I froze. I might look like Dorothia, but I had the knobby elbows of a slightly-tall-for-her-age eleven-year-old. She dropped my arm, lips pursed.
“I’ll be speaking to Pepperwhistle about this,” she said. “She assured me that you were reliable.”
Mrs. Pepperwhistle, the Head Housekeeper. If there was one person I did not want to see, it was her. I began to apologize, but the lady turned away.
“I mustn’t miss anything. Run, fetch that shawl,” she growled.
At that moment, a ripple went through the crowd and everyone rushed forward. The lady disappeared from view. A knot of servants hovered at the side of the room. I wormed my way over there, hoping to disappear among them. A drumroll sounded. The crowd fell silent. I rose on tiptoe to see over the shoulder of the man ahead of me.
“Good people, the portrait of King Richard once again graces our castle!” Princess Mariposa announced. “Our royal Artists have restored this masterpiece beyond our greatest expectations.”
Applause broke out. I clapped harder than the rest. King Richard, the dragon-tamer! And he’d been painted with his regalia—I nearly gasped out loud. Somewhere in that picture was the talisman that bound the dragons! I squinted, swaying on my tiptoes, trying to see the details, but I was too far away.
Prince Sterling whipped a handkerchief out of his coat and offered it to Princess Mariposa. Smiling up at him, she dabbed her beautiful blue eyes. A shaft of sunlight fell on the two of them as they stood at the foot of the throne. The sun highlighted the worn spots in his brocade coat, but it also lit his brown hair and put a sparkle in his brown eyes. He might not be as muscled as Prince Baltazar, but he radiated goodness as he patted Princess Mariposa’s arm.
“He’d have been proud of you, Your Highness,” Prince Sterling told her.
She flashed her most dazzling smile. “You think so?”
“I do,” he replied. The servants around me murmured their approval.
“Well, my dear,” Prince Baltazar said, sweeping Prince Sterling aside, “I have waited for just the right moment to present you with this gift. And what more auspicious occasion could there be? His Highness is back in his place, Your Highness is putting the sun to shame with your glory, and I am holding your heart’s desire in my hand.”
He extended a small cloth pouch to the Princess, who took it with a puzzled smile.
“My heart’s desire?” she said. “How could you know my heart’s desire?”
He couldn’t know it! I balled my fists.
“Open it,” he said with a flash of his big white teeth.
Princess Mariposa loosed the silk cord that bound the pouch and peeked inside. Her puzzled smile dimmed. “Seeds?”
“Not just seeds, my dear. These seeds are from the most prized plant in my kingdom, a Buddleja.”
“Thank you,” the Princess said, closing the pouch.
Prince Baltazar took it from her and spilled its contents into his palm. “The butterfly bush,” he said.
“Butterfly bush?” The Princess stepped closer and peered at the tiny seeds.
“Shrubs that are a siren call to butterflies,” Prince Baltazar crooned. “Its blooming stalks produce a nectar irresistible to all butterflies. Your kingdom, my dear, will once again be filled with the flutter of their multicolored wings.”
An awestruck wonder flooded Princess Mariposa’s face. My thoughts darted to her butterfly room and her sorrow over her kingdom’s shortage. This was what he’d meant when he’d said, A few butterflies for a kingdom. I wanted to scream at her not to listen to him.
“A small token of my deep love for Your Majesty,” Prince Baltazar said in a voice trembling with false feeling.
“Oh,” she said. The wonder in her blue eyes—that rightfully belonged to the seeds—colored that scheming prince with a luster he didn’t deserve.
Princess Mariposa laid her hand on his. “You have seen my heart’s desire,” she murmured just loud enough to be heard, “when no one else has.”
I knew right then that it was over. Prince Baltazar and Lindy had won. They’d fooled her. She’d marry him, and any day now they’d have the regalia too.
I could almost hear the dragons on the roof thrum with pleasure.
After that, everyone jollied through their work, whistling, certain that finally their Princess had met her prince. Everyone but me. Discouragement weighed on me as I ironed away under the lashing gaze of the triumphant Lindy.
“There,” she said, “didn’t I always say she’d find someone? Didn’t I?”
“My dear, you always did!” Cherice cooed.
I didn’t remember her saying any such thing, but when Lindy poked me in the ribs and asked, “Didn’t I, Darlin’?” I nodded, a fake grin plastered on my face. The last thing I needed now was for Lindy to suspect me of knowing anything. The Princess needed me; I was the only one in the castle with enough sense to see what was really going on.
But when Lindy and Cherice left for tea, I stood scowling at my iron.
“Fancy place you have here,” I heard Roger say with a whistle.
Startled, I jerked around. Gillian and Roger stood beside me. Her sleeves were wet to the elbow and wet spots dotted her skirt. His face had a fresh-scrubbed pinkness, but his cap still bore its ostrich-in-a-hair-bow stain.
“What are you doing here?” I asked.
“We have it!” Gillian announced, pushing Roger aside.
I frowned. “Have what?”
“The key,” Roger said.
“To the roof!” Gillian crowed.
I set the iron down on the stove and closed the vent to dampen the fire.
“We are going dragon-hunting.” A fat iron key whizzed as Roger spun it on his finger.
They had the key.
“I never thought you’d get it,” I said.
“Told you so,” Gillian said.
A sudden coldness sent a shiver down my back. Dragon-Thwarters did not climb out on dragon-infested roofs. Not ones with any sense anyway. And certainly not with an overeager Under-dryer and a Second Stable Boy, neither of whom had any clue how to ward off horseflies, let alone dragons. I cast around the room for a good excuse to stay where I was.
I snapped my fingers. “Spirits of orange.”
The two glanced at each other.
“I have something that will clean your cap,” I said, and hurried over to Lindy’s cupboard. “It’s called spirits of orange and Lindy uses it on the Princess’s dresses. It’s right here.” I scrabbled through Lindy’s things, brushing her black cloak aside, and hearing a rustle in its side. I paused and ran my hand into the cloak. A paper crackled in a hidden pocket. I pulled it out.
Meet me tonight at the base of the western tower.—B.
I swallowed. She was meeting Baltazar tonight. Tonight!
“We haven’t got all day,” Roger said. “Either you’re coming or—”
“Right here,” I said, producing the bottle with one hand and stuffing the note in my apron with the other. “Give me your cap.”
Roger slid his cap off, making a face at Gillian. I ignored them and set to work sponging the stain. The two leaned over my shoulder, eyes glued to the cap as the stain faded away. “There. Good as new.” I handed Roger his damp cap. “It’ll dry in a second.”
“Huh.” Roger’s freckled brow puckered. “It’s gone.” He smiled broadly as he planted his cap back on his sandy hair. “Thanks.”
Gillian rolled her eyes. “Stop stallin’.”
“I’m not stalling,” I said, tidying up my pile of towels, hoping that Lindy would waltz in and stop us. But she didn’t. She never popped up when you wanted her.
“Are you coming,” Gillian said, throwing her hands up, “or are you too scared?”
“Darling’s not chicken,” Roger said.
He didn’t think I was chicken. I had to go now. I could stand it if he thought I was a daydreamer, but a chicken? No.
“I can’t wait to see those dragons,” I lied, rubbing my hands toget
her as if ready for a dragon-sized fight.
Roger led the way and Gillian bounced after him. I followed just fast enough that they couldn’t accuse me of dragging my feet. I kept looking over my shoulder, hoping someone—anyone—would catch us and send us back.
As we climbed higher into the north wing, I hoped that they only thought they knew where the door was. Maybe we’d never find it, or maybe they had the wrong key, or maybe the key was so old it would break in the lock. That last thought was particularly consoling; I’d look brave for going, but nobody could open the door—ever.
In the highest tower, we found ourselves on a narrow staircase twisting upward into a darkness pierced here or there by a window slit in the tower wall. Cobwebs stirred in the wake of our passing. We mounted each step with care as if they were slippery. Debris rustled underfoot. I held my apron close to my legs, anxious not to soil my clothes. I’d have a hard time explaining to Lindy how I got dust and grime on myself while pressing snow-white towels.
A great iron-bound door guarded the top of the stairs like a hulking ogre. The keyhole glared at us like a single black eye.
“One hundred and sixty-three,” Roger said, puffing as he reached the top step.
“Whew,” Gillian added, wiping her brow dramatically and nearly elbowing me in the eye.
“Looks heavy,” I said. “We might not be able to open it.”
“Jane and Marci did,” Roger said with a shrug, and fit the key into the lock. It turned as though greased. The door swung open like a dancer on her toes. So much for the look of the thing, all that wood and iron.
Outside, I blinked in the bright sunlight. The crossbeam was the high point of the northern wing, with the roof sliding off from it in either direction. A narrow strip a few inches wide topped the beam, crossing the wing to the silver-capped white spire in the center of the castle. Vague gray shapes hunkered at the spire’s base.
Roger whistled.
“Looks like a mile across,” Gillian said, her curls tossing in the wind. She turned to me, a pink spot glowing on each cheek. “You first!”
“Me? Why me first?”
“Why not you first?”
“This was your idea.”
“Was not.”
“Was so.”
“Afraid?” she said.
I planted both hands on my hips. “Maybe you don’t want to go first because you’re afraid?”
“Am not,” she said, sounding unsure.
“Oh?” I said archly. “I dare you.”
A sudden gust of wind tugged on my apron and pulled Roger’s cap off his head, sending it flying to the center of the crossbeam. “Hey,” Roger hollered, and stepped out onto the crossbeam. Immediately, he began flailing his arms and twisting for balance. I reached out and snatched the waistband of his pants and pulled back. My polished boots slid on the smooth beam. Gillian grabbed my waist and we fell back onto her in a pile.
“Oof!” she groaned. “Get off, get off.”
Roger and I rolled off her and back into the shelter of the doorway. The green cap trembled in the breeze where it lay.
“My boots are too wide,” Roger said, eyeing the crossbeam. “It was finally clean, too,” he mourned, referring to his cap.
I stared at his boots and mine and Gillian’s. Gillian was slim, but she had duck feet. Mine were narrow. If anyone was going to rescue the cap, it would have to be me.
“Only as far as the cap,” I muttered to myself.
I stepped onto the beam, one foot in front of the other. One step at a time. Sweat broke out along my hairline. The wind flared up and tugged on me. The cap hopped once or twice in the wind, but stayed where it was. If it flew off the beam, that was it. There would be no reaching it; the tiled sides were too steep to step down on. I stood still until the wind died. I chewed my lower lip and glanced down.
A wave of nausea broke over me as the emerald lawn thousands of miles below swam up at me. I squeezed my eyes shut.
“Don’t look down,” Gillian called.
“Use your arms!” Roger yelled.
Sweat dripped down my nose. I took a deep breath, held my arms out straight from my sides, and walked. Just as I reached the cap, a blast carried it up and over, sending it to land on one of the gray humps. There it waffled in the wind, stuck tight, caught on an outcropping…a horn, maybe? I swallowed.
Did dragons have horns? Was that really a dragon? It looked very dragonish, all curving and spiny and long. It’s turned to stone. It’s held by the collars. It’s just a big rock. Nothing but a rock.
A rock that grew bigger as I approached, until it loomed up from the base of the spire. Lines traced through the gray stone—scales, the spines of its wings, and the curve of its claws. The cap fluttered on one of its horns, shadowing its stone eyes.
I stepped onto the base of the spire, grateful to lean against its solid surface and catch my breath. A cloud passed overhead, darkening the hollows of the stone dragon. The faint beating of a heart appeared in the stone chest, and under the stone eyelids, a shadowy eye moved as if in a dream.
Whatever dragons dreamed about could not be good.
“Can you get it?” Gillian yelled.
“Come back. It’s just a cap,” Roger called.
Gathering my courage, I reassured myself that it could not wake up. I slid over to it and stretched out my hand. I stretched up as far as I could, but my fingers fell on empty air. I jumped and grabbed for it, scraping my knee on the dragon’s rough stone hide. The cap was too far away.
To reach it I’d have to climb up the dragon; I thought I was going to be sick. Just then a tiny white mouse popped up from behind the cap and saluted me.
“Iago,” I breathed in relief. “Can you get it?”
Iago took the brim in his mouth and worked the cap free from the horn. Then he opened his mouth and let it fall to me. I caught it and clutched it to my chest, dizzy with relief. Iago scurried down the dragon and dived for my shoulder, landing with a quick pinch of his tiny claws.
“Thank you.”
“Echaeek,” he whispered in my ear urgently.
“I don’t understand,” I said, and held up a hand for him.
He climbed down into my hand. With a puckered brow, he pointed to the eye of the dragon and then to me.
“It’s watching me?” I guessed, faint at the thought.
Iago nodded solemnly. He held out his paws, pretending to hold out a skirt.
“Because of the dresses?” I whispered, dry-mouthed. “Is that what you wanted to tell me the other night?”
He nodded, tail twitching. Then, quick as a flash, he dived back behind the dragon.
I held the cap and stared up at the dragon. Under that icing of stone, it was watching. I felt it. The cloud overhead sailed off and sunlight hit the stone, glimmering gold in the thick folds of the dragon’s neck.
The collar. I could see it plainly now, though I hadn’t before. It was broad like the sort used on mastiffs, with spikes protruding from it and swirling letters inscribed in it. SARVINDER, it read.
Roger and Gillian whistled behind me, stomping their feet and clapping.
I turned away from the dragon, squinting. They looked small against the acre of roof. They hadn’t seen Iago from where they stood. Or the collar. Or the dragon’s eye moving. They had no idea what we were all up against.
What had Jane seen when she and Marci came up here? Had it scared her as much as I was scared now?
You’d have thought Roger and Gillian had touched noses with the dragon, the way they swaggered back down the stairs. I led the way, taking them two at a time.
“I wasn’t scared,” Gillian said, her voice echoing off the stone walls, “not even a little bit. If it hadn’t been so windy—”
“Did you see the wind blow my cap right to Darling?” Roger let out a low whistle. “Good catch,” he said. “Now that we have the key—”
I slammed to a stop. “Where did you get that key?”
“The Head Steward’s o
ffice.” He grinned so hard that another freckle popped out.
“We have friends in low places,” Gillian said.
That meant it was an Under-servant who had access to the Head Steward’s office. I snapped my fingers. “A Messenger Boy!” They grinned like idiots. I fought down a frown. Stupid Messenger Boy—he could get fired for taking a key.
“You have to give it back before someone gets in trouble,” I told them.
“Nobody will miss it; nobody ever goes up there,” Gillian said. “I got a great hiding place down below.”
“Oh, no, I’m keeping it.” Roger wagged the key under Gillian’s nose. She stepped on his foot. He shoved her in the shoulder. So she swatted his cap down over his eyes.
“Hey!” he hollered, pushing his cap up.
He swung at her and lost his grip on the key. It hit the stone step with a clang and bounced down a step to me.
The key melted into the shadow of the step like a crouching rat. It was just an iron object, but it was dangerous in the wrong hands. I pictured Prince Baltazar with that key clenched in his fist, bolting up these steps, unlocking that door…loosing that dragon.
I snatched it up. “It’ll be safe with me.”
“No!” they yelled. But the key was already in my pocket.
Roger jumped down to my step. “I got that key. How come you get to keep it?”
“Because,” I said, flushing as he leaned in nose to nose.
“Because why?” His freckles were even sandier up close.
I couldn’t think of a single good reason; all I could think was that if I had it, Baltazar wouldn’t get it. “Because I’m an Upper-servant.” The words popped out.
Roger turned so red his freckles disappeared. Gillian froze, mouth open, curls swaying. For a moment, they both looked so hurt that I’d have done anything to take it back. Then they pushed past me, walking down the steps without a backward glance.
“Wait!” I cried. “I didn’t mean that. I only meant…” I trailed off as they disappeared around a turn in the tower.
I trudged down the steps and went back to pressing towels.
If the Magic Fits Page 11