And then a wisp of clear, bright magic beckoned me.
I followed it. Through the walls, the floors, the roofs, touching and sensing each creature in its web until I felt something cold. Leathery. Bitter. Something that pulsed with hate and snapped at me with sharp teeth.
I wrenched my hand back from the window, gasping.
The dragons knew it was me. They knew. They hated me and everyone else in the castle. They couldn’t wait to break loose. They’d waited a long time for their revenge. And they meant to have it.
I scrubbed my palm on my apron, rubbing away the sensation of those teeth.
The canary was alive inside the castle’s web of magic. All I had to do was set him free. Somewhere there had to be an answer. King Richard must have left some hint. In a book, a window, a painting…something I could see. He had to have because the magic was too big and too important for him to not have done so.
I had to find it.
I flung myself out of the closet and straight into the path of Francesca, fist clenched at her side. She wore a triumphant smile as if she had the world’s greatest prize in her hand.
“I’ve been looking for you,” she said in a timbre that echoed her mother’s.
“I’ve been working,” I said, eyeing the exit. Trust Francesca to keep the castle’s only Dragon-Thwarter from her mission.
“I found something in the laundry.” Her smile widened.
“Dirty clothes?” I guessed. “A piece of Gloria’s secret candy stash stuck to someone’s sock?”
“This.” Francesca brought her hand up and unfurled her grip to reveal an iron key.
The key glinted darkly on the polished surface of the Head Steward’s desk. I stood, hands clasped behind my back, wishing I’d thought to empty my pockets. Francesca bobbed on her toes like a ball that can’t stop bouncing.
The Head Steward picked up the key and examined it. His medals tinkled faintly as his shoulders moved. I wrinkled my nose, resisting the urge to sneeze at the scent of lemon polish wafting off the desktop. The bookcase reeked of leather and old paper. A vase of roses sat on the mantelpiece; a medley of smoke, fragrance, and ashes seeped into the room. It wasn’t a small room, but it felt tight—from the bulging bookcases to the heavily upholstered chairs to the tall glass-fronted armoire filled with keys.
Keys—hundreds of them, small, large, brass, silver, gold-plated, and iron—hung in ordered rows, tagged with different-colored tassels. I saw the empty hook where the iron key had hung. My chest tightened; the air squeezed out of my lungs. Spots swam before my eyes.
I blinked rapidly and caught the Head Steward’s gaze, eyes bright under heavy brows.
“In the laundry?” he said, leaning back. His leather chair creaked.
“In Darling’s apron!” Francesca pounced. “And I knew it was my duty—”
“Yes,” the Head Steward said, “thank you, Francesca, you may go.”
Francesca’s lips wiggled like worms on a hook; she bounced from foot to foot. The Head Steward raised an eyebrow and Francesca, frowning, curtsied and left. He waited until the door closed behind her, then he eyed me again with that bright blue stare.
“How did this key find its way into your pocket?”
I twisted my fingers behind my back. “I picked it up and put it there.”
“Picked it up? Where?”
“It was lying on a stairstep.” I eyed my boots. I felt as dizzy as I had standing on the narrow crossbeam of the north roof. One false step, one wrong word, and I would plunge myself, Gillian, and Roger into serious trouble.
“And where precisely was this stairstep?” the Head Steward asked.
I looked up. “I didn’t take that key, sir. I found it on a stair in the north wing and I put it in my pocket, and then I just forgot about it.”
The Head Steward waited, polishing the key with his thumb.
“I meant to—to—” My chest contracted, ribs squeezing my heart like a vise.
He raised an eyebrow. I meant to give it back; the lie stung my tongue like a wasp. I’d meant to keep it and under that piercing gaze, I couldn’t claim otherwise.
“I—I didn’t take that key,” I said.
He settled more comfortably in his chair. “The thing is, Darling, I believe you. You didn’t take that key, but I think you know who did.”
The words a Messenger Boy trembled on my lips, but I couldn’t say them. If I did, then I’d have to explain how I knew. I’d have to snitch on Roger and Gillian.
“Taking the Princess’s property is stealing. Even taking something you mean to put back is theft. Because once you pick it up”—he leaned forward, brandishing the key—“you intend to do something with it that you don’t have the Princess’s permission to do.”
I gulped.
“Do you know what door this key opens?” His eyes bored into mine.
“The roof,” I whispered unwillingly.
“Have you been up on the roof?”
I stared at my feet, afraid that if I looked up, I’d tell him everything.
His chair creaked again. “Darling, did you know that you should have gone to the orphanage when you were born?”
I shook my head. “No, Jane took care of me, she would never—”
“Never have sent you to the orphanage? No, she wouldn’t. She begged. Let her keep you, and she would be responsible for you.”
I blinked back tears. I never knew that Jane begged to keep me; I thought she did it because she had to.
“So, that still stands. She is responsible for you and for what you do.”
My head whipped up. “But Jane had nothing to do with this!”
He shrugged. “You are suspended from the Princess’s service until further notice. You can go explain yourself to Jane. She can decide what to do with you.”
My eyes welled up. “I didn’t take it! I swear it wasn’t me!”
He took out his handkerchief and began shining up the key. “Then who did?”
I bit my lower lip.
“Whoever used this key could have fallen and been killed,” the Head Steward said, rising. He walked across the room, unlocked the armoire, and returned the key to its hook.
I dried my eyes on the tea towel the Head Cook had laid on my knees. She worked with her back to me, searching her thick recipe books. She tapped her toe as she flipped pages, her broad back crisscrossed with apron strings, her hair bun dusted with flour. She’d parked me on the bench after I’d arrived distraught and unable to explain my sudden appearance. The bustle of the kitchens flowed around me. Orders rang out. Choppers and Slicers, Roasters and Bakers hurried about their business. A thousand rich aromas competed for my attention.
I had no place to go. I, Darling Nothing, had no home, no position, and no family. There was only Jane, who was unaware of what a wretched failure she’d raised. How would I ever face her?
If I hadn’t let the canary out, then I wouldn’t have forgotten about the key. If I’d given it back to Roger in the first place, then he’d be the one in trouble. Not me. He’d lose his job.
I twisted the soggy towel; I didn’t want that to happen. I almost liked Roger. Well, I liked him enough that I didn’t want to see him fired. Or Gillian. They were my friends. At least they used to be.
The Pastry Chef slid a plate holding a jam tart onto my knees. “Eat something; you’re making us all depressed.”
“Food can’t cure every ill,” the Head Cook commented.
“Well, it should!” the Pastry Chef shot back. “Eat that,” he told me, and marched off.
The Head Cook glanced at me over her broad shoulder. Her gray eyes twinkled. “I’ve never known you to take as much as a grape without asking. Keys are an odd item with which to start one’s life of crime. I’d have thought cakes more likely.”
I blinked. “How did you know about the key?”
“Oh, Darling, everyone knows. There are few secrets among the Under-staff.” She wagged a finger at me. “You’ll always be one of us. It do
esn’t matter what uniform you wear; you were one of us first.”
My eyes watered afresh.
“Now eat that tart. We don’t waste good food in my kitchens.”
I swallowed my tears and took a bite. A burst of cherry jam exploded on my tongue. I gobbled the pastry up and wiped my mouth off with the sodden towel. Food might not cure every ill, but that tart did me good.
“I didn’t take the key,” I said.
“Course not. But Marsdon thinks you know who did,” she said.
Marsdon. Only someone as important as the Head Cook would call the Head Steward by name. “I think,” she said as if her opinion were the one that mattered, “that there are only ten people who could have taken that key.” She ticked them off on her fingers. “Me, Marsdon, Pepperwhistle, Esteban the Head Footman, or”—she winked at me—“one of the Messenger Boys.”
“I really don’t know who took it,” I said.
“Oh,” she said, waving this away, “it makes no difference to me who did. Some old key that opens some door no one uses. Bah. It’s not like the key to the Princess’s jewel case. Marsdon ought to send the guilty party to bed without supper and have done with it.”
“Do you think that’s all that will happen?” I asked, hope rising. Maybe Roger and Gillian weren’t in as much trouble as I’d thought.
Before she could answer, the Under-servants began streaming in for supper. Gillian trailed in at the back of the line, scowling at me. A stab of anger struck me; my tears dried up. How dare she scowl at me after she’d gotten me in such trouble? The other Under-servants eyed me with a mixture of awe and suspicion. I looked away, inching to the edge of the bench. Maybe I should go look for Jane.
The Supreme Scrubstress loomed over me, her lips curled in a frown, swaying on her tiny feet. Her wooden-handled sponge was nowhere to be seen, but my backside twitched anyway.
“I gave you the opportunity of a lifetime!” she barked. “Under-presser to the Princess!” Her double chin quivered. “And you threw it away!”
“I didn’t take it!” The words squeaked out of me.
“Darling didn’t take it.” The Head Cook slammed her recipe book shut. “Don’t you say she did,” she said in the blistering voice she saved for Cooks who ruined sauces.
With a startled squawk, the Supreme Scrubstress collapsed on the bench beside me. Spoons stopped in midair as the Under-servants gaped. The Supreme Scrubstress wasn’t a woman to be easily vanquished. The Head Cook turned back to her notes. Across the room, a guilty flush crept across Gillian’s face.
“Jane was right,” Marci mumbled. “I shouldn’t have said anything about the roof.”
“Oh!” the wail sailed over the bent heads of the Under-servants as Jane entered. “Darling, what have you done?”
I shrank against Marci. With one hand, Jane clutched her heart—as if I’d broken it—and with the other she felt her way across the room. A sob rose in my throat; I’d hurt Jane, Jane who’d begged to keep me, Darling Dimple, Traitor.
“I hope you’re happy,” Marci said, poking me in the ribs.
Jane whirled on the Supreme Scrubstress. “If you hadn’t dared me to go up on that roof, then none of this would have happened, Marci!”
Marci shot up off the bench. “Me? You broke my very best doll—given to me by Queen Paloma!”
The two glared at each other over my head.
“You had more than your share of fancy toys, Marci,” the Head Cook commented.
“But that doll was made out of porcelain, with real hair!” the Supreme Scrubstress exclaimed. “She dropped it down the stairs! On purpose!”
“You bragged!” Jane shot back. “You were the Queen’s favorite.”
“You were jealous!” Marci said.
“You were selfish!”
“Crosspatch!”
“Daydreamer!”
“You dared me!” Jane shouted. “If I hadn’t looked that dragon in the eye, I’d still have my sight!”
Marci’s face crumpled. “I just wanted to scare you. I didn’t mean for that to happen.”
Jane’s shoulders slumped. “I’m sorry I broke your doll.” She flopped on the bench next to me. “I didn’t really mean to, but I was so angry. I never had any and you had lots and you’d never let me play with one. Just one, Marci. It didn’t have to be the best one.”
Marci sank heavily down on my other side. “I never meant for you to lose your sight,” she said, dabbing her mouth with her handkerchief.
“I wanted to be an Icer like Aunt Doris and decorate cakes,” Jane said, sniffling.
“I wanted to be the Wardrobe Mistress, like my grandmother,” Marci said with a sigh.
I sat squeezed between the two of them. The dragons had stolen Jane’s eyesight and she’d never even told me about it. Well, there were lots of things she’d never told me. I didn’t know she begged to keep me or that she and Marci had been such close friends. Or that the castle was full of magic.
“Look at us,” Jane said. “I’m a half-blind Picker and you’re stuck in the under-cellar.”
Marci nodded, a tear rolling down her cheek. “We had such dreams.”
Jane reached over to squeeze Marci’s hand. “We’ve paid the price for our foolishness.”
“I should never, ever have told you the magic word,” Marci whispered. “I never meant to hurt you; you were my best friend!”
“Oh, Marci, you idiot, you’re still my best friend,” Jane wailed, and threw her arms around Marci’s shoulders.
The two sobbed on each other’s necks. The air rushed out of my lungs as they crushed me. My thoughts whirled. There was a magic word! It roused the dragon enough to injure Jane’s eyesight. It didn’t free the dragon, but it woke it somehow. There was more than just the talisman—there was a magic word!
A hand reached between the two and yanked me free.
“There you are!” Lindy said, shaking me. “There’s work to do.”
She waved a folded parchment under my nose.
“Leave off, she’s been suspended,” the Head Cook said, grabbing my arm.
“She’s mine!” Lindy said, pulling on the other. “And I’ve got the paper to prove it.”
“Let me see that,” the Head Cook said, snatching the paper.
“Let Darlin’ see,” Lindy said, grabbing it back and shoving it at me.
I took the parchment. It was cream-colored and had a glob of red wax pressed to it.
“Read it aloud, Darlin’,” Lindy said.
I read:
I hereby order the reinstatement of Darling Dimple, Under-presser, to My service and decree that this Dreadful Misunderstanding never be mentioned again. As My Key is recovered, I instruct My Head Steward to consider the matter closed.
Signed,
Princess Mariposa
The paper shook in my hand.
“Well,” Lindy said, “what do you say to that?”
“Um, oh,” I mumbled, dazed.
“Thanks would be in better order.” The Head Cook nudged me. “However did you manage this, Lindy?”
“Manage it? You don’t expect me to give up the best Under-presser I’ve ever had! I went straight to Marsdon and gave him a piece of my mind. Told me he couldn’t reinstate her without the Princess’s sayin’ so. Well, there!” She jabbed at the parchment. “The Princess says so.”
“You went to the Princess for me?” I gasped. The words best Under-presser I’ve ever had echoed in my ears.
Lindy blushed.
“Th-thank you,” I said.
“You left a pack of work behind you, girl!” Lindy said, tossing her hair over her shoulder.
Princess Mariposa had saved me. Lindy had stood up for me. Jane had begged to keep me. And the Head Cook had said I was one of them. It was too much. I broke down and bawled.
“Someone should feed that child supper,” I heard the Pastry Chef grumble.
Francesca shoved me aside at the mirror the next morning.
“Out of my way,” sh
e snarled.
Sparks flew from the bristles as she brushed them through her hair. Evidently, she’d thought she was rid of me after she found the key.
Smothering a smile, I tied my hair back with a ribbon. It wouldn’t last long, but I did it anyway. The other girls tiptoed around, hurrying to get dressed before she noticed them. Cowards.
I took my time getting ready, letting Francesca see that I did.
“Hurry up,” she said. “Her Highness can’t wait all day.”
“Her Highness isn’t waiting for me; Lindy is, because she told the Princess I was the best Under-presser she’d ever had.”
I didn’t bother to point out that her sister, Faustine, wasn’t the best ever. I smiled at her instead, a great big sunny smile.
Francesca’s fingers curled into claws. I made a point of glancing at my hairbrush to see that it was glue-free. And then I rubbed the toe of my boot on the glossy, sand-free floor. Francesca quivered like a too-tight laundry line plucked by clothespins.
“Have a nice day,” I said as I left.
I heard a thwack as something hit the closed door behind me. Goodness, if she threw her brush any harder, she’d break it. The thought made me smile all over again.
At the pressing room, Lindy whistled while she worked.
“Morning, Darlin’, there’s a pile of towels for you,” she said, dancing her iron over a delicate lace ruffle like a bee flitting over a flower.
“Sure thing,” I said, heating my irons.
How could Lindy plot the dragons’ release one moment and rescue me the next? It didn’t make sense. Could she be rotten at heart and still be kind? Or was she pretending? I had to know.
Following Lindy’s lead, I zipped my iron over those towels, stinging the wrinkles out and buzzing them into a folded pile. I whizzed and spun my way through all my work, finishing just as Lindy swirled her cloak around her square shoulders.
“Have a spot of lunch,” she said.
I nodded, strolling along after her. I followed her as far as I could without being obvious. At the turn to the kitchens, I paused and said, “I wonder what’s for lunch?”
If the Magic Fits Page 13