If the Magic Fits

by Susan Maupin Schmid

  “Save some for the others,” Lindy said with a laugh, and headed off.

  “I’ll try,” I called after her. Then I ducked around a corner.

  I, Darling Dimple, Intrepid Scout, would track the Black-Cloaked Tigress. My heart ached at the thought of Lindy pursuing mischief against the Princess, but Prince Baltazar had to be stopped at all costs.

  Lindy walked to the edge of the kitchens. There on a table sat a basket with a checked cloth bundled up inside it. Lindy snatched it off the table and tucked it under her long cloak.

  A tantalizing whiff of fresh bread set my stomach rumbling.

  Was the Baker in on Lindy’s scheming?

  Lindy strolled purposefully on. She rounded a corner and shot up a short flight of stairs to a door that opened on a courtyard. The courtyard acted like a bridge between the entrance to the stables and upper eastern lawns. I waited until Lindy crossed it and then I ventured out. The gate on the far side swung shut as I bounded across.

  Over the gate, I heard Lindy hail a Guard. I shrank into a sliver of shadow. Boom, boom, boom. My heart pounded. I pressed my hand to my chest to still it before it gave me away.

  I peeked between the gate slats. The Guard grinned at Lindy.

  “Looking for the Captain?” he asked.

  “Oh, he is on duty?” Lindy said. “I didn’t know. Just out to take some air.”

  “You should take some air over by the east watch station,” the Guard said with a laugh.

  Lindy poked the man in his chest. “You should mind your post.”

  I gasped, but the Guard laughed and walked away. Lindy set off at a brisker pace. I scurried after her, waiting only long enough to be sure the Guard was facing the other way. She marched straight to the east watch station, a little building above the eastern terrace.

  What business could Lindy have with the Captain of the Guards? Was he in on this too? Was everybody? Maybe I was the only loyal servant left. Well, me and Jane; I was sure Jane was loyal. And most of the Under-servants. I couldn’t picture the Supreme Scrubstress involved in any tomfoolery.

  I had to hear what went on inside that watch station. Glancing around, I sidled up to one of the station’s open windows and huddled underneath.

  I heard laughter and smelled bread. I wormed up to the windowsill, eager for a peek.

  Lindy had thrown off her cloak and was slicing a loaf of mouthwateringly crusty bread with a dagger—the sort the Guards carried. Standing over her was Captain Bryce. He was handsome in his blue uniform, taller than Lindy and even more square-shouldered.

  “You’ll fatten me up, sweetheart,” he said, patting his midsection.

  Sweetheart?

  Lindy laughed. “I brought some orange marmalade, sausages, and cake.”

  “Oh,” he pretended to groan, but his eyes lit up.

  “Guard duty is hungry work,” she said.

  “You spoil me,” he told her, and pulled her close.

  I ducked under the sill, gagging. Kissing? I had expected Lindy to rendezvous with Prince Baltazar, not Captain Bryce. That’s what the note said. Wasn’t it?

  Meet me tonight at the base of the western tower.—B

  I’d thought that meant Baltazar, but what if…there was a watch station at the western tower. Maybe Lindy had gone there to meet Captain Bryce. That would explain how she stayed dry and why Prince Baltazar was saying good night to the Princess instead of being outside with Lindy.

  Maybe Lindy wasn’t the Cloaked Lady. Maybe it was someone else.

  A shadow fell over my face. I glanced up, blinking in the sunlight.

  Roger the Freckled Wonder stood over me.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked.

  I struggled up from the ground, dusting my skirt off.

  “Nothing.”

  “Hey, Roger,” Captain Bryce called through the window. “Is that your girlfriend?”

  Roger’s freckles vanished in a blaze of scarlet. “It’s just Darling,” he spat out.

  Lindy poked her head out the window. “Darlin’?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I said as if nothing unusual were going on.

  “What are you doing out there?” Lindy asked.

  “Um,” I said. “Talking to Roger.”

  He glared at me.

  Lindy’s brow furrowed. “Did you have lunch?”

  “No, ma’am, I was just going.”

  “The kitchen is that way,” she said, pointing.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Of all the places to talk,” she muttered, pulling her head back in the window.

  “Well,” Captain Bryce said, “it doesn’t require a key.”

  Roger’s mouth popped open in a look of absolute horror.

  I wanted to die right then and there.

  Captain Bryce laughed. “You two lovebirds scoot now and get your lunch.”

  I turned on my heel and made a beeline for the kitchens. I’d missed enough meals dragon-thwarting; I wanted my lunch. The breeze cooled my burning cheeks. Lovebirds. I shuddered.

  “Darling,” Roger called.

  I whirled around, my fists tight.

  Roger pulled off his cap and wiped his brow on his sleeve.

  “What?”

  “Is that why you didn’t snitch on me? You think you’re my girlfriend?” he asked, saying girlfriend as if he meant dead rat.

  My blood boiled.

  “I didn’t snitch on you for the same reason I didn’t snitch on Gillian,” I told him. “I am not a snitch.”

  Roger’s mouth opened and closed.

  “And I’m not your girlfriend,” I said. “I’m not even sure we’re friends—friends don’t let friends get suspended for keys they stole.”

  “Borrowed!” he shouted.

  “The Head Steward didn’t call it borrowing.”

  Roger slapped his cap back on his head. “You got one thing right. You and me ain’t friends.”

  He stomped off.

  I let him go, following at a safe distance. After all I’d been through, thwarting dragons, hiding, sneaking around trying to save the Princess, I figured I had a good solid meal coming to me. Roger or no Roger.

  I marched into the kitchen, took my place in line behind some Upper-scrubbers, and ladled my plate full. I was so hungry I could have eaten half a cow. The Cook at the serving table eyed me as I reached for a second tart, but I dared her to object with a fierce scowl. She stirred the soup and pretended not to notice.

  I saw Roger sitting with Gillian on the far side of the room. They saw me. Roger leaned over to whisper something to Gillian. So I walked across the room and sat in a corner at an empty table. Anger bubbled through my veins. All I’d wanted was a nice little adventure, one that ended before bedtime. One that didn’t leave scars or cost me anything. Was that too much to ask?

  I shoved my food into my mouth, not tasting a bite. I looked daggers at anyone who wandered too close to my table. No one else sat down. Fine with me. I didn’t want company. When I was finished, I dumped my dish in the washtub and stalked out.

  Lovebirds. Bah. I wouldn’t like Roger if he was the last boy in the whole castle. I stomped up the servants’ stairs. It was a long hike back to the pressing room. I nursed my indignation as I walked. Lovebirds! I’d rather kiss a pig than Roger. I’d rather marry a toad. The stone gryphon outside the pressing room window made a better friend. I could at least count on it to be there.

  A sudden tear darted down my cheek. I swatted it away.

  “My dear,” Cherice said as I entered the wardrobe hall, “such a face! Has Francesca done something?”

  “No,” I said.

  “Indeed,” Cherice said, sorting through a pile of ribbons.

  “Cherice, did you know that Lindy has a sweetheart?”

  “The brave Captain?” She smiled. “Yes, our Lindy is smitten indeed.”

  “Are you sure?” I asked.

  “About Lindy?” Cherice said, smoothing a crimson ribbon. “She sneaks off to see him every chance she
gets. Some Cook supplies her with picnics. She thinks she conceals them under that cloak, but there are eyes everywhere. Soon the Captain shall be all fattened up and have to retire to some farm.”

  “Farm? Why?”

  “My dear, one simply cannot have one’s Captain of the Guards be less than athletic. It does not do. He must be ready at all times to fight for the Princess!”

  My brow knit. I felt like I was hanging from the castle roof by the tips of my fingers, the ground swimming below me, beckoning. Lindy wasn’t the Cloaked Lady.

  Who was?

  Cherice took my chin in her hand. “Did you have your heart set on the gallant Guard?” Her eyes twinkled with amusement.

  “No!” I said, appalled. “I don’t have my heart set on anyone!”

  “Hmm,” she said. “The heart has its own mind in these matters.”

  “Does Lindy want to live on a farm?”

  Cherice shuddered. “Evidently.”

  Her gown strained across her shoulders as she sorted. The little magnifying glass she wore on a long chain swung to and fro as she moved. I studied it as it swung: it was an oval crystal with a faceted edge, not the sort of glass used in magnifiers. Cherice always wore it. I wondered where she’d gotten it.

  “Would you like to marry and settle down on a farm?” I asked.

  Her eyes flew open. “Goodness! No.” She tapped her magnifying glass against her slender side. “I was not born for tending pigs.”

  Cherice selected a carved wooden case out of a pile. She unlocked the case and lifted the lid. Inside, a tiara glistened on a bed of satin. Cherice lifted it out gently and held it out to me.

  “See? Is it not magnificent?”

  The gold of the tiara formed the outline of two swans, whose arched necks made an open heart shape. A glowing heart-shaped ruby nestled between the two swans.

  “Oh my.”

  Cherice settled the tiara in her own blond curls. “What do you think?”

  “It makes you beautiful,” I said.

  “One can be what one imagines, a farmer or a princess,” Cherice murmured. “I have dressed princesses in four kingdoms and one day, I too will—”

  I cast a guilty look over my shoulder. What would Princess Mariposa say if she knew Cherice wore her tiara? I rubbed my sweaty palms on my apron. Cherice noticed and removed the tiara.

  “Time to put it away,” she said. “I thought you might like to see it.” She settled the tiara in its case and locked it.

  “Thank you. I should be—”

  “Here,” Cherice said, scooping up the ribbons from her desktop. “Her Highness said to give these to her Girls. You can have first pick.”

  A stream of silk ribbons flowed across her palm: scarlet, azure, violet, sapphire, emerald, and silver among the colors.

  “I couldn’t choose,” I said, wishing I could have them all and feeling like I didn’t deserve even one. I’d failed Princess Mariposa.

  “This one.” Cherice selected a pale aquamarine. “It matches your eyes.”

  She laid the slender strip on my outstretched palm. It gleamed like an ocean wave on the pale sand of my skin.

  “Does it really match my eyes?” I said.

  “Indeed,” Cherice answered.

  She took the ribbon and tied it in a bow on the side of my head.

  “Run, see,” she suggested.

  I ran to the pressing room mirror. The ribbon flashed gaily against my pale hair. My water-colored eyes reflected the shade of the ribbon. Aquamarine. I had aquamarine eyes. I stood a little straighter. Roger said they looked yellow. He didn’t know anything.

  Prince Baltazar had convinced Princess Mariposa to plant the butterfly bush seeds. Why wait until next spring? Plant them now. So they’d grow immediately. And they had. It wasn’t long before they began to bloom.

  Time was running out. I had to free the canary and wake up the dresses if I wanted to find the Cloaked Lady and unmask Prince Baltazar’s scheme.

  So every time Lindy visited her Captain, I scoured the castle for any clue that King Richard had left behind about the magic. I studied paintings and searched behind draperies and under furniture. I looked over every animal statue that I could get close to, hoping one of them would blink or sneeze or wiggle—something, for any hint that they were about to wake up and help me. Something had pulled these creatures into the castle’s magic web. Something had to set them free. Something.

  You had to give King Richard credit; he’d hidden his clues cleverly. I ran out of places I could search. I couldn’t go into the west wing or the King’s library. Maybe some old book lay there waiting to divulge all the King’s secrets, but even if I found a way to peek inside, the library held thousands of volumes. I could never look through them all.

  I took my search outdoors. I reasoned that since the starburst was the only spot where one could see the dragons, maybe the King had left other clues outside. After all, there were lots of animals in the gardens: bronze, marble, granite—maybe one of them could teach me something.

  I started with my old friends, the bronze lions. They sat on their haunches, alert. Greenish tinges curled through their manes and crusted the tips of their claws, as if they’d been waiting too long to pounce and grown old and dusty. Their long shadows bounded down the stairs, enticing them to follow. But their burnished brown eyes remained welded to the horizon.

  “Talk to me,” I commanded them.

  They didn’t so much as twitch a whisker. So I searched them, from the crowns of their heads to the tassels of their tails. I plunked myself between one beast’s front paws and curled up to think. Was the lion only metal? Or was it like Iago, drawn in by the castle’s magic? I knew the animals in the walls were alive; I’d felt them when I’d touched the window. But was the same true for the lawns? I rested my chin on my knees.

  Heat from the lion soaked into my back. I yawned; that morning, I’d pressed an avalanche of sheets and towels, and then I’d helped Lindy clean and polish the irons. The warmth eased my aching shoulders. My eyelids fluttered.

  “Your Grace,” a man’s voice said, “this message arrived this morning.”

  I snapped awake. A paper rustled. A hand tapped the head of the lion. I froze.

  “Send word to Father,” Prince Sterling said. I recognized his voice from the Ruby Luncheon. “I must have proof, and soon.”

  I crouched, ready to jump out and run away.

  “As you wish,” the other man replied. “I’ll send a courier tonight.”

  I heard footsteps walk away on the paving stones. I exhaled. I stretched my cramped legs. Then I wriggled out from between the cleft in the lion’s legs.

  A hand caught me as I emerged. The same Footman who’d nodded to Prince Sterling on the landing that night held me in his viselike grip.

  “What have we here?” he said.

  He pulled me to my feet. I said nothing. I didn’t answer to Footmen. I had a right to be on the eastern lawns; all the servants did.

  “Who are you?” I asked.

  He shrugged, his muscles rippling under his jacket sleeve. “A Footman.”

  “I’m one of the Princess’s Girls,” I replied. Not that I was telling him anything my uniform hadn’t already.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Let go,” I said, wiggling.

  “What are you doing here?” he said, locking his fingers around my apron strap. “Why were you hiding?”

  “You’re hurting me,” I wailed.

  I heard tip-tapping steps hurrying toward us.

  “See here,” the Supreme Scrubstress said, rounding a hedge. “Turn her loose.”

  I’d never been so glad to see anyone in my entire life.

  “He’s hurting me,” I told her. “Lindy said I could take a break—and he just grabbed me.”

  I twisted then, and my apron strap gave way with a loud riiip.

  Startled, he released me. I inched away, rubbing my sore shoulder. My torn apron strap dangled down my front. Marci eye
d the damage to my clothes with a growing frown.

  “I want to know what she’s doing out here,” the Footman persisted.

  Marci shook a finger at him.

  “She’s none of your business,” she said, chins wagging. “Get back to your station before I tell Marsdon you’re away.”

  The Footman glowered down at Marci, but she held her ground. I ducked behind her, as far out of the Footman’s reach as possible. The Footman dusted off his sleeve and straightened his jacket. He gave me a look that said he’d better not run into me again.

  “If the Head Housekeeper can’t keep track of her girls, then it’s no business of mine,” he said. “Good day.” He nodded, turned on his heel, and left.

  The Supreme Scrubstress rounded on me, snatching me by the arm before I could scurry off.

  “What are you doing out here?”

  “T-taking a break,” I said for lack of a better answer.

  Her nostrils curled; her chins trembled. “Is Gillian out here with you?”

  I shook my head no, glad that she’d changed the subject.

  She held me for another moment, weighing my expression. And then she let me go.

  “Get back upstairs. I have an Under-dryer to thrash.”

  I scampered out of there. I ran with my eyes peeled for that Footman. Who was he? And why was he sending messages for Prince Sterling? I’d thought Cherice had said that Prince Sterling was some impoverished prince from nowhere. Who, then, was his father? What proof did he need? And why the hurry to get it?

  My brain vibrated like a hornet’s nest stirred with a stick. Was Prince Sterling somehow involved in all this scheming? I liked him. I hated to believe that he too was rotten.

  I stopped at the girls’ dormitory to fetch a clean apron, tucking my damaged one under my arm. I’d get Cherice to help me fix it. Just as I walked into the wardrobe hall, the dressing room door flew open.

  Cherice stood there, a glistening vermilion silk over her arm. “My dear, all your gowns become you,” she said over her shoulder. “They are made for just that purpose.”

  Princess Mariposa came to the door in her petticoats, brow furrowed. “There is becoming and then there is becoming.” She caught sight of my dangling apron strap. “Darling, what happened?”