The Cracks in the Kingdom

by Jaclyn Moriarty

  “What if, say, you had tea with dear friends on the eve of a particular birthday,” Samuel persisted, “and then, upon the day of that same birthday, held a banquet?”

  Princess Ko zipped up her jacket so it touched her chin. Keira chewed on her knuckles. Elliot arched his back and stretched his arms high. He’d been cramped against the side of the sleigh the last half hour, while the Princess slept, her head bumping up against his shoulder.

  Sergio, being a stable boy, was helping the servants.

  Much of their three days of travel to this point had taken them through bright white snowfields. It was true that the province seemed to murmur with danger: There had been glimpses of wild creatures, and the threat of Wandering Hostiles had been constant — in fact, there’d been two or three scuffles. But they had started out amidst festivities and photo shoots. They had passed their nights in the castles of nobility — feasting and dancing until dawn — and mostly their days had rushed and bumped along while they dozed amidst blankets, ate foil-wrapped chocolates, now and then skirting frozen lakes, streams, or wells that gleamed under the sunshine, and misted with provincial magic.

  So, the mood had been mostly upbeat.

  For the last several hours, however, the sleighs had been climbing into the dark woods of the foothills. The farther they had traveled into darkness, the louder the murmur of danger had sounded, and the more subdued the party had become.

  So, now most of the travelers were quiet.

  Princess Ko shook her head quickly, to shake away her sleepiness. Her braid flailed about, then settled into a long straight line down her back. Her sunglasses reflected the shapes of trees and a passing husky dog.

  Sergio dumped a pack in the snow by Keira’s feet, and she flinched.

  Elliot turned to watch the Princess’s security agents.

  Since disembarking, the agents had been standing by the notice, talking in low, urgent voices. Now Agent Ramsay shrugged and lit a cigarette, and Agent Nettles stepped across to speak to Princess Ko.

  “That can’t apply to us,” Agent Nettles said, waving her thumb at the notice. “The sixteen birthday thing. I think there’s a Gatehouse up ahead where they check people into the Lake. I’ll go get clearance or whatever. Meantime” — she raised her voice to a shout at the servants — “unload our packs as well, would you?”

  Then she strode past the sign, took three steps along the path, flung her arms in the air, and threw herself down into the snow.

  That’s how it looked, anyhow.

  There was a faint clanging like the distant echo of metal trash-can lids.

  “Oh, come on.” Agent Nettles spoke from the ground through a mouthful of snow. She scrambled to her feet and walked forward again. This time, it was as if someone had shoved her hard in the stomach. “Oof!” she cried, arching forward, stumbling, and falling back to the snow. The clanging sounded again.

  A servant paused, holding a pack. “They’ve got a protective shield around the Lake of Spells,” he called. “It’s new. To keep out dragons and vampires. And adults.”

  Agent Ramsay laughed. “All in the same category.” He slid along the path, held his cigarette aside, and offered his hand to Agent Nettles.

  She stood shivering so that pieces of snow slipped from her clothing. “There must be a way around.”

  Agent Ramsay stepped off the path, moved forward tentatively, and clanged with a thud into the snow.

  “There’s no way around,” called Keira.

  She was pointing, moving her hand slowly through the air, staring hard as she did so. Then she raised her arm higher, and pointed again.

  “It goes up and over,” she said. “Like a dome.”

  “You can see it?” cried Samuel, looking around wildly. “I can’t see a thing!”

  “She’s a Night-Dweller,” Princess Ko reminded him. “A Jagged-Edgian Night-Dweller. They have that vision thing.”

  “And how is it like, this dome?” Sergio gazed at Keira, his eyes even brighter than usual. “It is beautiful?”

  Keira shrugged. “Depends on your taste, I guess.”

  The agents looked at each other.

  “We can’t let you go in there alone.” Agent Ramsay tapped the end of his cigarette. A little tumble of fire and ash spilled to the snow, sparked and disappeared. “That was never the plan.”

  “It was my plan!” Princess Ko’s leg twitched as if she was about to stamp it. She calmed her voice. “Look, if the shield stops dangerous things getting in, then it’ll stop weapons too! We’ll be perfectly safe! Nobody will recognize me!”

  “Plenty of ways to kill a person without a weapon,” Agent Ramsay murmured.

  “I will protect her,” Sergio declared. “Nobody must harm Princess Ko while I am the living!”

  The agents ignored him.

  “Why aren’t adults allowed in anyhow?” Agent Nettles asked, still brushing snow away.

  “It’s because adults taint the magic with their cynicism,” Keira explained, her own voice so loaded with cynicism that everybody paused, reflecting.

  “As to a peppertree in monkeygrip,” murmured Samuel.

  “Come on, then.” The Princess picked up her pack, sliding her arms through the straps. The others hesitated, but she waved at them impatiently, so they did the same.

  “We’ll meet you here at noon four days from now. Take the party back to the Teasel Castle and rest up until then.”

  Then, as the agents faltered and the guards and servants watched, Princess Ko led the members of the Royal Youth Alliance past the notice, down the path, and around the curve into darkness.

  2.

  At the Lake of Spells, it was summer.

  They were walking to their campsite in single file, half dragging their jackets off as they walked, spilling their gloves, pulling off their hats, the straps of their backpacks slipping, iceboxes thumping against their hips, eyes wide, confused, self-conscious, and all of them getting that gathering sense.

  That billowing sense. That drumbeat sense, blaring-trumpet sense — that this place was one giant party.

  It was late afternoon.

  They had walked an hour to reach the Gatehouse and paid their entrance fees to a skinny kid, baseball cap shadowing his eyes. He had allocated them a campsite, handed over their official iceboxes, along with keys to the washroom facilities. He’d pointed out the convenience counter where you could purchase basic provisions like milk, juice, and toothpaste; and the cubicle where the Compendium of Spells was kept. He’d explained the Compendium’s classification system, and the time limits on its use.

  And he’d told them the Rules of the Lake.

  1. You may leave the Lake with no more than THREE spells apiece.

  The iceboxes had three separate compartments, one for each spell. Five mini-spells counted as one ordinary spell, but most people thought the mini-spells were just about useless, so, you know, that was up to them.

  2. While staying at the Lake, you can catch, use, and trade whatever spells you like — but NOT the monster spells.

  Those were the shark-size and bigger shadows they’d maybe get glimpses of, deep in the center of the Lake. Not that they’d even come close to catching one, but it was dangerous, even to try, for anyone but experienced spellfishers. In fact, it was a monster spell that had made the protective shield around the Lake.

  3. It is not permitted to interfere with wildlife in the Lake.

  That especially applied to the beaver dam. It was lined with spells. As tempting as it might be to grab one, they should stay well clear of that beaver dam.

  4. No flash photography.

  It disturbs the spells.

  * * *

  They had walked out of the Gatehouse, their foreheads lined with the boy’s ominous tone — and the complicated warnings he’d layered on top of the rules as he chewed his pinkie nail — Princess Ko angry about the limitation on the number of spells that could leave the Lake, Samuel fretting about what might happen if you inadvertently trapp
ed a monster spell, Sergio trying to force good cheer by springing along like a small deer, Keira swearing that if Sergio kept up the springy deer thing she was going to take him down with her bare hands, and adding that the kid in the Gatehouse was a Farms boy like Elliot, only with an even stronger Farms accent, if that was possible, Elliot trying to figure out what Keira’s point was —

  But now, as they walked along the shore of the Lake into the summer, the rules and worries seemed to break into pieces: falling away with their hats and scarves, while everything turned to amazement.

  This place was not just a party, it was a dazzle of a party. The sun was still strong on the water, a jetty shot out into the sparkles, kids were dive bombing or floating in circles, gliding by in canoes, racing one another in kayaks. Here and there were gatherings of quieter rowboats, the sun catching pieces of fishing line. On the shore, tables were set out for fishing-gear rental, and boat rental, and spell trading, all amidst an urgency of tents, music, and laughter. Kids, mostly around fourteen or fifteen, it seemed, were kicking back in deckchairs, strumming guitars, dancing, running toward or away from one another, high-fiving, grabbing one another by the upper arm to point out one thing or another, talking fast, making plans, waving their hands around, talking with their mouths full, tipping drink bottles so high the liquid spilled down their chins.

  There were kids holding hands, or making out, and they passed two kids spinning in a circle, hands on each other’s elbows, faster and faster, their spin losing control so that they crashed into the Lake with a double shriek of laughter.

  The more they saw the faster and lighter they walked, all of them overcome with a sudden urgency to dump their packs, set themselves up, change out of these winter clothes, and disappear into this frenzy.

  They got the tents erected fast, working together as if there had never been a moment of tension, irritability, or outright hostility between them. They changed into summer clothes, emerged, and glanced at one another. Princess Ko, in shorts, tank top, and sunglasses, looked like any other pretty blonde. Kids walked by, glanced at the new group, and carried on. If they noticed anything it was Samuel, not the Princess of the Kingdom. Samuel wore his knickerbockers, vest, and sailor’s hat.

  “You really have to wear that?” Keira asked, pointing at the hat, and Samuel’s face registered confusion and mild despair.

  “As to a sticky dove in —”

  “Forget about it.” Keira turned away. “You look fine.”

  Just along the Lake, a crowd was forming: Kids seemed to be doing some kind of gymnastics.

  “It’s the firelight spells,” Elliot realized. He’d read a lot about the Lake of Spells, back when he’d planned his own trip here. “There’s supposed to be a stand of cedars where they grow, so I’m guessing that’s it. The idea is, you catch a bunch of them before it gets dark so you can light your campfire.”

  “Why not just use matches?” Samuel asked.

  The others were already heading to the cedars, and Elliot called back over his shoulder, “I don’t think matches are allowed.”

  They watched the other kids awhile, trying to figure out the trick. The firelight spells grew in clusters among the overhanging branches, and it turned out that climbing the trees was not an option. Elliot remembered that the spells burrowed deep into the bark if anybody straddled a branch.

  A group of kids nearby explained: “What you have to do is, you have to run up this slope here, leap into the air, swiveling as you do, reach out, grasp, twist, pluck, and land.” They mimed each move as they talked, arguing among themselves over how the swivel should look. Then one kid said, “Wait. We’ll demonstrate,” and pelted up the slope toward the trees. His friends joined him.

  They watched, and it was more or less as the kids had described. Everyone was doing this run-leap-grab thing. Now and then someone would catch a spell, although mostly they seemed to land empty-handed.

  Abruptly Sergio ran, leapt into the air, half swiveled, and crashed face-first onto the ground. He hadn’t come close to touching a branch. He raised his head, looked back down at the others, his grin glowing white in his dirt-blackened face, and shouted: “These spells, they are the beautiful impossible!”

  Soon all of them were running. They jumped, twisted, reached, grabbed, swore, and tried it again. They paused and checked out what other kids were doing, imitated them, gave up, and returned to their own methods. They tried springing from standing positions. Elliot was the most proficient, but Samuel was the first to actually catch one, and his elation verged on insanity. The others laughed but grew fierce with competitiveness. They ran harder, jumped higher, grabbed more ferociously, only stopping to reconsider strategies, or study which trees seemed angled best.

  Over and over they crash-landed, until they were smeared with dirt, and sweating so much that the dirt turned to streaks of mud.

  They took turns wading out into the Lake to cool down. The water was fresh and cold, touched with ice on the surface but shot through with warm currents. The first time Elliot swam, he caught sight of schools of darting spells skimming across the surface. Who knew what they did, these spells, but they’d be dead easy to catch. You could just hold out your palms as they passed. You couldn’t avoid getting a few.

  Which, it turned out, was not true. They slipped between his fingers no matter what he did or how he held his palms, or pressed his fingers, or angled his body, until he realized that they were, as Sergio might say: the beautiful impossible.

  * * *

  Two hours later they were heading back to the campsite, wet, bedraggled, exhausted, jubilant. Sergio was limping a little from a sprained ankle, Keira was walking at a tilt on account of a pulled muscle in her side, and all of them were cupping their hands to hold their stashes of firelight spells. The light was dimming now, the Lake awash with shadows, and the firelight spells glowed faintly in their casings.

  Elliot, it turned out, had gathered the most. The others praised him for this but then Ko remembered that he was a deftball champion back home, so that gave him an unfair advantage. They immediately withdrew their congratulations and asked why he hadn’t got more. He took this with good grace. They talked and laughed all at once, their stories crossing paths in the air, and turned out they’d all had Elliot’s secret experience of noticing those schools of darting spells, and imagining they’d catch them by the handful.

  Back at the campsite, Princess Ko turned regal, instructing Sergio and Keira to go to the trading tables, to see if they could trade some of their firelight spells for various other supplies, including those sweet mallow treats that you wrapped in the leaves of the maplewood and roasted on the fire. She assigned herself and Samuel the task of collecting firewood and getting the fire lit and the evening meal under way. She had something in mind for Elliot too but he interrupted to ask if he could head back to the Gatehouse first, to consult the Compendium of Spells.

  “And I’ll get some measurements done too,” he said, reaching into his pack and drawing out measuring tape and compass.

  The others stared at him.

  “It’s for the book,” he explained. “Spell Fishing: Tips and Techniques for Netting the Spell You Desire? The one that tells us how we catch the Locator Spell.”

  He paused, and watched as the memory of why they were here rippled right across the others’ faces.

  “Right,” said Ko abruptly, and she turned to Sergio and Keira. “While you’re at the trading tables, see if you can get us some kind of a privacy spell. You can cut back on the supplies I wanted. Who needs an insect repellant spell? We can buy that in a can from the store.”

  She looked at her wristwatch, squinting hard in the fading light.

  “After we eat,” she said, “a meeting. I want to hear reports on your achievements.” She stamped her foot hard on the spot then looked up, startled. “And obviously,” she murmured, “while you’re at the trading tables, check that they don’t have any Locator Spells.”

  3.

  Samuel
was the first to report.

  They were in Princess Ko’s tent, which was the largest, but still small enough to feel overcrowded once five of them had formed a circle among the pillows, rugs, and sleeping bags. The moonlight shone golden through the canvas, but the Seclusion Spell shut out the party noise of the Lake, so it was eerily quiet. Sergio had traded ten firelight spells for this: It offered one hour of total privacy.

  “Here in my trembling hands,” began Samuel, “as to a scuttling clawfish in a sack of tomatoes, I hold a collection of index cards, much as the turtle takes its —”

  “Stick to the facts,” Princess Ko commanded.

  Samuel’s trembling hands now shook so violently that his collection of index cards fanned and spilled.

  “Oh, say it how you want,” sighed the Princess.

  “I will endeavor,” Samuel quavered, “to reduce my Olde-Quaintian embellishments as to a — yes. These are index cards I have compiled, based on the accounts told by travelers — both Cellians and Worldians — as to a … Sorry. Accounts of their journeys betwixt hither and thither. Call yourselves an example here, in the tale of Patrick Kelleher, cobbler, of County —”

  “Go back a step,” the Princess interrupted. “What journeys? When were these journeys? Why were there journeys betwixt or whatever?”

  Samuel’s cheeks wobbled. He took a breath and began again.

  “The brief history of World-Cello interaction,” he declared, “is as follows: Our earliest records date from the Age of Interspersing. At that time there was much movement to and fro between Cello and the World, particularly from a place in the World known as Ancient Greece. At the time it was not thus known. Indeed, what land would call itself ancient when still fresh? But, forgive me. At that time, the ebb and flow was constant. Seamless. People knew the precise geometric locations of the cracks and used the secret technique to open them and pass through. Cellians went to the World. They enjoyed theater, hunted, feasted, played knucklebones, and consulted with wise and philosophical men with such names as Democrates, Plato, and Socrates. In turn, Worldians visited Cello, seeking out the Cello Wind, marveling at our Cat Walk, at the technology of Jagged Edge, the baking of the Farms, and consulting with our wise folk: Ella of Ye Gawyn, Bartholomew the Great, Penelope …” Samuel’s eyes turned dreamy.