“No, no. They’re having their boar hunt this week.”
“Don’t tell Princess Kristen. She’ll run off to join them—and not for the princes but the boars. She loves hunting.”
“Ah, she’s a tomprincess all right, that one,” Gilly replied.
Certainly not a puffball, thought Alicia. “I’d better wear the pantaloons; they’re easier to paddle in,” she said to Gilly. “And with only three days until the songbird contest, we Purples need every point we can get!”
Chapter 13
THOSE CHEATING CRIMSONS!
“One, two, power stroke! One, two, power stroke!” Princess Kinna, in the bow of the canoe, set the pace. Princess Alicia was in the stern. Kinna was a powerful paddler. Alicia had to match her stroke for stroke. If her bird couldn’t sing, she could at least help the Purples by paddling.
In the lead was a Crimson canoe with Princess Morwenna and Princess Zelenka. Perhaps Kristen and Maggie of Schottlandia would catch them, or perhaps she and Kinna would, Alicia thought with great excitement.
They were coming into the final bend of the river. Kinna, an experienced river paddler, had told Alicia that heading for the outside of the curve would give them a boost from the current. But Kinna was not the only paddler who knew this. All three canoes were now heading for the outside of the bend.
Maggie and Kristen pulled ahead of the Crimsons’ canoe. Good! thought Alicia. She saw Zelenka look around and say something to Morwenna. Then suddenly Kristen’s canoe seemed to go off course. “Foul!” Maggie called.
“I don’t believe it!” Princess Kinna said. The Crimsons had slammed the Purples’ canoe! “That’s cheating!” But there was no one on the riverbank to see it.
Princess Morwenna looked back, then turned her face to heaven. Who’s she praying to, Alicia wondered. The patron saint of cheaters? “Well, by Saint Timothy, the patron saint of canoeing,” Alicia muttered, “we’ll overtake her!”
Then Kinna shouted, “Ramming speed!”
Alicia had never paddled so hard. She remembered Kinna’s advice: It’s all in the shoulders. That’s where the power comes from. Hers were aching. But it was paying off. They were sweeping alongside the Crimson canoe now.
Now the real race began! It was the last hundred feet, bow to bow. The princesses onshore were screaming their heads off. The Purple and Crimson cheerleaders had torn off their tiaras and were waving them madly in the air. There were cries of “Go Purple!” “Go Crimson!” “Go Kinna!” “Go Zelenka!” Someone yelled out, “Pray and paddle, Morwenna!” Alicia heard, “You can do it, Alicia!” From the corner of her eye she saw Gunny, stomping on the bank, rallying the team.
“Tie!” Lady Gussie called out as both canoes glided across the finish line at the exact same moment.
“Tie!” Alicia flopped back in the canoe. “If only we could have stroked a little bit harder. We could have won!”
“They haven’t seen the last of us,” Kinna said grimly. “Come on, let’s go.”
“Go where?”
“To congratulate the Crimsons,” Princess Kinna said as they pulled up onto the riverbank. She climbed out of the canoe and began to walk toward Zelenka and Morwenna. The tall princess had her one hundred and forty-eight braids pulled back into a large ponytail. Alicia followed her reluctantly, keeping her eyes fastened on the bobbing cluster of braids.
“Congratulations, sister princesses.” Kinna made a shallow curtsey. Morwenna and Zelenka looked somewhat startled.
“That’s what I like to see!” Lady Gussie boomed. “Royally good sportsmanship!”
Kinna stepped closer to the princesses.
“You know what we do to cheaters in Mattunga?” she whispered. Kinna was trembling so hard with barely concealed anger that her braids shivered.
“We dangle them over the crocodile pit. To cheat is an insult to your god, your family, and your ancestors. And you know what?”
“What?” Zelenka said weakly.
“They never cheat again.”
“We didn’t cheat, and there are no crocodiles here,” Morwenna said smugly.
“I’m sure we can arrange something,” Kinna said. Then she turned and walked away.
Chapter 14
CASTLED!
The following evening the three princesses of the South Turret slid into their places in the Great Hall with their hair still slightly damp from swimming. They had been practicing hard for the swimming meet. Gundersnap and Alicia had both learned how to swim very quickly and would be competing against the Crimsons in their B-1 level. Even having tied the canoe races, they were still behind the Crimsons.
It seemed as if everywhere one turned in the castle, there was either a banner or a hanging scroll announcing the score for the Color Wars. The end of the first session would arrive soon, and tensions were mounting. All the campers talked about were the upcoming competitions.
The Duchess of Bagglesnort was, unfortunately, at their table, and she did not approve of sports talk during meals. She gave the girls a sharp look. “I would expect wet hair from Her Royal Frogginess,” she said, glancing at Princess Myrella, “but not from you three.”
Why was she always picking on the tiny princess? Alicia thought. This has to stop. But do I really have the nerve, she wondered. Or am I just a puffball princess? Yes, I have the nerve. I am no puffball princess. I was born to rule! She stood and pulled herself up to her full height. Her full height was not all that tall, but still she looked regal and every inch a princess.
“Duchess of Bagglesnort, your cruel words, spoken to the gracious and honorable Princess Myrella of the Kingdom of the Marshes, were hurtful, perhaps by accident—yes, I am sure by accident. Please, Your Grace, tell the Princess Myrella that you did not mean to hurt her.”
A tide of red color began to rise beneath the powder on the duchess’s cheeks. A hideous transformation swept across her face. Her eyes became angry slits.
“Sit down, Princess,” the duchess hissed at Alicia.
“I prefer to stand,” Alicia said quietly.
“Suit yourself.” The Snort’s voice had a deadly edge. “I will tell you, Princess, that you have no idea what my intentions were, are, or shall be. But I will say this: The Duchess of Bagglesnort does not do anything accidentally. How dare you, a mere child, tell me what to do? I am your superior.”
“You are my superior in age, but not in rank. May I remind you that a princess always outranks a duchess.”
Hatred oozed from the slits of the duchess’s eyes. “You are castled!”
“Castled?” Alicia said with disbelief.
“Indeed, for the remainder of this session.”
The members of the Purple team gasped. Short of being sent back to one’s kingdom, being castled was the worst and most humiliating punishment there was at Camp Princess. It meant that a princess could not leave the stone confines of the castle, so all outdoor activities were forbidden. And when she was not at an activity, she had to remain in her turret. This was a real blow to the team. Alicia’s bird might not be singing, but she had proved herself a strong paddler and was a crack falconer. The Purples needed her.
Chapter 15
BIRD, BOOK, AND SPIRIT
“I shall protest, my dear! I believe it is sheer nonsense that you should be castled.”
“But that’s not the only thing, Lady Merry,” Alicia said. “Poor Myrella. It’s not only the Snort—I mean, the Duchess of Bagglesnort—who picks on her. It’s her turretmates as well.”
“Which turret is she in?”
“North.”
“Oh, yes, a difficult group of princesses. But you know, my dear, changing turrets is nearly impossible during a session. Perhaps we can hope for next session, but not this one. But now quick, child, bring me my lap desk and writing tools. We’re going straight to the Queen Mum. I know she will be most sympathetic.” Lady Merry drew her hanky from the bodice of her dress and began wiping her brow.
“Gilly, call my corset maid to come and loosen m
y stays. I can’t write all trussed up like a stuffed goose. Got to get blood to the old brain. Now, don’t you worry, dearie. We’ll have you back in action shortly.”
At least I told Old Snorty a thing or two, Alicia thought as she returned to her bedchamber. Gilly had just finished helping her out of her many layers of clothes. Alicia had stood still as a statue as Gilly fussed with the numerous tie strings, hooks, and buttons, all the while muttering, “It simply isn’t fair, Your Highness. Everyone knows that the old goat has to have it out for somebody every year. They say whipping boys went out of style years ago, but now, by Saint Sebastian’s bones, I think that the Snort can be said to have herself a whipping princess.”
Well, she won’t have me! thought Alicia, flinging herself angrily on her bed. Then she happened to look at the weeb. She always left his cage door open now, so he was perched on her bedpost. It was hard to imagine she had ever been worried about a silly old songbird. Troubles changed minute by minute. Troubles that might seem huge a few minutes before were not worth a pinch of pigeon doo now! That thought made her giggle.
“What are you giggling about, milady?” Gilly asked. “It’s not a giggling matter, I daresay.”
“No, it’s not, I suppose,” Alicia said, wiggling into her lacy white nightgown. She shivered as she climbed into bed, and then turned and stared at the weeb again. He had perched on her bedpost to read over her shoulder. Then she suddenly remembered that the night before, she might have heard a trilling sound after she had fallen asleep.
She knew for sure now that she had felt a cold presence as she slept every night. It was almost like a mist, but a cold mist. It was a dream of snow and moonlight and, yes, birdsong!
Something was happening at night in her chamber. Whether it was a bird singing or a ghost visiting, she wanted to be awake, to hear it and to see it. Could it be a female weeb coming into the chamber while she slept? Could there be some connection between the bird and the presence and the book? Was the bird singing to the presence?
She decided to stay up—at least until the time when the night drank up the moon. She would read into the small hours of the morning. And then she might sleep. If the weeb sang, she wanted to hear it.
Alicia reached for her book and stroked its cover. She kept the weeb’s golden feather as her bookmark. It was odd; sometimes she could have sworn she left it in one place, but when she opened the book the feather would be in another, as if calling her attention to a particular letter in the book. As Alicia began reading, she once more vowed to stay awake.
But then, as the moon rode high in the sky, she yawned, and her eyes began to feel heavy. She sat up straighter against the great mass of pillows. She needed to stay awake. She needed to find out if indeed there was a ghost, a spirit that was somehow linked to the bird. Why would it come back now, for a little mute songbird? She had to know. But eventually the words began to blur on the page, her head drooped, and her chin touched the lace flounce of her nightgown. She was asleep.
“Rats!” Alicia muttered as she sprang from her bed. How had she fallen asleep? It was still night, she noticed, as she pulled back the covers and got out of bed.
She went to her window. All the turrets and towers of the castle wore snowy peaked hats. “Winter again.” She sighed. The drawbridge was up, but she could see that the moat had frozen over. There was a brilliance to the night. A glistening white blanket of snow covered the fields. The Forest of Chimes looked as if it were made of lace. The path of moonlight across the snow blazed silver and seemed to beckon her.
Alicia thought about Princess Kinna’s remedy of finding a female weeb on a snowy night. I must go! I must! she decided. There was no choice in the Color Wars’ songbird contest. She was castled and might not be able to participate, but this was about much more than a contest. This bird had to sing, and it was not just so the Purple team could win. No, this was not about Color Wars and winning. This was about something she could barely understand, something she sensed somewhere deep inside of her.
It didn’t take Alicia long to gather what she would need. But like so many princesses, she had never really dressed herself. There were always maids to help with the many layers that a princess had to wear. It began with pantalettes, then went on to shifts and chemises and under-petticoats and over-petticoats and kirtles and gowns. Each had a different system of hooking, tying, lacing, or buttoning. It was impossible to do it alone. Most of these garments fastened up the back.
“Stupid clothes!” Alicia muttered. Her first decision was to turn them all around so she could see what she was doing. Who’d care if she wore the gown backward? No one would see her.
By the time she had pulled on her purple boots, she was sweating. She grabbed her snowshoes and a candle. Just before she was about to slip out of her chamber, she turned to the songbird and said, “I’ll find you a mate, I promise.” Then she turned, pulled up the hood of her cloak, and tiptoed out of her bedchamber and across the floor of the parlor, holding her snowshoes in one hand and a candle in the other.
Chapter 16
CHIMES IN A SNOWY NIGHT
From the South Turret, Alicia descended several flights of stairs. She passed a guard fast asleep at his post. She was walking quickly through the Portrait Gallery when she started to look at the paintings of queens and empresses who had attended Camp Princess.
The guard might be asleep, but not her mum! She could have sworn the eyes in the portrait of Flora Mathilda Elinora, once a princess and now Queen of All the Belgravias, were following her.
By the time she reached the Great Hall, her candle was flickering. There was only a minute left in the wick, maybe less.
Alicia raced across the Great Hall and pulled open the wooden door to the courtyard. As she stepped out into the cold air, the gleaming carpet of snow seemed to dare her to cross. She couldn’t leave footprints. She would have to edge around the courtyard to the blacksmith’s shop at a far corner. There was a gate that could be opened from the inside. This led to a passageway to the banks of the moat. During her swim classes, she had passed right by the door of this passageway. She could see it when she was swimming.
Cautiously she began her journey around the square of snow in the courtyard. Finally she reached the blacksmith’s shop. She went through the gate and then began to thread her way down the winding passageway to the moat. Once there she strapped on her snowshoes. In the blink of an eye, she was across the frozen moat and moving over the snowy field.
The new snowshoes were fast. Soon she was hearing the sound of the chimes. Now, where to begin? Alicia wondered. Where would a small songbird be on a cold, snowy night?
She entered the forest. She wondered if she should just wait and let the birds come to her. If she held herself very still against the tree where she now stood, maybe they would think she was just another part of the tree, just an odd branch to perch on. A very odd one with earmuffs!
The shadows of the branches cast a dark, lacy design on the moon-bright snow. A bell from above fell with a muffled thud into the whiteness at her feet. Alicia saw that the hood of the bell was as thin and delicate as a leaf, yet it had not shattered. What a strange and magical place this was!
As she continued to stand by the tree, Alicia’s vision grew sharper. She could make out the tiniest knotholes in a small tree a few feet away. Might a female weeb be roosting in one of these holes that was no wider than an egg? She peered at the tree. There were two knotholes side by side that looked almost like eyes—rather baggy eyes, at that. Then she noticed a kind of knob between the eyes that could have been a nose.
The bark of the tree moved! Alicia caught her breath as a figure stepped forward. Her heart skipped a beat or two. What in the world?
“Not in the world, my dear. In the Forest of Chimes. That is all. All one needs, some might say.”
Standing before her was a woman, a very old woman, garbed in a tunic of bark and leaves. She was wearing a cloak made of moss, and her long, white hair was caught up in a net of
spiderwebs. A spider or two hung about her ears. On her shoulder perched a peregrine, a large bird with a black hood of feathers. Would this crone help her find a female weeb?
“There is much to be done, girl, beyond finding you a songbird.”
On the bones of Saint George’s dragon, how does this crone—Alicia’s thoughts were interrupted by the words of the old woman.
“Now, now, girl, don’t be swearing on poor old Saint George’s beast and don’t be calling me a crone. So, you wonder how I know what you are thinking? It’s my gift, girl, my gift. With some it’s harder to read the mind than others. But you’re clear, girl. Clear as the clapper in the tree bells that chime. You’re true. That is why you were chosen.”
“Chosen? Chosen for what?”
The ancient woman stepped forward. She smelled like pine trees. She was very short—she only came up to Alicia’s chin. Her eyes were colorless but had a bright spot in them. Alicia quickly realized that it was a reflection of the moon.
“’Tis your fate, your destiny.”
“Destiny?” Alicia was completely baffled. “Who are you?”
There was a kack kack sound.
“Hush, Percy,” said the old woman. She reached up and stroked the peregrine’s feathers. “I am Berwynna of the Chimes.”
“Berwynna?” Alicia said.
“Think, girl, think hard,” Berwynna said.
Alicia opened her eyes wide. Could this be like…like…Merlin? She had barely even finished the thought when Berwynna shrieked, “Like Merlin! I am the sister of Merlin! But I am nothing like him.” The spiders quivering over her ears hoisted themselves up on their silken threads into the hair that was piled like a bird’s nest on Berwynna’s head.
“Merlin’s sister? I didn’t know he had one,” Alicia said.
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