As the afternoon faded, Lindy grew more animated. Her cheeks glowed. Her eyes sparkled. She stopped at the mirror to brush her hair to a glossy sheen. Then she popped a tiny pot out of her apron pocket and outlined her lips with a rosy ointment. She waltzed over to the cupboard. I swallowed hard; I knew what was coming—the long black cloak, the meeting with Baltazar, and my chance to stop them.
Lindy swirled into the cloak and danced out the pressing room door. I counted to ten. I had to grab a dress and be after her—close, but not too close. I didn’t want her spotting me—er, whoever I’d be.
The canary greeted me with a sprightly melody. The dresses rustled on their hangers.
I hesitated. When, exactly, did Meet me tonight mean? Seven o’clock? A quarter to nine? What if Baltazar didn’t show up until midnight? I could be out until the doors were locked. I could be locked out until morning. Then I’d have to walk back up to the closet without running into someone who recognized the whoever I was supposed to be but wasn’t.
It would be so much easier if I had someone helping me. A lookout who could run for the Guards if I needed them or unlock the door and let me back in. Someone I could trust.
Someone like Roger and Gillian. Neither of whom was ever going to speak to me again.
I sighed. Dragon-thwarting was a lonely business.
The hangers tinkled; the dresses were growing impatient.
“I have to go outside, and I need one of you to go with me,” I told them. “I don’t know how long I’ll be gone, but I promise not to take you off until I return you to your hanger.”
A skirt dipped out of the line of dresses on my right. Number Sixty-Four: moss-green velvet trimmed in bands of chocolate brown. The dress had a fitted bodice, full puffed sleeves, and a wide skirt. I slipped into it. It wrapped me in a velvet grip. The lady in the mirror wore a cranberry-red dress, the sort ladies wore to dinner. I smiled at her and she smiled back. Her smile had a mischievous glint.
“Are you ready for dinner?” I asked.
Her brown eyes twinkled. She was ready.
—
The first shadows of evening fell as I reached the juncture between the north and west wings. I had a plan: I’d slip unseen down the west staircase while everyone else was at dinner and hide near the tower’s base. When Lindy appeared, I’d see her.
It was a foolproof plan.
Except that a slight figure stood at the top of the west stairs: a woman wearing a silver chatelaine weighed down with keys. Ebony braids were coiled at the nape of her neck. She turned, her gray eyes taking my measure in an instant.
“Lady Rachel,” she said, her voice mellow like an oboe. “May I offer you my assistance?” She fingered the brooch at her collar—a silver butterfly set with marcasite.
I gulped. Mrs. Pepperwhistle, the Head Housekeeper. Sixty-Four gripped my waist protectively.
“Are you unwell?” Mrs. Pepperwhistle stepped closer. “Shall I summon a physician?”
I shook my head, stupid with terror. Her eyes quizzed me up and down. Any minute now, she’d touch me. She would know that I was not who I appeared to be.
“Very well,” she said. “I don’t mean to detain you, but I can’t advise you to use this staircase.” She glided to the banister.
I stumbled after her. Hammering rang from the floor below. I leaned over the banister and caught a glimpse of workmen.
“I am having this stair repaired. By the time the Princess has finished dining, it will be like new. All this will be cleared away,” she said, standing at my elbow, “as if it had never been.” As if it had never been; her low voice sent a shiver down my spine.
I lurched backward, sputtering, “Th-thank you, Mrs. P-Pepperwhistle. I—I’ll use another stair.”
I felt her eyes boring into my back as I hurried toward the main staircase in the south wing. I rounded the turn, barely able to restrain myself from collapsing against the wall in relief.
I’d make a quick trip down the south stairs and double back to the west wing. Down the corridor, a knot of people lingered on the main landing. A flash of cranberry red caught my eye. Lady Rachel hovered at the edge, toying with her fan and talking to a rapt gentleman.
Sixty-Four squeezed me, twisting sideways. I halted in midstride, casting about for a good place to hide. A thick pillar greeted me to my left. I ducked behind it and peeped around.
A bell sounded. The knot of people dissolved and flowed down the stairs. I saw the sweep of Lady Rachel’s cranberry-red dress as she melted into the crowd.
“That was close,” I told Sixty-Four.
A man in a shabby coat stayed several steps behind. Prince Sterling. I grinned, wondering how many courses were on the evening’s menu card. He glanced around at the emptying landing, then paused and nodded at a shadowy corner before going on.
What was he nodding at?
I watched that corner as the shadows darkened and the outline of a man became apparent. He was tall and muscular; he wore gray like most servants, but his bearing was more like the palace Guards than the Footmen. His eye fell on me and I almost gasped out loud.
A minute ticked by before he vanished down the opposite corridor. I crept out from behind the pillar and made my way shakily down the stairs. The echo of the throng ahead told me which direction they’d gone.
To my right, double doors opened as if by magic—though really servants opened them—and Prince Baltazar escorted Princess Mariposa into the hall. She shimmered in a gown of grayish-lavender sparkling with amethysts. The jewels hugged her slender wrists and wove through her ebony hair. A flash of lightning from the windows illuminated the hall, leaping from jewel to jewel and outlining every one of her curls. I caught my breath; she gleamed like a star stepped down from the night sky.
“Oooh,” I breathed.
Rain pattered against the glass panes. Sixty-Four twisted sharply about my knees. The Prince and Princess moved on down the hall. I watched them go. If I let them walk ahead of me, I could slip into the west wing without being seen.
Another flash of lightning sent Sixty-Four into a spasm. It wound so tightly around my knees, I nearly toppled over.
“Behave,” I whispered, and yanked hard on the skirt.
A rrrrip sounded down the hall. The Prince and Princess turned. A hole gaped at me from the torn waist of the moss-green velvet. I gulped.
“Hello?” she called.
I stood stock-still. I’d been lucky when Teresa had been too shy to appear at the Ruby Luncheon, but Lady Rachel had already gone to dinner. She sat there that very moment.
“It was the storm,” Prince Baltazar said with a laugh. “Nothing alarming.”
“I am not alarmed,” the Princess said, turning to leave. “My only enemies are boredom and caprice. It’s a common fault in young men. Ardent one day, cool the next. The woods are positively full of fickle young men.”
“But I, Your Majesty, am granite,” Prince Baltazar replied.
Don’t trust him! I wanted to yell, but the shadows swallowed them. Granite. Baltazar was more like oil, oozing and slippery, running where it wasn’t wanted.
I headed after them, keeping close to the shadows, leaping past the lightning-brightened windows. The iron key in my apron pocket banged against my leg.
I heard the laughter from the dining room before I saw the light spilling into the dark hall. I ducked behind a drapery as the Princess waited for the Footman to announce her arrival. Another flash of lightning doused my dress.
Number Sixty-Four hunched against my waist. The tear gaped like a raw wound. Sewing wasn’t one of my skills. Perhaps Cherice would help me repair the dress. I’d think up some story about how I’d noticed the damage. Later.
The dining room doors clanged shut. I relaxed a little and imagined myself as Lady Rachel, spy for Her Highness, infiltrating a rival castle. Rain lashed the windows and lightning flickered down the halls. Sixty-Four winched its way up my legs. The farther I went, the fiercer the storm grew. Sixty-Four wriggled its wa
y up my thighs and spooled around my waist. An expanse of white apron and silver-gray skirt showed beneath the moss-green velvet.
“Stop it,” I told the dress. “Are you trying to get us caught?” I unrolled the fabric back down over my clothes.
The west wing looked different in the bluish glaze of the storm. Angles seemed off. Corridors appeared longer. It took me some time to find the hall that opened out to the base of the western tower and by then, rain pelted the castle, driven by howling wind. It was not a nice night to stroll outside.
Sixty-Four agreed; its sleeves puckered up my arms and its skirt coiled around my hips. I squinted through the pane at the side of the west door, but the rain kept me from seeing anything.
“I’ll make a dash for it,” I said, and put my hand on the door latch. I’d be soaked to the skin in minutes.
Sixty-Four reared up and bucked.
“I told you I needed to go outside. You volunteered,” I reminded it.
Sixty-Four shuddered like a Duster who has broken a vase and been sent to the Head Housekeeper for dismissal. The shudder vibrated through the fabric and all the way down to the pit of my stomach. My fingers slid off the latch.
“What’s wrong?” I whispered.
A fresh volley of rain hit the windows. I heard a creaking outside as if something had blown loose. I reached for the latch; Sixty-Four crackled as I moved, as hard as a lead dress. I stopped, hand in midair.
“Eighteen went outside with me and that didn’t hurt it any.”
I had hurt it by leaving it off its hanger in a pile, though. Eighteen was nothing but rags now. I hadn’t listened when it had tried to warn me. Lightning blazed against the rain-streaked glass. Sixty-Four shuddered again.
“You can’t get wet,” I said, stepping back. “Or you’ll…you’ll die,” I whispered, the words bitter on my tongue. “I won’t let that happen; I won’t go out.”
Sixty-Four sagged around my ankles with a tangible relief. The note burned a hole in my pocket; I was so close. Lindy was out there meeting Prince Baltazar and I was stuck inside. I couldn’t give up and go back. I might not have another chance like this one.
Recessed windows with thick curtains guarded each side of the main west door. I hurried over to one and flung the drapery aside. A shallow bench sat concealed in the window box. I curled up on it and pulled the curtains over me. I would wait there with an eye on the window for Lindy’s return…or for the rain to stop, whichever happened first.
Sixty-Four settled around me with a celebratory air. I petted its soft velvet sleeve. “There, there, you’re safe,” I crooned. The windowpane felt cold against my cheek; the rest of me toasted in the heavy clothes. My stomach growled. I hadn’t had my dinner. Dragon-thwarting was proving to be a hungry occupation.
The rain died down. The shadows darkened in the hall. I starved as the hours dragged by. My head nodded a few times, snapping up when I finally heard the door rasp open and a light, quick step on the marble floor. I peered around the drape; a dark-cloaked figure hurried off into the darkness. I hurried after her.
A voice carried down the hall. “Good night, Your Majesty,” it said. Prince Baltazar. How did he get back here without my seeing him? Come to think of it, no one had gone out that door all evening. I’d have heard. Had he met Lindy? How was that possible?
I stifled a yawn and hurried back upstairs. By the time I reached Queen Candace’s closet, Lindy was nowhere to be seen. I hung the dress on its hanger and went over to the window to fish the note out of my pocket. Moonlight flooded the room. Meet me tonight…She’d been there. Had he?
The canary fluttered in his cage. I folded the note and tucked it under the birdcage. I’d missed my supper for nothing.
“Hold on to that for me,” I told the bird.
He flicked his tail at me. The moonlight bleached his feathers to a ghostly white. His black beady eyes sparkled. Much prettier flying free, I remembered Prince Sterling saying about Prince Baltazar’s butterfly.
“I bet you get tired of being cooped up in there.”
He bounced on his claws, shaking out his neck feathers. It was late, nobody was around, and a quick taste of freedom wouldn’t hurt him. I flicked open the little gold clasp. He hunched on his perch like a ball of fluff. The little wire door twanged open at my touch. The dresses stirred on the rods. I slid my hand in the cage and the canary took hold of my finger. I brought him out. A tuft of feathers on his head blew up, fluffed by my breath.
“Just a quick trip around the room and then you have to go back.”
The canary quivered on my finger and then shot straight up in the air. The hangers clanked together as the dresses’ empty sleeves strained to reach him. He circled overhead, flapping frantically.
“Are you all right?” I asked. I’d never seen him behave so strangely, like a kite straining against a string.
With a scream, he flung himself down and straight at the stained-glass canary in the window. I heard a pop, followed by a brilliant flash of light, as the canary vanished into the glass.
My mouth dropped open. This wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be real. Behind me the closet was deathly still. I whirled around. There on the rods were one hundred moonlit dresses: lifeless pieces of cloth.
I turned back. A ghostly canary shone in the glass of the moonlit window. What had I done? I’d made the closet go back to sleep. I’d lost the canary—the magical canary owned by the Queens of Eliora. Tears welled up in my eyes.
How would I ever get him back?
The sun mocked me, bathing the morning in an amber glow. The azure sky glistened with a supercilious air as if sniggering behind a cloud at me for raining all over my previous night’s plans. Even the bristles in my hairbrush taunted me, snarling their sharp spikes in my hair. I could almost hear the dragons on the roof humming with amusement.
“Laundry day,” Francesca sang out.
Tossing the brush aside, I put my crumpled wad of soiled clothes in the basket. Normally, I loved laundry day and the fresh clothes that came with it. But today I stuffed a roll in my clean apron pocket. What difference would a few crumbs make to a Walking Disaster?
I had to fix this somehow. One day, Princess Mariposa would want her canary back and Cherice would tell me to fetch him. Then what? I could tell the Princess the truth: that I opened the cage and let the bird out. But I couldn’t look her in the eye and lie. I couldn’t say that he flew away. And I couldn’t say that he was stuck in the window.
No one would believe that.
I hung around the dormitory until the other girls filed out. Then I yanked the crate stamped ARTICHOKES out from under my bed and ripped off the cover.
“Iago, I need help. Something terrible happened—” I sputtered to a stop.
Inside the box, on a bed of pale sand, lay five white mice all curled up. I traced Iago’s tail with my finger. Plaster. Iago and his family had turned back to plaster like they’d been when they were part of the frieze on the wall. Plaster! Yesterday, Iago and his children had been free. And now they weren’t. Somehow, their freedom was linked to the canary. Thinking back, I realized I’d never met Iago until after I put the canary in Queen Candace’s closet. The bird’s singing woke up the closet and the mice. If I’d left the canary in its cage, Iago would still be free.
I eased the lid back in place and slid it under the bed. No sense taking Iago anywhere. I couldn’t put him back in the frieze, and plaster had a nasty habit of breaking. I couldn’t bear one more thing on my conscience.
Roger was right: I should have stayed in the under-cellar, where I belonged.
I hauled myself down to the pressing room and ironed my mountain of sheets. Lindy whistled as she worked, spots of color blooming on her cheeks. The sun shone. The morning passed. Somewhere Prince Baltazar crept closer to his prized talisman and I was powerless to stop him. I shoveled down my lunch and then whizzed through the last of my chores as Lindy waltzed into her cloak.
Broom in hand, I, Darling Dimple, Ex-Drag
on-Thwarter, watched her go.
“You’re looking pale, my dear,” Cherice said, poking her head in the door after Lindy left. “You need sun.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I agreed, standing in a pool of sunlight. “I’ll go see if I can find some.”
She blinked and then shrugged. “So you should.” She disappeared with a wave. To make sure she was gone, I counted under my breath…ninety-seven, ninety-eight, ninety-nine…which reminded me that once upon a time, there had been a hundred dresses. Before Darling the Disaster got ahold of them. I sighed. I could always take a second look at the window. I might think of something. Maybe there was a hidden catch or a trick pane in the glass.
That sounded stupid even to me, but it was worth a try.
The wardrobe hall was deserted. The door to Queen Candace’s closet creaked as I pushed it open. A still room greeted me. The glass canary shone in the window. I ran a hand all around the window frame: on the top, the sides, and the curved groove underneath. Nothing.
“I’m sorry,” I told the glass canary. “I ruined everything, didn’t I? And now you’re…”
What? Dead? Stuck? Gone? I ran my fingers over the splinters of yellow glass. Warmth caressed my skin. I pressed my palm into the window. A deep thrumming vibrated under my hand. A throbbing like a giant heartbeat in the glass itself. I closed my eyes and let my heart beat with the castle. And deep down under the thrumming, I felt a trickle of something like music, but also like a sizzle, as if something hot had singed the very tippy-tips of my fingers.
And then it rushed through me in a wave: magic, gallons and gallons of magic pouring through me, coloring my thoughts and filling me with delight. I felt the flicker of the canary’s tail and the brooding of the gryphons. The mice squeaked. Birds twittered. Lions rumbled. They pulsed with life. And magic. Every animal in the castle from plaster to brass to marble pulsed with the castle’s magic. It reached out and welcomed me in.
Like it knew me. It hovered around me, tickling my ears with a thousand voices. Fragments of words and phrases came to me all in a jumble. It wanted to tell me things, but it said too much, too quickly, like a choir all singing different songs. My ears buzzed. My head throbbed. My heart pounded.
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