I shuddered to think what she’d do to me. Kill me—that was what she’d do. I looked around in the pitch-blackness. There was no way out. Bile rose up in my throat. I choked, sick with fear. I clutched the cloak. Would I ever be found? Would anyone miss me? Thirty-Three squeezed me.
Oh, no. I gasped. Would I still look like Cherice when I was dead?
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” I told Thirty-Three. “You’ll die too. I got you into this and now you’re stuck.”
Thirty-Three squeezed me again. I sank to my knees, hugging myself into a tight little ball, and crying afresh. Jane! She’d never know what happened to me. She’d think I ran away. She’d be brokenhearted.
A huge sob strangled me. I wanted Jane so bad I couldn’t stand it. I didn’t want any stupid old adventure. I wanted to run back to the under-cellar and have my old friends back. I’d scrub pots with vigor and never have another adventure as long I lived.
Thirty-Three pinched my shoulders with a bite as sharp as a snake’s. I jumped, raising my head and blinking through swollen eyes.
“Hey, stop,” I bawled. “I said I was sorry. You don’t have to be mean. I’ll be just as dead as you.”
The skirt of Thirty-Three rolled up and slapped me in the face.
Stunned, I stopped bawling.
A furry tickling sensation touched my hand. Tiny paws gripped my sleeve and raced up my arm.
“Iago?” I cried. “Is that you?”
He nuzzled my chin, tickling me with his tail. I reached up to stroke his furry back. He squirmed; he felt warm and alive under my hand. I wasn’t alone in the dark after all.
“Did the magic send you? How did you get in here? Is there a hole somewhere?”
I thought about feeling around to find it and then decided that it didn’t matter. He was here. I wasn’t alone. Then I realized that if he had been able to get in, he must be able to get back out.
“Oh, Iago, can you get me out? Can you unlock the cupboard?”
He tapped my chin with his tail. I strained my eyes, sucking in a breath of dusty, spirits-of-orange-scented air. It was too dark to see him, too dark for him to act out his answers. I really, really wished I spoke Mouse. He tapped my chin again. He was trying to tell me something.
“Tell me yes or no. One tap for yes. Two taps for no,” I said, eager to understand.
He tapped me once.
“Can you open the door?”
No.
“Can you get back out?”
Yes.
If he could get out, then he could go for help!
Jane?
Jane was blind as a bat. She’d never see Iago or his pantomimes. And even if she felt him, she wouldn’t know that he was anything but an ordinary mouse. She’d probably go after him with a broom. And I’d still be locked in the cupboard. The wedding would still take place. Prince Baltazar would still be King. I needed someone else.
“Can you find Gillian? Can you get Roger?” I wailed.
Yes.
He slid down my arm and vanished into the darkness of the closet.
I dried my eyes on Lindy’s cloak. Iago would get help. Any minute now, Gillian and Roger would burst into the room to save me. Well, they would if they weren’t still too mad at me to come.
I couldn’t see anything in the total darkness of the cupboard. Perspiration covered my face. It was dark and hot. My chest constricted. I reached out to feel that the walls were still where they belonged and not creeping closer, not squishing me in a wooden vise. I wondered how long I’d been in there. An hour? Two?
I strained my ears, listening for the sound of Cherice’s quick, light steps. I groped around the cupboard, feeling for a weapon. My fingers closed on the broom. I grasped the handle and stood up, feeling around until I was sure I was facing the door. I’d hear her coming and when she unlocked the door, I’d whack her as hard as I could.
I wouldn’t give up without a fight.
Thud. Thud. Thud. Someone was coming, and it didn’t sound like Cherice. Fear gripped me by the throat. I clutched my broom, ready to spring. If it was Prince Baltazar, I’d aim for his stomach. I’d only get one chance, so I had to jab as hard as I could.
“Darling? Are you in here?” a voice said.
It was a voice I wasn’t certain I’d hear again, and it sounded like music.
“Roger!” I called. “Is that you, Roger?”
“Where are you?” he said, walking around.
“Here! I’m in here,” I yelled. I dropped the broom and pounded on the door with both fists. “Let me out!”
The door opened so suddenly that I fell forward, blinded by the bright light. I hit something solid, and it and I crashed to the floor in a heap. Stars revolved inside my head as I groped for something solid to hang on to. I caught an arm and latched on.
It was a wiry, strong arm in a rough shirtsleeve. It felt wonderful. It smelled a little like manure. It smelled heavenly. I squinted; Roger’s freckled face swam into view. I was so glad to see him that I almost kissed him. Then I saw the mouse clinging to his collar.
“Iago! You got help!” I cried. “Thank you.”
Roger sat back; a look of horror marred his freckles. His cap had fallen off and his hair stood straight up. “I’m sorry, lady,” he sputtered. “I thought you were someone else.”
“No, it’s me,” I said, breathing in the fresh-linen smell of the pressing room. I giggled, deliriously happy to be out of the cupboard.
“O…kay,” he said slowly. He dug a note out of his pocket and handed it to me. I took the jagged-edged triangle of print-covered paper and turned it over. Coarse writing on it read Darling in danger.
“Iago, you wrote him a note!” I frowned, puzzled. “Where’s Gillian?”
“Gillian?” Roger said. “She went outside to sneak a peek at the wedding.”
“Oh.” Of course she did. Every girl in the castle wanted to see it.
“Well, okay, lady, I have to get back to work,” Roger said.
“What?” I clutched my dress, remembering. “It’s me, Darling. Really. I can prove it. Come with me.”
I jumped up. Roger grabbed his cap and got up slowly, keeping his eye on me the whole time. He set his cap on his head. Iago climbed up onto his shoulder. I held out my hand.
“Come on,” I said.
He stuck his hands in his pants pockets. Boys. I snorted.
“Follow me,” I ordered.
I raced to Queen Candace’s closet; Roger followed me in, dragging his feet. Lyric ruffled his feathers when Roger walked into the room. I slithered out of Thirty-Three and put it back on its hanger. He saw and stopped in his tracks.
“Darling?” Roger gasped.
“I told you it was me,” I said. “The dress is a disguise.”
Roger yanked off his cap and scratched his head, the picture of confusion.
“What? How? Where’d you get it?”
A burst of trumpets broke through the silence in the closet. I ran to the window and cranked it open. Outside, far below on the western lawns, I spied the waving pennants of the gaily striped tents set up for the feast. I craned forward, bracing myself on the stone gryphon for a better look.
The terraces below me were decorated in flowered arches. The wedding was set to be held on the terrace with the starburst, followed by a feast on the lawn. Later, a ball would be held in the ballroom, followed by fireworks. Brightly dressed people the size of ants scurried about the terrace. Underneath me, a tiny figure in white appeared.
Princess Mariposa! She was on her way to her wedding. It wasn’t too late!
Lyric whistled at me.
I turned to him. “I know!” I cried. “What do I do?”
It was a long, long way through the castle to the western terrace. Even if I got there in time, Guards were sure to stop me. Prince Baltazar would marry her and be our new King. I leaned out the window, biting my lip, broiling with anxiety.
“What do you do about what?” Roger asked, coming up behind me.
>
“I have to stop the wedding!” I said.
Under my hands, I felt a tingle of waking magic in the stone gryphon’s head. Through the granite the feathered head of the gryphon shifted. I felt its strength. I felt its thoughts, flying, hunting, screaming. And then I felt something else: amusement.
“What is so funny?” I asked it.
You, the stone gryphon murmured to me through the magic. Unable to fly down and save her.
“This whole thing is funny,” Roger replied.
“Can you stop Baltazar? Can you?”
The gryphon chuckled. Release me and I will.
“Stop who? You’re going to get in real trouble, Darling,” Roger warned.
I had a sudden memory of the sharp beak and rending claws of the hunting gryphon.
“Not to kill him,” I whispered, warning it. “Just to stop him.”
Release me.
A silver speck joined the Princess. There was no time to do anything else. I closed my eyes, hoping that I was doing the right thing, and reached for the magic.
“Darling, get back in here, you’ll fall. We can sneak downstairs and watch if you want to see the wedding that bad.”
“Sarvinder,” I whispered.
The stone shattered as the gryphon broke free from the castle. It spread its massive wings, shook its feathered head, flexed its terrible claws, and lashed at the castle with its lionlike tail. With a bloodcurdling shriek, it shot into the air and soared up to block the sun. Then it dived like a hawk, straight for the terrace below.
I fell back inside, shaking. Lyric gripped his perch, blinking rapidly.
“I had to,” I said. “There’s no time.”
Roger stood, openmouthed. I almost felt sorry for him; he looked so scared. But I didn’t have any more time. I had a wedding to break up.
“Come on, Roger,” I cried. “We have to stop that wedding!”
Then I grabbed hold of him and dragged him along with me.
Pandemonium reigned on the terrace when we arrived. The gryphon had landed on the starburst, scattering fancy white chairs and toppling arches. Flowers and broken crockery littered the paving stones that glittered in the sunlight. The powerful haunches of the gryphon tensed and relaxed. Its long, fur-tipped tail swayed back and forth like a serpent. Its massive wings beat the air. A group of Guards confronted the beast, swords pointed at its chest.
Captain Bryce stood with his sword outstretched and his other arm behind him, urging Princess Mariposa to stay back. A group of Archers ran up the terrace steps. Wedding guests huddled in groups, hiding behind the Princess.
Princess Mariposa had thrown down her bouquet and hitched up her long train. She faced the gryphon, trembling but regal, unwilling to run away or back down.
“Let him go!” she commanded.
Roger and I inched closer to the terrace. I gripped his sweaty hand in mine. Prince Baltazar sprawled on the pavement, pinned down by the gryphon’s powerful talons. He lay on his back, white-faced and wide-eyed, too terrified to speak. His splendid silver coat fell from his shoulders in tatters. A diamond button had rolled across the pavement and sparkled in the sun like a tiny fire. The gryphon puffed out its chest, arched its neck, and screamed. Prince Baltazar fainted.
I clapped my hands over my ears. The Guards quaked in terror but stood their ground. Wedding guests called out for the Guards to save them. I felt, deep down, the amused chuckle of the gryphon, which irked me. If I were one of those Guards facing an enormous half-eagle, half-lion monster, I’d be frightened too.
Monster? the gryphon huffed.
I stared at the gryphon. I could hear it in my head. Without touching the castle. A tingling from the magic lingered in my fingers, my hair, and the very air around me.
The Archers fell to one knee and nocked their arrows, sighting the feathered chest.
“Stop!” I yelled, and broke free from Roger. Then I jumped in front of the gryphon, waving my arms in the air. “Don’t shoot.”
“Darling, no!” Princess Mariposa cried.
“Darling,” Captain Bryce called, “get out of there!”
“Darling, are you crazy?” Roger roared.
The scent of crushed flowers and the raw-earth smell of spilled potting soil hovered in the warm air. The sun blazed. I glanced down. Prince Baltazar bled from a cut on his forehead. The paving stone beside him bore scratches from the gryphon’s talons.
An unbroken urn slammed over and Gillian bounded up over it, sailing through the air, armed with a fork. She landed before the gryphon and brandished her fork.
“Leave her alone, you beast,” she cried, curls flying, eyes flashing.
A fork? It was sure brave of her—stupid, but brave. I grabbed her arm.
“Wait,” I said. “It’s okay, Gillian, stand back.”
Gripping her fork, she backed away, keeping an eye on the gryphon. Roger snatched her by the apron tie and yanked her back to where he stood.
I turned to face the Princess. What could I say next? I could tell them that the Prince was a liar and a schemer. But what proof did I have? I’d told the gryphon to stop him and it had, but I had no guarantee that the massive beast behind me would obey any more of my orders. Sweat trickled down my back.
“Darling,” Princess Mariposa called, shoving past the Captain, “come here right now.”
It’s a dilemma, the gryphon agreed.
“He’s a thief,” I cried as loud as I could.
Really? the gryphon said.
“Darling,” Princess Mariposa warned.
“He took part of the regalia,” I told her, pointing to his wrists. “He stole the cuffs out of your room. He’s wearing them right now.”
She blinked, uncertain.
I knelt down and yanked back his sleeve. The bright gold of the cuff gleamed in the sunlight.
“He took them. That’s what I ran down here to tell you,” I said.
The whole crowd gasped.
In the distance, the sound of marching boots rang out. The Captain looked over his shoulder, perplexed. Sweat ran down my face and burned in my eyes. I wiped it away with my sleeve. The gryphon stirred behind me. Prince Baltazar hadn’t moved. I hoped that didn’t mean he was dead, but I didn’t look to see. Because just then, a troop of men marched down the walkway carrying two standards, one red and the other green. Neither was the silver-gray of Eliora.
This is getting interesting, the gryphon mused.
Gillian dropped her fork.
The troop parted the dazed wedding guests like a comb through wet hair. Two men marched at the head of the troop: a tall, silver-haired man in a red cloak and Prince Sterling. I blinked. Prince Sterling no longer looked impoverished. Now he wore clothes befitting a king and bore a jeweled sword at his side.
“Halt and identify yourselves,” Captain Bryce called out.
The men halted before the gryphon and saluted the Princess in unison.
You should join your Princess, the gryphon said, reaching down and nudging me with the broad side of its curved beak.
I stumbled forward. The feel of that hard beak against my back convinced me. I ran to Princess Mariposa’s side just as the man in the red cloak knelt before Her Highness.
“I come in friendship,” the man said in a loud voice.
“Rise in friendship,” Princess Mariposa said, stepping forth. “And name yourself.”
The man rose. He was as tall and powerfully built as Prince Baltazar and as handsome, despite the fact that he was much older. He bowed.
“I am Baltazar, Prince of Candala, Your Grace,” he said, his voice ringing across the terrace.
The terrace erupted in a roar of outrage. Princess Mariposa paled. Captain Bryce lowered his sword. I stuffed my fist in my mouth. Princess Mariposa reached for me, drawing me to her side as if to protect me.
The Prince held up his hand and the crowd quieted.
“I apologize for disrupting your day and ruining your wedding,” the real Prince Baltazar said with the trace of
a smile. “But I couldn’t let you marry an imposter.”
“Where’s your proof?” Captain Bryce asked, eyeing the men who accompanied the new prince.
The real Prince held out his hand. “I wear the ring, the great seal of the kingdom of Candala. Does your man bear such an emblem?”
Princess Mariposa stepped forward and took the Prince’s hand in hers. She studied the heavy gold ring. And then she gazed up at Prince Sterling.
“I can vouch for the Prince of Candala,” he said. “I have a letter from King Lawrence of Tamzin as well.” He reached inside his coat, pulled out a folded parchment bearing a heavy seal, and handed it to her.
She took the letter and broke the seal. Everyone waited with bated breath as she read its contents. Tears welled up in her eyes. She folded the letter.
“I see,” Princess Mariposa said in a hushed voice.
At this, the gryphon reared up, holding the fake Baltazar up in its claw and dangling him in the air. The fake Baltazar woke with a scream and cried out for help. His nose bled, marring the starched ruffles of his once-white shirt.
Who is this? the gryphon wondered, cocking his head at me.
“Who is that?” Princess Mariposa asked, pointing at the fake Baltazar.
A wave of butterflies drifted down over the scene like brightly colored confetti. One landed on the gryphon’s crest. Another settled on the real Prince Baltazar’s head.
“Dudley, a former gardener of mine, I’m afraid. I turned him out for stealing,” the real Prince Baltazar said.
The fake Prince erupted in a torrent of curses.
“You turned him out?” Princess Mariposa said to the real Prince.
“His mother begged for mercy and the goods had been recovered….” The Prince trailed off, shrugging his shoulders. “I had no idea he’d cause Your Highness such grief.”
Tears streamed down the Princess’s face; she dabbed at them with her veil.
“Why?” she asked. “Why?”
One of the Princess’s tears splashed on the top of my head. I fought the urge to cry too. I’d wanted to stop the wedding, but I hadn’t wanted her to be sad. I had to do something, say something. I tugged on her lace sleeve.
If the Magic Fits Page 18