If the Magic Fits

by Susan Maupin Schmid

  I giggled. I could picture the portly gentleman bursting his seams as an overworked Footman staggered under his weight. The portly gentleman glowered as if he could read my mind.

  The gloved hand of a Footman set a plate of spinach salad before me. I reached for my fork and found four of them lined up by my plate. Prince Sterling winked and picked up the fork farthest from his plate. So I copied him. Course after course appeared before me and course after course was whisked away. I ate only a few bites of each. The portly gentleman scraped every plate clean. I watched him eat, eyes wide. As another forkful disappeared into his mouth, I imagined a thud echoing through the cavern of his ironclad stomach.

  Princess Mariposa picked at her food while the blond gentleman talked. And talked. Occasionally a few words filtered my way. “A close corner, Your Highness.” “We climbed undaunted by the wind.” “A long shot, but I knew we had to take it.”

  Princess Mariposa murmured polite responses until the man said, “The largest Lycaena alciphron I’ve ever seen.” At that, her eyes snapped open wide. “Oh, Prince Baltazar, you saw one!”

  I blinked. A Lycany alicpropro, er what?

  “This big,” Prince Baltazar said, spreading his fingers two inches apart. Which didn’t seem very big to me, but Princess Mariposa gasped.

  “Really?” she breathed.

  Prince Baltazar smiled, revealing all his gleaming white teeth. “Really. And I thought you might like to see it.” He produced a small glass-lidded wooden box from his jacket and offered it to the Princess. “For you, my sweet Mariposa. Note the sapphire-burnished body, the rich copper wings, the velvety black spots, and the whisker-thin antennae.”

  “A Lycaena alciphron,” Princess Mariposa said, cradling the box in her palm and gazing at it with rapture. “It’s so beautiful.”

  “It barely holds a candle to your luster, my dear,” Prince Baltazar said.

  I craned my neck to see inside the box. A small brightly colored butterfly lay pinned to the box’s bottom. I cringed at the sight of the sharp silver pins.

  “It’s known as a purple-shot copper,” Prince Sterling whispered in my ear. “Rather rare and hard to catch, but much prettier flying free.”

  I nodded. I pictured the tiny creature fluttering over a field of flowers. Poor little butterfly, caught and pinned. A tear trembled on my eyelash.

  “Teresa, don’t cry,” Princess Mariposa said.

  “I—I’m not.” I dashed the tear away and smiled my best fake-Teresa smile. But a second tear trickled down my cheek.

  Princess Mariposa bit her lower lip. She turned to Prince Baltazar. “Thank you very much; I shall add this to my collection.” She signaled a Footman, who placed the box on a tray and bore it away. Then she tossed her napkin on the table and rose.

  Everyone at the table rose with her. I lurched to my feet.

  “No, no,” Princess Mariposa said. “I insist that all of you stay and enjoy the remainder of my Ruby Luncheon. Teresa, will you accompany me inside?”

  “Yes,” I said with a regretful glance at the raspberry ice melting in a silver dish.

  The Princess took my arm and we walked away across the lawn. My face flushed—we were alone, she and I. Would she ask me questions I couldn’t answer? I wished with all my might that the real Teresa would appear and rescue me.

  “I’m so sorry about your mother’s illness. You’ve only just arrived and now—so very soon—you must return home,” Princess Mariposa said. Her sea-blue eyes darkened.

  Oh, poor Teresa. She must have been too worried to come to lunch.

  Princess Mariposa gave my arm a gentle squeeze. “Promise you’ll come again. I know you don’t like strangers and all this fuss,” she said, whisking them away with a wave of her hand. “But I’ve so wanted to get to know you better.” A shadow passed over the Princess’s face as if some sadness weighed on her. “I hope, Cousin, that we can be friends.”

  “Me too,” I said.

  Princess Mariposa smiled, aglow with the same delight with which she’d viewed the Lycaena alciphron. “We could be sisters.”

  “Sisters,” I echoed.

  Sisters. What would it be like to have Princess Mariposa as a sister? To be Princess Darling? I’d wear a great lot of beautiful clothes and eat Ruby Luncheons every day. And I’d have an army of servants at my beck and call.

  “Up here,” Princess Mariposa said, gesturing to a set of stone stairs.

  I blinked. I had no idea where in the gardens we were. Servants like me weren’t allowed anywhere the Princess walked. At the top of the stairs Princess Mariposa stopped. We stood on a terrace of pale bricks that shimmered as if a sprite had sprinkled fairy dust over them. The bricks radiated from a starburst in the center of the terrace. Along the outer edge, at each star point, stood a bronze deer on a pedestal. Across the patio the castle walls rose in gleaming white tiers. From here, I could see the stone gryphons guarding each tower and the eagles and falcons circling the barricades. Higher up, squinting hard, I could make out other birds, too far away to identify.

  Which made me wonder, why decorate a castle with sculptures too small to be seen from the ground? Because looking up and down the castle, I couldn’t see any place one could stand to see them. The only ones who had seen them were the original builders—who were dragons, if you believed the Supreme Scrubstress. I rubbed my eyes, tilted my head waaaay back, and craned my neck to see if I could see the dragons that she said were on the tallest spire.

  I couldn’t see a thing.

  Princess Mariposa turned to me and said, “If there is anything you want to ask…”

  Before I could stop myself I blurted out, “Was the castle really built by dragons? Are they really up there?”

  Princess Mariposa blinked in surprise. And then she laughed. “Has your mother told you those stories? I suppose she has. I’ll tell you a secret. Come here.” She squeezed my hand and walked me over to the starburst. “Stand in the center and look north,” she whispered in my ear. “On a clear day, if you look hard enough, you can see them from this one spot.”

  She dropped my hand and stepped back. Holding my breath, I slid one foot onto the starburst and then the other. I lifted my skirt to see the pale bricks shining around my gray boots. My gray boots! I snatched my hand from my skirt. Here I was, Darling Dimple, Under-presser, learning a secret meant for the Princess’s cousin Teresa. A guilty lump rose in my throat.

  Princess Mariposa motioned impatiently for me to look north, toward the tall, silver-tipped white tower high in the center of the castle. I couldn’t disappoint her. Well, and I really, really wanted to look and see these dragons for myself.

  So I did.

  I shaded my eyes with my hand and focused all my attention on that top tower. I spied the silver tip and traveled down the gleaming white side until I saw the plinth at the base. From there I traced the line of the crossbeam, the fuzzy, bumpy line. I gasped. The fuzziness solidified into the outline of a dragon curled up at the base of the tower. Clapping a hand over my mouth to hold back a scream, I lost my balance and stepped off the starburst. The outline of the dragon vanished into the afternoon sunlight.

  I stood, shaky, excited, and not a little frightened. I had seen one of the dragons! I really had. They were up there. They were real.

  Princess Mariposa put an arm around my shoulders and squeezed. “Makes you think, doesn’t it?”

  “What if they got loose?” I asked. “What if they came down here?”

  “They’re shackled by a magic poured into gold collars. They can’t come down; you’re safe.”

  “Safe,” I agreed. But I wondered how safe was safe. How did the magic get poured into those collars? What would happen if someone knew how to pull it out again? How safe would we all be then?

  “What if someone tampered with them?” I said.

  Princess Mariposa hugged me. “Oh, Teresa, don’t worry. There is only one way to touch that magic, one talisman that can unlock it, and it is secure in the King’s t
reasury.”

  “Oh,” I said.

  “Grandmother Candace told me so. She didn’t say what it was, only that it was safe.”

  “But your father knew,” I said, “right? He knew what it was.”

  She shook her head. “Grandmother died unexpectedly; she never told my father. However, do not worry; nothing has been removed from the regalia, so it is still there.”

  I imagined the King dressed in all his ceremony attire. Which piece was the talisman? Had Princess Mariposa ever gone looking for it? Could she guess what it might be? Or how it was used? Was it gold? Or cloth? Or silver? A crown or a robe or a ring or a scepter?

  Princes Mariposa sighed. “You should go in now. They will have packed your things, and no doubt that coach is waiting.”

  I promised to come back and visit again. She bid me farewell with a kiss on my cheek and sent me on my way. As I went, I cast one last look at the tower. Dragons on the roof! I wished that canary could do more than sing. There was a thing or two I’d like to ask him.

  If only the dresses could talk.

  Spots swam before my eyes as I walked out of the sunshine and into the castle. I batted at them with my hand. I had never been on this side of the castle before. I had walked straight through the door Princess Mariposa had pointed to because that’s what Teresa would have done. But I wasn’t Teresa. I couldn’t follow the Princess’s instruction to turn left and go up the stairs to the west wing. That was the last thing I could do. Someone would pounce on me and stuff me into Teresa’s coach. I would wind up who-knows-where wearing a dress that didn’t belong to me and impersonating the Princess’s cousin…who knew what would happen after that?

  As the spots dissolved, the room took shape, a long gallery lined with paintings. Another day, I might have dawdled to look at the pictures, but I heard footsteps coming down the stairs. I galloped down the gallery, plunged through the far door, and ran smack-dab into a knot of ladies.

  “Lady Teresa, they are waiting for you upstairs,” one said.

  Drat this Teresa! Why didn’t she come out of hiding and deal with her own problems? Drat Eighteen! I had to get it off as soon as possible or my goose was surely cooked. I thought for a second. If I looked like Teresa, then I should get out of this by doing something the Princess’s cousin would do. So I held my head high and replied in a cool voice.

  “I am on an errand for Her Highness,” I said.

  I strolled across the room, round a bend, and up some stairs, then opened the first door I came to, taking my own sweet time on my “errand.” I figured that if I acted like I knew what I was doing, they’d think I did. The room I entered was a bedroom with a bed piled high with puffy comforters. A tall wardrobe stood in the corner. I glanced around. There was nothing in the room to tell whether or not anyone was using it or who they might be. But it was empty at the moment.

  I peeled Eighteen off my shoulders. The burgundy ribbons wrapped themselves around my waist, squeezing as I tried to push the dress below my waist.

  “No, no,” I told it. “I have to get you off before we get in trouble.” The dress squeezed tighter. I was in a pickle. I had to get this thing off before someone came looking for Teresa. I didn’t think I’d been followed, but I couldn’t be sure. I shoved the dress down. I yanked on the hem. I wriggled and squirmed and the dress grew tighter.

  Then I had an idea. “I—I can’t breathe,” I gasped. “I’m feeling dizzy. I—I—I think I might faint.” I threw my hand to my forehead and swayed back and forth. Which must have made Eighteen nervous because it loosened just enough. I made a grab for it and wrestled the dress to my ankles, fighting free of the burgundy ribbons wrapped around my feet.

  Then, panting from my struggle, I couldn’t resist giving the dress a good shaking. Which would have made me feel better, but now the dress was just a dress, limp and lifeless. And I was just me, Darling Dimple, lost in a strange part of the castle. Holding a stolen dress. A dress that belonged to a Queen. Standing in a bedroom I had no business being in after I ate a lunch that wasn’t meant for me and heard a secret I wasn’t supposed to hear.

  How did I get into this mess?

  Tears started in my eyes. I reached into my pocket for a handkerchief and pulled out the folded-up map I’d drawn from the one in the pressing room. The map included only a small piece of the castle—the rooms where the Princess’s Girls needed to be—but at each edge arrows pointed north, west, east, and south. Each arrow was labeled. And the west arrow was labeled west wing.

  A huge grin curled my lips. “I have an idea,” I told Eighteen. I couldn’t walk through the castle holding the Queen’s dress, but I could hide it here and come back for it tonight when everyone was asleep. I threw open the wardrobe—which was packed with linens. I folded the dress in as neatly as a long, silky, ribbon-dripping dress could be folded and slipped it between the sheets.

  “Wait here,” I told it. “I’ll be back.”

  I closed the wardrobe, tiptoed over to the door, and inched it open. The corridor was clear—a corridor painted pale peach and lined with white doors. White plaster mice danced down strips of wainscoting decorating the walls. I chewed my lower lip; I had to find this same room again tonight, when everything would be dark. It wasn’t like there was a big sign pointing the way for me: here, Darling, this is the room! Well, I could count how many doors this door was from the end of the hall. Running my fingers along the dancing mice, I counted as I went; three, four, five, six…up ahead I saw another peach-painted corridor. How many peach corridors were there in the west wing? How would I be sure I had the right one?

  My finger hit a hole in the wainscoting and I stopped. There in plaster lay the outline of where mice ought to be but were missing—as if whoever did the plaster forgot to put them in. Five mice, one large mouse and four little ones, were gone from the wall as if they had jumped down and run away.

  Where would five plaster mice go?

  A chill shook me. I knew where those mice were. But how did they get out of the plaster and why were they living under my bed? I didn’t think it was because they enjoyed sweeping my floor. There had to be another reason. But what? This was like some far-fetched adventure story.

  If this was an adventure, I was the one having it.

  I, Darling Dimple, was having an adventure. Or it was having me. I wasn’t sure which. All I knew was that I hadn’t finished my ironing, and I had no idea how long I’d been gone. A very annoyed Lindy would be waiting for me, Darling Dimple, ex-Presser…I had to get back as quickly as possible and save my job! I whipped around and counted the doors back from the missing mice to the bedroom. Those mice could help me find the corridor. I’d bribe them with my supper if I had to.

  Heart pounding, I threaded my way back to my side of the castle, popping my map out of my pocket to check where I was. No one paid me any attention; now that I was me wearing the uniform of a Princess’s Girl, I was almost invisible.

  In the pressing room, Lindy was marching up and down before my ironing board, holding a wad of something up in the air, ranting.

  “If this don’t beat all,” she said, stomping for emphasis. “The work these people do, the sloppy, no-good—I have half a mind to report this. The Princess ought to know what goes on around here!”

  This was it; I was going to be fired and thrown out of the castle.

  My knees knocked together so loudly Lindy heard them and whirled around. Her long hair snapped around her head like a slingshot. Her cheeks burned with anger. Her eyes boiled. I swear a wisp of steam rose off the top of her head. And in her hand was the soiled handkerchief I had used to wipe my face. The one the lady had tossed into one of the baskets. My heart rose into my throat and lodged behind my Adam’s apple. Lindy shook the handkerchief at me.

  “This! This is what the Laundress sent up!” she announced. “This filthy, smelly wad! What was she thinking?”

  Lindy was mad at the Laundress, not me. I swallowed my heart back down into my chest.

  “W
ell?” she asked as if she expected an answer.

  “I—I don’t know,” I said, my voice coming out all scratchy.

  “She ought to be boiled in her own vat! The idea that the Princess would accept this,” she panted, shaking the handkerchief at me again.

  The Head Laundress and all the Laundresses worked on the opposite side of the under-cellar from the Scrubbers. They all had been kind to me. The thought of one of them being punished for something that was my fault…well, it made me feel downright ill. I’d have to confess.

  Just then Cherice swooped into the room, a whirl of ice-blue skirts.

  “Oh, my dear, have you heard? The Princess is smitten. Smitten!” Cherice sang out. “That clever Baltazar has finally made some headway into her heart. How, you ask? Why, my dear, with a tiny little butterfly. Isn’t that romantic? Love has wings, they say!”

  Lindy glared, still steaming.

  Cherice noticed the handkerchief. “What is this?” she asked.

  “This is a flat-out dereliction of duty,” Lindy answered.

  Sweat trickled down my spine. I’d have to confess in front of both of them.

  “A soiled handkerchief?” Cherice smiled.

  “A soiled handkerchief stuffed in a basket of my pressing!”

  “Oh,” Cherice said. Then she teased the handkerchief out from between Lindy’s fingers. “This is a happy day. You mustn’t let some little thing mar it. I am sure that this is nothing more than a very unfortunate, but honest, mistake. I will wash this myself. Nice as new. And I am sure Darling would be happy to press it, no?”

  “No!” I exclaimed.

  Both women turned to gape at me.

  “Er, yes, I mean yes. I will press it up good as new,” I said, pouncing on this opportunity to fix my mistake without admitting to it.

  The red of Lindy’s cheeks softened a shade. Her rigid shoulders relaxed a fraction.

  Cherice took Lindy by the arm. “You could use a cup of tea, my dear.”