Tuesdays at the Castle

by Jessica Day George

  “I think the Castle knew this was going to happen,” Celie said, and felt two more fat tears run down her cheeks.

  Chapter

  21

  I don’t know if this is a good idea,” Lilah dithered.

  “Lilah,” Celie said patiently, shaking out the rope to see how long it was, “you just said you wanted to find some manure and push Khelsh into it! How can we do that if we’re trapped in here?”

  Lilah tugged at her gown, straightening it, and then adjusted the lace sleeves. “All right,” she said finally. “One of us has to go. I’ll—”

  “No, it has to be me,” Celie interrupted her. “I’m not strong enough to lower you down, but you could lower me,” she pointed out.

  “But …” Lilah studied the rope and the window. “I was going to tie it … There’s nothing to tie it to,” she said in a defeated voice.

  Celie just nodded. She’d already seen that. The table wasn’t heavy enough, and there was nothing else in the room but the trunk, and that was barely heavier than the table.

  “All right,” Lilah said, her hands on her hips. “You’ll have to go. But be extra careful. Don’t confront Khelsh, just find Rolf and see what’s going on. And if you have a chance to bring back some food, take it.”

  “Of course,” Celie said. “It might be the last food we get in a while,” she agreed as she looped one end of the rope under her arms and tied it in front of her chest.

  “I know; it’s much too dangerous for you to do this every day,” Lilah said, coming forward to help her tie a more secure knot.

  “And I’m going to dismiss the staff,” Celie told her.

  Lilah gasped. “All of them? Why?”

  “All of them,” Celie said firmly. “Every maid, stable hand, and footman; I want them all to quit and walk out. We’ll see what Khelsh does with no servants to order around.”

  Lilah’s eyes shone. “Brilliant,” she breathed.

  Celie tugged at the knot. “All right, let’s try this.”

  Gathering up a few things, like her atlas and Prince Lulath’s mirror on its wand, Celie wished she had some boys’ clothes to wear, but it couldn’t be helped. At the last minute, she put some of the hard biscuits in her sash, in case she couldn’t find anything better to eat. Then she hiked up her skirts and sat on the windowsill. The roof looked a long way down, and the rounded red tiles were probably very treacherous to walk on, but they had no choice. There was no ladder, the only stairs led to a dead end, and she couldn’t possibly lower Lilah down.

  “Um, can you turn, and um, hang by your hands?” Lilah took hold of her shoulders and tried to help her move around. They were fortunate that the windowsill was quite wide. “If you slip, I don’t think I can hang on.”

  Celie got herself up on one hip, her body completely twisted and her palms sweating. “Wait! Loop the rope around the leg of the table, and use it to sort of … winch me.”

  “Winch you?”

  “Like a mountain climber,” Celie said, trying to remember the book she’d read about mountain climbing once. She’d begun it because it had been Bran’s favorite book when he was ten, but Celie had found it to be quite boring. She remembered something about winding the ropes around spikes, though, so that the climber’s weight was supported by something other than his companion. “Twist a loop around one leg,” she said again. “So that it doesn’t pull your arms out of your sockets when I go down.”

  “I’ll try it,” Lilah said doubtfully. She hurried and wrapped the rope around the nearest leg of the table, her brow creased in concern. She wound the rest of the rope around her fists, holding it tight, and braced her feet. “Slowly, please,” she said to Celie.

  “All right,” Celie grunted.

  She turned herself around so that her stomach pressed against the sill. Her skirts were hopelessly tangled around her legs, and she hoped that no one looked out a window in their direction. Wriggling her legs, she edged out until she was clinging with her arms. Then she let herself slide a bit more, until just her hands were clamped on the edge of the sill, her entire body hanging down the side of the Tower. She let out a faint scream.

  “Are you dead?” Lilah’s voice was nearly a scream as well.

  “No,” Celie panted. “I’m going to let go on the count of three.”

  “All right.”

  “One. Two.” She let out another scream. “Three!”

  It actually took her a minute more to let go. Her fingers were frozen in terror and wouldn’t release the stone windowsill. But the rope yanked taut as Lilah struggled with it, shrieking inarticulately all the while, and Celie decided it was better to let go than hang there all day. And so she did. Sweat broke out all over her body, and the pain as the rope caught her under her arms made her whimper. The rough stone of the Castle wall scratched her cheek, and she tried to cling to it with her fingers and toes as Lilah lowered her down in jerky inches.

  When her feet touched the tiles of the roof below, Celie let out a cheer. Lilah ran to the window and looked down, letting the slack rope slither down on Celie’s head.

  “Ow! Careful!”

  “Whoops!” Lilah grabbed the rope and pulled it back toward her. “Are you all right? Are you hurt?”

  “No, I’m all right,” Celie said.

  But her knees buckled and she sank down on the roof. She slid a little as she did so, and had to jam her feet into the tarnished copper rain gutter to stop herself from sliding right off. Above her, she heard Lilah say something she must have learned from one of the stable boys, or Pogue, but she was too busy getting her breath under control to care much.

  “Are you all right now?”

  “Yes,” Celie croaked.

  “I think I’m going to be sick,” Lilah announced.

  “Don’t,” Celie said. She untied the rope from her chest. “I’m fine. Tie the rope to the table leg, and I’ll yank on it when I’m ready to come back up.”

  “Be careful,” Lilah said for the hundredth time.

  “I’ll tell everyone where you are,” Celie said. “Just in case something happens to me. The servants can get you out.”

  “You’ll be fine,” Lilah said, putting on a brave face. “Good luck!” She waved awkwardly.

  Celie waved back, and then got to her feet. She did it slowly, with one hand on the stones of the Tower wall, praying silently the whole time. But she didn’t slip, and the tiles didn’t go slithering off the roof the way her mind kept trying to tell her they were going to, either. Turning slowly, and walking with the hunched posture of a very old woman, she made her way along the roof to the bit that hung over the balcony.

  She was concentrating hard on putting her feet just so on the tiles, and when Lilah called out to her, she startled and nearly fell.

  “Oh!” Lilah let out another shout. “The balcony is right under you,” she called.

  “Thanks,” Celie called back without turning her head.

  Lowering herself to a crouch with extreme care, she crawled to the edge of the roof and gripped the rain gutter. Looking past it, she could see the flagstones of the balcony. She scooted on her bottom until her feet were hanging down, then she pushed off with her hands. The back of her skirt caught on the rain gutter and ripped with a whooshing noise. She stumbled and fell, bruising her kneecaps and scraping the skin on her palms as she landed.

  “Ouch! Blasted, stinking—”

  “Your Highness?”

  Celie jerked upright, frightened, as the tall door that opened onto the balcony swung toward her. There was a maid in a long white apron with an equally white face standing there.

  “Oh.” Celie sat back on her heels, pushing her torn skirts down over her bruised legs. “Hello.”

  “Your Highness!” The maid dropped the basket she was carrying and threw herself at Celie, hugging her around the neck and sobbing. “We thought you were dead!”

  “No, I’m not,” Celie said, gently detaching her. “Not at all. Nor is my sister.”

  “Oh, sai
nts be praised!” The girl raised her eyes to heaven and muttered a prayer. She was about Lilah’s age, and Celie thought she was one of the chambermaids. “None of us had seen you in days, and then when the Castle … stopped … we just thought the worst!”

  “Lilah and I were trapped in a tower,” Celie told her. “I managed to get out, but I’ve got some things I need to do.”

  “Of course,” the maid said, recovering quickly. She got up, straightened her apron, and then helped Celie up. She clucked her tongue when she saw the back of Celie’s gown. “It’s quite ruined,” she said. “Here, why don’t you put on my best gown?” She moved through the door and picked up the basket she had been carrying, offering it to Celie.

  “Why are you carrying around your best gown?” Celie took the basket and looked inside. “Why are you carrying all your things?” She looked up at the maid.

  The older girl’s cheeks colored, but she looked back with a defiant expression. “I’m going home to my mother,” she said. “I won’t stay here with that horrible foreigner in charge, not when the Castle’s gone all funny and still. I gave my notice to Ma’am Housekeeper, and so did three other girls.”

  “Good,” Celie said, startling the maid. “That’s what I was coming to tell everyone. I want every member of the staff out of the Castle by night. You should all leave. Ma’am Housekeeper, too.”

  “We should?”

  “Yes. We’ll see how Prince Khelsh likes it when there is no one to cook him supper or light the fire in his room.”

  The maid grinned with delight, and then helped Celie out of her torn gown and into the other one. It was plain, but a pleasing color of blue, and only a bit too long.

  “I’ll just be off, then,” the maid said, her voice uncertain. “Do you know how I can get out?”

  “I think so.” Celie pulled her atlas out of the bodice of her shift. “I’ve been mapping the Castle for some time now.”

  “Coo-ee, you’re a clever one,” the maid said, her eyes round. Then she remembered herself and bobbed a curtsy. “Your Highness.”

  “I think if you go left at the next passageway,” Celie said, hiding her pleasure at the compliment, “you can go straight down the main stairs to the stable. If you pass any other servants, be sure to tell them they can leave.”

  “Yes, Princess Cecelia,” the maid said, curtsying again. She scurried off.

  At the next passageway, Celie turned in the opposite direction she had sent the maid, and then followed her atlas toward the kitchens. She went down several staircases and through a large room she thought might have been a portrait gallery at one time, but now it only held some rusty armor piled in one corner. Two right turns and a spiral staircase brought her to the kitchens.

  Heaving a great sigh, imagining the warm smell of bread and the welcome she would receive from Cook, Celie pushed open the door.

  And found total chaos.

  The maids were crying. The knife boy was shouting something, and there was even a dog in one corner howling along. Something was burning, and there was a great pile of potato peels in the middle of the floor. Celie stood on tiptoe to look for Cook, whom she finally spotted sitting in the far corner with her apron over her head, rocking back and forth.

  Hauling up her skirts, Celie stepped onto a stool and then one of the long wooden tables. She shouted for quiet, but no one heard her, so she picked up a large copper pot and a wooden spoon and began banging them.

  “Be quiet!”

  A hush fell over the kitchen at last, broken only by the occasional sniffle. Even the dog stopped abruptly to gape at her.

  “Princess Cecelia!”

  Cook rushed across the kitchen and yanked Celie down off the table to hug her tightly. Her face pressed into the woman’s formidable bosom, Celie patted Cook on the hip, the only thing she could reach.

  “He didn’t kill you!” Cook’s stoic voice broke on the words.

  “No,” Celie said, not needing to ask who “he” was. “Lilah and I are very well. Rolf, too, I hope.”

  “Is your hiding place still safe?”

  “Yes,” Celie said, which was mostly true.

  Cook pushed Celie away and dusted her hands. “You’re starving. Food for you. And your sister.” Cook noticed the chaos of her realm for the first time, and her face purpled. “Clean up this mess! Stop moaning!”

  The kitchen maids scrambled to do her bidding, and Celie tugged on Cook’s sleeve. “Pardon me, Cook? I don’t want— All right, I do want food. But something else, too.”

  “Anything,” Cook said absently. She was briskly slicing thick pieces of bread.

  “I want you to leave the Castle. All of you.”

  The long knife paused, and the maid who was scooping up potato peelings from the floor nearby froze.

  Cook turned slowly to look at Celie.

  “You all need to leave,” Celie repeated. “Every person loyal to Castle Glower should get out.” She smiled at the big woman. “Khelsh won’t have many people to lord over if the Castle is empty of everyone but the Council.”

  “What about you and your sister?” Cook’s voice was sharp.

  “We’ll still be here,” Celie said, quailing a little. “We have to find a way to stop Khelsh.”

  “How?”

  “We’ll find a way,” Celie said with a grim confidence that she didn’t really feel.

  She could see that Cook wasn’t convinced, so she tried another tactic. “It will be easier if we’re not worried that he’s going to punish you in order to get to us.”

  “My girls can go,” Cook said grudgingly. “But I was born in the Castle.” She held up the long serrated bread knife, and Celie gulped.

  “I know—that’s why I need your help,” Celie told her, suddenly finding inspiration in the candlelight gleaming off the blade.

  Cook cocked one eyebrow, her enormous arms folded over her bosom, the knife pointing upward.

  “I want you to gather every loyal soldier and every farmer and shepherd who can wield a pitchfork or shoot an arrow,” Celie said, feeling her shoulders straighten and her face brighten as she warmed to her new idea. “I want messages sent to all of Sleyne, and all our allies outside of Sleyne. Grath. Keltin. All of them. You’re all needed to lay siege to the Castle.”

  Shaking her head, Cook went back to slicing the bread. “The Castle cannot be seized,” she said.

  “Not when the Castle was alive,” Celie said, trying not to choke on the words.

  Putting down the knife, Cook turned to look at Celie again. She put her big hands on each side of Celie’s face, and her blue eyes bored into Celie’s.

  “Nothing can defeat Castle Glower,” she said.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Celie said.

  She released Celie and looked around. The kitchen staff were all standing, watching. She nodded briskly to them.

  “You heard the princess! Gather your things, put the food in baskets. We leave nothing for those rats above to eat!”

  The staff cheered, and sprang into action. They filled hamper after hamper, and layered their clothes and personal things around huge cheeses, hams, and loaves of bread. Cook filled an enormous hamper for Celie, and slid it under a table for the princess to carry away later. She put her best knives in a basket, covered them with clean aprons, and rested a pie on top.

  “Douse the fires!” she roared to the staff.

  “You’ll need to take a secret way out,” Celie said, realizing that several dozen people carrying large baskets of food could not simply walk out the front gates. She pulled out her atlas and consulted it. After a moment, she took a page and handed it to Cook. “Lead them this way,” she said, tracing the route with one finger. “It goes through the seamstresses’ quarters—make sure you tell them to leave with you—and then there’s a hidden passage here into the storerooms. You can get out behind the stables, and take one of the side gates.”

  “You are a wonder,” Cook said, tucking the map into her apron pocket.

  Celie blushed
and stood on tiptoe to kiss Cook’s cheek. “I promise we’ll have a grand celebration when Khelsh is routed.”

  “A whole custard tart just for you,” Cook said, knowing that it was Celie’s favorite.

  “I’ll remember that,” Celie said, feeling cheerful for the first time since she had felt the Castle go dead.

  Chapter

  22

  Celie carefully wended her way through the Castle, catching hold of maids and footmen and guardsmen and ordering them to leave. She led an entire string of footmen through a secret passage and out into the stables, then went back and convinced some of the household guard to go the same way. She was starting to get worried, though, when she realized that she had not seen the least sign of Rolf or the Council.

  Steeling herself, she made her way to the throne room. She stayed around the corner from the main hall and used the little mirror on its brass wand that Prince Lulath had given her to investigate. She could see Khelsh’s guards standing outside the throne room. Her throat went dry, and she knew that the Council was behind those doors, along with Rolf, or the guards would not have been there.

  Celie went back down the passageway to the servants’ door. She opened it carefully, making sure that the arras on the other side was still in place, and then put her ear to the crack and listened hard. To her surprise, the first voice she heard was Prince Lulath’s.

  “This is outrage of the very most terrible!” The Grathian prince’s voice was shaking. “You have made hostage the Glower children and done the murder, yes, murder for Castle Glower! I cannot sit while you do this horrible of horrible crimes, Khelsh!”

  “I lead regency Council, and am heir to—”

  “You are the heir to nothing,” Rolf cut in, his voice icy. “I have not signed the succession agreement, nor will I ever. Should I die, Castle Glower and the rule of Sleyne will pass to my sister Cecelia. The Bishop of Sleyne witnessed the writ of succession this morning, and the document is in his keeping.”

  Prickles ran down Celie’s back. She was Rolf’s heir?