough, the archway above the wood gate sported a half dozen gigantic cauldrons to boil oil in—Crowd Dispersal 101. Julianna scrunched her nose in distaste.
The wooden gate was open, since it was the time of day when the first shift castle employees were leaving, and the second shifters were coming in. So, Julianna was able to look through past the gates and up to the castle. The city was built on a big hill, with the castle at its top. The castle was tall and made of white stone, with many a turret poking up into the sky. From the top of each turret flew a huge flag with puce and tan stripes15.
Unlike the mud roads of the rest of the city, the road that led to the castle was made of stone16. It wound through the castle grounds, with big, lush hedgerows lining it all the way to the top of the hill. About halfway up the road was a cohort of soldiers practicing some drills. A bit further down was a gardener clipping the hedges.
Julianna let her gaze drift back down from her home to the iron gate, where the soldiers guarding the entrance were busy searching people going both in and out of the castle grounds. It was no wonder, she thought, that a smuggling operation had evolved over the years, if the soldiers at the official entrance to the castle were so thorough in their examination of every person who passed through the gates in either direction. One soldier was turning the pockets of a man’s jacket inside out, another soldier was sifting through a bag of what looked like rice that was in the back of a woman’s wagon, and a third soldier was pouring the contents of a man’s backpack onto the muddy ground. The guard who was emptying the backpack had that air about him of thoroughly enjoying the fact that his official position enabled him to pick on people without repercussion.
“Yo. You’ve been standing in front of this door for like five minutes,” Dexter pointed out. “It’s a wonder someone inside hasn’t opened it and knocked you over.”
She was pretty covered in muck by this point, but still didn’t want to get a fresh coat of it. “Do I knock?” she asked Dexter, pivoting her gaze to the big wooden door.
“Just walk in,” he sighed.
“Don’t get cranky,” she whispered. “I’ve never been to an inn before. How should I know the customs?”
“It isn’t an inn-specific custom to not knock. You just don’t knock on the doors of any places that you go to buy things. All you do is walk right in if it’s during business hours, and if it isn’t business hours you know you can’t go in because the door is locked.”
She stored away this helpful bit of information and opened the door.
* * *
12 Julianna was not clear on the difference between knives and daggers.
13He secretly had no faith that this wimpy, pasty kid would be able to pull it off, but he was reserving judgment until he saw whether (1) she came back with the box, (2) came back without the box but with some lame story about how it was too hard or she got too scared, or (3) she got hauled off by soldiers to have a finger chopped off (the penalty for first-time thieving offenders.
14The citizens of the city had grown sure-footed as mountain goats due to constant practice, but newcomers tended to fall a lot until they adapted. You could always tell a first-time visitor to the city by the amount of muck covering their clothing. A few more stumbles, and Julianna was bound to be pegged as an easy mark for muggers or other hooligans. At least, since it was nighttime, the hooligans would have a harder time spotting her.
&n
bsp; 15Her family’s official colors. The name of the person who first picked such an uninspiring duo of colors for the family crest had been lost to the ages, but somewhere along the line the royal folks had decided that, for the sake of tradition, they had better honor that dull person’s color choices, rather than living it up a bit and going with some bold complimentary colors like, for instance, yellow and purple, which would have looked quite snappy when paired together on a flag flapping above the castle in the brisk ocean breeze.
16Or maybe (as rumor had it) the city roads were made of stone, and the muck of ages had simply covered it up long ago.
Chapter Fifteen
The eyes of all the patrons of the Dawdling Donkey swiveled in Julianna’s direction when the door creaked open. About half of them were at bar, and the other half were scattered around at the haphazardly placed tables that filled the rest of the room, which was itself made entirely of wood. Floor, ceiling, chairs, tables, barstools, walls. Even, by the looks of it, some of the plates and bowls. The effect was quite strange to Julianna, who had grown up surrounded by the stone of the dungeon walls, tiled ceilings and floors, marble and upholstery and iron and tapestries, and other such rich folk materials17.
The bartender, Galt, kept watching Julianna long after the rest of the people in the room had gone back to their conversations, or in the case of the few who were there alone, their solitary, philosophical musings on the meaning of life as they stared into the amber depths of their ales.
Galt was of average height and weight, but by the looks in his eyes, Juliana guessed that he was above average in the anger department. Startled to see such a menacing glare directed at herself, she cautiously approached the bar. Once she was within range of a hissing whisper, he gave a hissed whisper, “You the new maid?”
“Yes, indeed,” she said.
“Then why in tarnation,” he growled, “didn’t you come in through the servants’ entrance? You want to attract attention?”
“I’m sorry,” she said with surprise. It hadn’t occurred to her that there would even be a servants’ entrance at all on this building, when the owners of this inn most likely made less money per year than even the lowliest of servants she knew in the castle.
“Whatever. Just get in back and change.” He gestured over his shoulder to a door behind the bar.
She was torn between her royal inclination to give him a piece of her mind for daring to speak so rudely to her and her feeling that as a maid she should be apologizing a bit more, but in the end she did neither of those things; she merely nodded to indicate she’d heard him, went behind the bar, and walked through the door, which, it turned out, was the entrance to the employee break room. Across from the door, there were five hooks hanging on the wall with labels above them that read, ‘Hilda’, ‘Ellen’, ‘Galt’, and ‘Mary’. The fifth hook had no label. Both Hilda’s and Ellen’s hooks held a blue dress, a white, apron, and a white bonnet. The fifth hook looked like the place where extra uniforms were stored. Galt’s and Mary’s hooks were empty, leading Julianna to infer that the guy at the bar was indeed Galt, and that Mary was currently working somewhere in the inn. As she rifled through the spare uniforms on the unclaimed hook, she muttered to Dexter, “Why didn’t you tell me about the servants’ entrance?”
“Sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”
She just sighed and said, “Turn around.” He did so, and she put on a blue dress that technically fit her, though she was horrified by the feel of the cheap fabric against her skin and the untailored fit of the thing. At least it was so long that it covered her feet, so no one would notice the state of them. The only things she retained from her previous outfit were her slippers and the anti-magic amulet she wore night and day as protective measure against Farland.
Next, she tied the apron around her waist, put the bonnet on her head, and thanked the heavens that there was no mirror to look in. Though she was considerably more grounded than her parents, she was still a princess, and was going to need a significant adjustment period before she became all right with things like looking how she looked. “What do you suppose I should do next?” she asked.
Dexter turned and stared, then stifled a laugh that told her just as effectively as a mirror would that she looked nothing like a princess anymore.
“Control yourself, man,” she said disdainfully, even as her face began to turn red.
He managed to control himself after a bit more laughing, and said, “What did you ask?”
“I asked,” she said, “What you think I should do next.”
“Oh. Just wait for that guy to tell you, probably,” he said unhelpfully. Then added, “Have a seat,” as he nodded his head toward a table by the door. There were a few mismatched chairs grouped around it, and some books and magazines scattered on top of it along with a plate that held the remains of someone’s dinner.
Julianna wandered over to the table and saw that the magazines were faded old copies with titles like Innkeepers’ Digest and Maids’ Quarterly. There was also a book entitled Drink Mixing for Simpletons and a newspaper that appeared to be at least fairly current. She grabbed up the newspaper and began to read. While she was not naïve enough to believe that journalists would dare write articles outright insulting the monarchy, she was hoping that, by reading between the lines, she might be able to get an idea about angry undercurrents. But no sooner had she begun to peruse a society piece about the upcoming hunting party her father was throwing for her little brother than the innkeeper burst into the room, still looking kind of mad.
“Listen, kid, I’m sorry I was so angry out there. It’s just that the guy you’re supposed to be stealing from is sitting out there at one of the tables, and he just saw you use the main entrance. You walk into the place all covered in street muck like someone who’s never set foot in the city before; the last thing I need is him inferring that you don’t know the ropes because you are not a real employee.”
She considered him slightly paranoid. Surely that sort of thing didn’t really matter? Not knowing what to say, she remained silent.
“Okay, well let’s get moving. I’m going to take you down to the basement to show you where all the maid stuff is. On the way out of here, I want you to look at the table in the far corner. That’s where the guy whose room you’re going to search is sitting. Get a good look at him so you’ll know to avoid him. But don’t look too close or he’ll get suspicious.”
Julianna frowned. Get a good look but don’t look too close. Right. Whatever. She followed him out of the door and toward another heavy wood door opposite the bar. On the way, she glanced at the guy sitting at the far table.
And their eyes met.
And she did more than glance.
She stopped in her tracks and stared.
Because there was something about him that was very worthy of a good stare. He wasn’t earth-shatteringly handsome or anything, but there was something about this Mortimer Perkins that froze her to the spot.
In a good way.
Some exciting aura he somehow managed to exude (though all he was doing was sitting there gnawing at a turkey leg) that made her feel he must be a manly sort of fellow who swashbuckled and had devil-may-care adventures.
He caught her eye, smiled, and gave a little wave.
She found herself smiling back.
Dexter was saying something, but she was blocking him out.
It was only when Galt took her by the arm and physically yanked her through the door to the basement that she snapped out of it.
Down in the basement, she was too preoccupied to even pay much attention to the complaining of the bartender, or to give more than a slight nod when he introduced her to his wife, who they bumped into as she was leading a young man and woman in through the servants’ door.
Galt stopped for a few minutes to ask his wife, Mary, who the young man and woman were and why she was bringin
g them into the inn. There was a note of suspicion in Galt’s voice that Julianna would have found strange in a husband addressing his wife if she had been paying more than a shred of attention. But she was too busy reminiscing about the way Mortimer’s blue eyes had sparkled at her to notice much else.
* * *
17But for the commoners, it was wood all the way. Other materials were expensive, but due to the vast forest in Fritillary’s wild North Country, wood was pretty cheap. On any given day, you could bet there was somewhere along the Fritillary River at least one shipment of logs floating downstream to the city. Logjams were a constant source of frustration to people who traveled by boat.
Due to the fact that the whole city was essentially a big bonfire waiting to happen, the fire department was the one public works service that both Conroy and his ancestors before him had kept consistently funded. After all, it would be pretty rotten if a house fire spread too far and all of a sudden, BAM!, there you were the king of nothing but a big smoldering ash heap and a scattering of outlying little backwaters full of people too poor to contribute much in the way of taxes anyway. All you could do would be roast some marshmallows until the ashes cooled, and then try to figure out a new career path. One that actually involved working. And as much as Conroy loved a good s’more, he didn’t want his city to burn to the ground and thus have to go get a job. So, he kept up the family tradition of funding the fire department and left the s’more construction to the kitchen staff.
Chapter Sixteen
Even after Corrine and Warren had left Farland’s place far behind and were well on the way to the inn that was the first stop on their journey out of the city, Warren was still reeling from the discovery of the magical pool of raven blood that spoke to him in his head. He looked down at the vial of red liquid he held in his hand, wondering whether it had been wise to follow the raven blood’s advice and take a bit of the blood with him on his journey. But they’d been in a hurry, so he’d just taken a vial from Farland’s workbench, scooped some blood out of the basin, and figured he’d weigh the pros and cons later.
How to Break an Evil Curse Page 15