If the Magic Fits

by Susan Maupin Schmid

  I shrugged. “Just an accident.”

  “I’ll find you a needle and thread,” Cherice said. “Young ladies who have accidents do their own mending. Your Highness, I will find you another gown, one more becoming.”

  I gestured to the vermilion silk. “That’s pretty.”

  “Yes, it is,” Cherice responded, gritting her teeth. “Perfectly lovely.”

  “Oh, it is,” Princess Mariposa agreed. “But not…just the thing for this evening.”

  “Of course not,” Cherice muttered under her breath.

  Princess Mariposa arched her eyebrow at that. A stubborn look settled into her features. “Come with me, Darling. You choose what I should wear.”

  “Me?” My every nerve thrilled at the thought.

  “Of course you,” she said. “Cherice, open closet six.”

  Inclining her head, Cherice walked over to closet six and unlocked the door. Throwing it open, she said in a cold voice, “There you go, Darling Dimple, Advisor to Her Highness, choose!”

  I clutched my damaged apron. I’d made Cherice angry without meaning to.

  “Come, don’t be shy,” the Princess urged.

  Cherice waited at the door, a fixed smile on her lips. The Princess led me into the closet packed with ball gowns.

  “I want something special for tonight,” Princess Mariposa said.

  I glanced up at her; her sapphire eyes flashed. Something special. A forest of gowns, a dizzying rainbow of color and fabric: velvet, satin, silk, brocade, jacquard, embroideries, jewels, ribbons surrounded me. Something special. I remembered Princess Mariposa standing in the flash of lightning, resembling a queen stepped down from the night sky. She’d looked like a fairy-tale princess. She needed that sort of dress.

  I searched while Cherice tapped her toe impatiently. Wedged between a sea-green chiffon and a salmon tapestry glimmered a fold of blue-white satin. I eased the satin out from between the other dresses. A glistening white dress slithered into my hands, a crystal-encrusted silvery-white dream like a shaft of starlight illuminating the closet. The bodice was fitted and sleeveless, flaring from its crystal-encased waist to its reams of silvery-white skirt.

  “This one,” I said, holding it out to her.

  “It is not the season for white, my dear,” Cherice said over the Princess’s shoulder. “Choose another, something colorful.”

  “I forgot about this dress,” Princes Mariposa said. She caressed the glimmering satin.

  “You’ll look like a star shining in the dark,” I said.

  “That sea green—” Cherice began.

  “A star shining in the dark,” the Princess repeated, bemused. “I’ll try it on.”

  Taking the dress, she hurried out of the closet toward her dressing room.

  With an exasperated grimace, Cherice hastened after her. I followed, drawn like a moth to a flame. I slipped into the dressing room uninvited, holding my breath. The Princess stepped into the silvery-white gown, holding it against her chest.

  “Hurry,” she said. “Lace me up.”

  Cherice threaded the laces on the bodice’s back, pulling them tight and tying them into a bow before tucking them in the back of the dress. The Princess put her hands on her hips, settling the dress where she wanted it. Then she turned to look in the mirror.

  “I’ll want silver slippers and—” She wet her lips, studying herself in the mirror.

  The silvery-white darkened her hair to blue-black and made her pale skin pink in comparison. Her sapphire eyes gleamed; her ruby lips glistened. She glowed with the reflected light of the crystals. She sparkled like starlight.

  “Diamonds!” I exclaimed.

  Cherice glared at me.

  “Shoo,” she hissed. She turned to the Princess. “My dear, it is not at all the thing for late summer.”

  “Diamonds!” Princess Mariposa echoed. “Oh, yes! Fetch them.”

  Cherice stiffened her spine. “As you wish,” she said, and stalked off.

  “Oh, Darling, this will be a night to remember.” Princess Mariposa spun on the tips of her toes. Her skirts billowed and the crystals flashed. Roses bloomed on her cheeks.

  She stopped and held a hand to her forehead. “Oh my, this is laced tightly. Open a window, please.”

  I hurried to the windows and cranked one open. A breeze flowed in, followed by a little garnet butterfly. The butterfly flitted up and down, drifting up to settle on the top of a curtain rod.

  Cherice hurried back carrying a necklace and a pair of slippers. Cherice placed the slippers on the floor and the Princess stepped into them. Then Cherice draped the necklace about the Princess’s neck and fastened the clasp. Diamonds glittered like dewdrops against her skin.

  “There!” Princess Mariposa said, fingering the diamonds. “Is this not perfect?”

  “Yes, my dear, it is very special. A trifle off-season, but—”

  Princess Mariposa spread her hands. “Is this not perfect?” she demanded.

  Before Cherice could reply, the butterfly flew down and settled on the Princess’s outstretched hand. She gasped but held still.

  “Look,” she whispered.

  The garnet butterfly had a brown body and a ruffle of caramel around its wings. On each fluttering wing were set two eyes ringed in black: one yellow and vibrant blue, the other blue and copper.

  “An Inachis io, a peacock,” Princess Mariposa breathed in wonder. “Oh, Cherice, a peacock butterfly. These are so rare. And here it is, right here.”

  “It’s beautiful,” I said, ducking to see the rainbow of colors on the underside of its wings.

  “I’ve always, always wanted one,” the Princess said.

  I winced, thinking of all the butterflies pinned in the butterfly room.

  “It will make a nice addition to your collection,” Cherice said, and cupped her hands to capture it.

  Princess Mariposa squealed. “Don’t touch it!”

  As if aware of Cherice’s intent, the butterfly rose and flew out the open window.

  Princess Mariposa watched it go. “This is a sign,” she said.

  “That Your Highness has chosen the right dress?” Cherice asked with a hint of irritation.

  “The bushes bloom and the one butterfly I’ve always wanted appears,” Princess Mariposa said to herself, as if neither of us was there. “It’s a sign. It is true love.”

  Cherice glowed with delight. “Oh, it is, my dear. It is!”

  Those stupid seeds! I knew they were trouble.

  “Maybe it’s just a coincidence,” I protested.

  “Thank you for your help,” Princess Mariposa murmured, and glided off to dinner like a sleepwalker.

  The next morning the herald announced the engagement of Mariposa Celesta Regina Valentina, Princess Royal of Eliora, to Prince Baltazar of Candala. The castle exploded in an outburst of celebration. At long last, the Princess had found her true love. Halls rang with singing. Every corner of the castle shone with polish, every face beamed, and every day dawned brighter than the last.

  Every heart rejoiced except mine. I, Darling the Wretched, hunched over my irons and worked in silent misery, the only one in the castle aware of the doom lurking over our heads. I had failed completely. I’d failed the dresses, the canary, the Princess, and the entire kingdom.

  I thought things couldn’t get any worse, but I was wrong. Princess Mariposa set an early autumn date for the wedding. She ordered the King’s regalia brought out to be cleaned. And then she wanted her canary back.

  My heart fell to my boots at the news.

  “Wh-what?” My knees knocked together. “She wants what?”

  “Her canary, silly,” Cherice said. She tugged playfully on my ribbon. “Just put it back before the Princess dresses for dinner.” Then she turned and vanished in a swirl of skirts.

  My legs collapsed. I landed on the floor, a puddle of abject despair.

  Vividly I pictured Princess Mariposa’s astonishment turn into rage as I cowered before her. How dare I open
the canary’s cage? How dare I lose him?

  Darling the Careless. Darling the Thoughtless. Darling the Ungrateful.

  What could I do? Where could I turn? Who could save me?

  Who indeed? There was only one person I could turn to now.

  The wooden stairs creaked underneath me. The smell of fires burning tickled my nose. With each step, the rising heat warmed my skin. A sheen of moisture clung to the walls. Except for the hiss of steaming water and the crackle of fire, the under-cellar echoed with silence. The Scrubbers, Dryers, and Laundresses were up in the kitchens enjoying their lunch.

  Above, a stair groaned as someone bounced on it.

  “What are you doing here?” Gillian asked behind me.

  I shrugged. “Looking for the Head Scrubber.”

  “Ooh, she’s the Head Scrubber now, is she?” Gillian said.

  “She always was,” I replied, too dispirited to argue with her.

  Gillian squinted at me. “Why are you really here? Get let go?”

  “Nope. Just want to talk to her,” I replied.

  Gillian pulled a soggy sponge out of her soiled apron pocket. “Want to make some bubbles? Like old times?”

  Her heart-shaped face pinked with hope. Her eyes sparkled. A dimple creased her cheeks. I could have told her a whopper: all about a queen and a closet full of magic dresses. I was tempted to tell her everything. But I only had until dinner and, once I started talking, I wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to stop.

  “I can’t, sorry,” I said. “I’ve got to go.”

  “Oh.” She stuffed the sponge back in her pocket, forcing a trickle of water to soak her skirt. Then she stepped off the last step and walked away without looking back.

  The Supreme Scrubstress had a bedroom upstairs with the other important servants, but like the Head Steward, she also had an office. Of sorts. At the end of the long line of hearths and scrubbing stations sat a narrow alcove. Years ago, someone had braced the alcove’s heavy ceiling timbers with an extra set of pillars. A red-checked curtain hung from a rope strung between them. I hovered outside the curtain, biting my lip.

  “Who’s there?” the Supreme Scrubstress called.

  “It’s Darling. May I come in?”

  A plump hand batted the fabric aside. The Supreme Scrubstress peered out at me, sharp-eyed and suspicious.

  “You’re a sorry sight,” she said. “What’s wrong?”

  “I need help, and you’re the only person who can help me,” I said.

  Her eyes widened in surprise. “Me? What help could I be?”

  “It’s about the canary,” I whispered.

  “Come in,” she said, holding the curtain aside.

  I squeezed past her. The office surprised me. Thick carpet squished underfoot. An old sofa sat in the corner, lined with embroidered pillows. A collection of drawings of scenic vistas and faraway places hung on the walls. It looked like a room belonging to someone with an imagination, someone who longed for more than just the under-cellar.

  “Sit down and tell me about it,” the Supreme Scrubstress said, sinking into the sofa and gesturing to a stool.

  I parked myself on the stool. Where did I begin?

  “Several weeks ago, the Princess became annoyed with her canary,” I said. “Cherice told me to find somewhere to keep him until she asked for him back.”

  The Supreme Scrubstress’s eyes gleamed as she traced a pattern on the arm of the sofa with her forefinger.

  “I didn’t know where to take him, and so I just put him in the closet.”

  “Which closet?” the Supreme Scrubstress asked in a low voice.

  “Queen Candace’s. Because it was unlocked and I thought no one would care,” I answered, squirming on the hard stool.

  At Candace, she traced faster with her finger.

  “So?” she said as if we were discussing the weather.

  “Remember how you said that there was a story that the canary was the same one owned by Queen Candace and that he was magic?”

  “I suggest,” she said, standing up, “that you go back to work and stop talking nonsense.”

  “I tried on a dress,” I said, desperate to keep her listening.

  “You what?” she hissed in a hoarse whisper.

  I leaned forward, anxious to say this in as quiet a tone as possible. “I. Tried. On. A. Dress. Candace’s dress. When the canary was in the closet.”

  Perspiration coated her forehead. She fanned herself, the rolls around her middle jiggling as if agitated. And then it dawned on me. It was so obvious. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t figured it out before.

  “You tried on the dresses, too, didn’t you?” I said. “When you were little and you visited your grandmother and she was busy with Queen Paloma’s wardrobe and you had the canary, you put on a dress and you looked in the mirror!”

  The Supreme Scrubstress’s face turned white. She collapsed on the sofa.

  I clapped my hand over my mouth at the audacity of it all. She’d done it too!

  Her chest heaved. Her hand groped under the pillows, and then she pulled out a fan and started vigorously fanning herself. Her bun began to disintegrate, strands of gray-streaked hair sliding down.

  I didn’t say any more. She’d turned a bad shade of green and I was scared she’d drop over dead.

  Gradually her breathing slowed and so did her fanning. She dug a handkerchief out of her sleeve and mopped her face. She ran her tongue around her dry lips, moistening them.

  “What have you done?” she asked.

  That was a big question. It occurred to me that I’d done a lot, much more than I wanted to admit to. Besides, it was getting late. The sounds of washing and scrubbing filtered through the curtain: everyone was back at work, the afternoon was wearing on.

  “I opened the cage and the canary flew around. Then he just popped back into the stained-glass bird on the closet window,” I blurted out. “He’s gone. Princess Mariposa’s asked for him back and I have until dinnertime and I don’t know how to get him out of there.”

  “Why are you asking me about this?” the Supreme Scrubstress asked, her color returning.

  “Because you know about the canary and you know things about the castle and you know”—my voice dropped to a ghost of a whisper—“the magic word.”

  She swallowed like someone caught stealing.

  “There are things you don’t understand, dangerous things, things not meant to be tampered with,” she said.

  “I know, things like looking at the dragons and saying—” My mouth hung open, my words lost in midair. I saw it—SARVINDER—engraved on the golden collar. That was it. It wasn’t a name, it was a magic word! Jane said it and it hurt her eyesight. But she said it to the dragon. What would happen if I said it to the canary?

  The Supreme Scrubstress clamped her hand over my mouth. “Don’t say it!”

  I shook my head to indicate that I wouldn’t. She eased her hand away, ready to slap it back on in a moment’s notice.

  “I won’t, but will it work on the canary?” I said.

  She pursed her lips, considering. I could see the lie bubbling behind them.

  “Come on, Marci,” I said. “I have to get the bird back now. Will it work? Or is there something else I can try? I don’t have much time.”

  Her round shoulders sagged. “It might. I don’t know. To my knowledge no one has ever let the canary out of the cage before. But it’s more dangerous than you can ever imagine.”

  “I know,” I said solemnly. “Truly, I do. The magic keeps the dragons pinned and they have to stay that way. Believe me,” I said, holding a hand over my heart, “the last thing I want to do is mess with those dragons.”

  A knowing look came into her eyes. “Had your fill of the roof?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I said. “I sure did.”

  “Go give it a try. Whisper it. If it doesn’t work, don’t fool around with it, come straight back here,” she said.

  I bounded up. “I will.” I scooted for the curt
ain. “You know who I saw when I put on that dress?”

  She shook her head.

  “You,” I said, and skipped out of the room.

  Sarvinder. The word throbbed on the tip of my tongue, three distinct syllables laced with enormous power. I threw open the closet door. I raced to the window and slapped my hand on the glass canary. At first, I didn’t feel anything, and then the magic buzzed against my palm. I squeezed my eyes shut, concentrating. A fluttering sensation tickled my skin. The canary squirmed in the magic under my hand. His tiny heart beat with the pulse of the magic.

  I parted my lips, ready to speak, but then, just beyond the canary I felt the gryphon brooding. His thoughts poured into me: soaring in the sky. I smelled the sharp scent of wind. The feathers in his mighty wings ruffled in flight. The sharp curve of his beak poised to speak. My fingers curled with the rending power in his talons. I felt myself tumbling toward him and yanked my hand from the glass.

  Sarvinder buzzed in my mouth like an angry bee, cornered and ready to sting.

  I gasped, dizzy and breathless. Releasing the canary was one thing; tampering with gryphons was quite another. I rubbed my palm against my apron, took a deep breath, and gingerly touched the glass canary. Splinters of rainbow dappled my apron as the sun’s rays beat on the glass.

  “Sarvinder,” I whispered.

  Sarvinder, the magic answered in a voice like a bell’s chime.

  Warmth balled up under my hand, rolling into a feathered, quivering mass. I pulled back and the canary whooshed out of the window and into the room. I gave him my finger and he latched on with his tiny talons. His tiny heart throbbed frantically. I wasted no time. I whipped the cage door open and thrust my hand, bird and all, inside. The canary hopped onto his little perch. I snatched my hand back and slapped the cage door shut. The lock clicked.

  I exhaled in relief, pressing my forehead against the cage.

  “It’s all right now, Lyric, you’re back safe and sound,” I told him.

  I blinked. I knew the canary’s name! I realized I knew more than that.

  “You’re worried about the Princess,” I told him, “because the magic is concerned about her. The magic knows her, even if she doesn’t know it.”