The Princess and the Page

by Christina Farley

  I yell and make to run after Gabrielle, but a hand grabs on to the back of my shirt.

  “Hot fire!” Chet yells. “This place is full of ghosts!”

  His words shatter the magic.

  Wind gushes toward me, blowing my hair back. I clamp my eyes shut against the dust billowing around me and dig my fingers into my palms, fighting against the wind so I won’t crumple into a heap on the floor.

  And then the gale stops. I open my eyes. The clavichord falls silent. The fireplace is dark and as cold as ashes. The ghosts have vanished.

  “Man, did you see that?” Chet asks, eyes wide. His shirt is on backward. “The cook was right. Strange things are happening here. I’m so glad my dad brought me to this castle.”

  I smack Chet in the shoulder. “You ruined it! I was going to save her, but then you went and screamed and made it all disappear!”

  “Chill out.” Chet holds up his hands. “It’s not like it’s every day I see ghosts hanging around.”

  The swish of skirts and a beam of light skitters off the stairwell walls. Someone is coming!

  “Quick!” I whisper in Chet’s ear. “Hide!”

  We scamper into the next room, but I don’t know where to hide. Chet taps my shoulder and waves for me to follow him. He steps onto the edge of the couch, then up the side of a cupboard, and shinnies onto a window alcove. I take a deep breath and scurry after him.

  Just as I squeeze in beside Chet, Madame glides into the room, her candle casting shadows in its wake. I hold my breath, the memory of Madame’s flower scattering across the floor still vivid. When Madame finally does retreat, I clamp my hands together, hoping that will stop them from shaking.

  Is it possible for Madame to be both a ghost and a real person? Where did Madame take Gabrielle?

  “As fun as this is, why are we hiding from Madame again?” Chet says.

  “I don’t know.” I rub the inside of my palm.

  But the real question is, why did this all seem so similar to my own fairy tale?

  Fact: In France before eating a meal, it is polite to say,

  “Bon appétit,” which means “Good appetite.”

  MONDAY (LUNDI), JUNE 14TH, 9:00 A.M.

  “Time to wake up!” a voice sings.

  I bolt upright in bed, heart in my throat, expecting a ghost to be hovering at my bedside. Beside me, Bella grabs a pillow and throws it at the voice, all the while screaming.

  “Oh, what a lovely, clear voice!”

  Ugh. It’s just Ms. Teppernat, clapping her hands in pure delight. She’s wearing a bright yellow suit that could have passed for the sun itself, and her wedges click across the wooden floor as she paces at our bedside.

  “How did you get in here?” I’m sure I locked the door last night.

  “Madame gave us a key when I asked for it,” Ms. Teppernat says.

  “Threatened is more like it,” Cheryl mutters under her breath as she steps into the room.

  “It may be raining outside, but that is no cause for alarm,” Ms. Teppernat says. “Because we switched the boating trip already with our cooking session, as is noted in your schedule. Come along, girls. Find those beautiful smiles and hop out of bed!”

  Bella leaps out of bed with a squeal, but I roll over and groan into my pillow. Until I remember the cook’s words. She warned us about dark things afoot in the castle. I bet she knows more about what’s going on here than she’s letting on. This will be the perfect opportunity to talk to her.

  “Today you will be fashioned after the fairy tale of Snow White,” Cheryl explains through a mouthful of pins as she rolls in a cart full of dresses and outfits. All the colors in the rack are blues, yellows, and reds.

  “Snow White?” I sag back into the pillows. “We’re doing another photo shoot? I don’t think I can handle that.”

  “Never fear!” Ms. Teppernat says brightly. “As soon as we’re finished, you’re free to spend the rest of the day as you please.”

  “Just as long as I don’t have to sing and have birds dance on my head,” I say.

  Ms. Teppernat pats me on the cheek. “You are so funny!”

  Bella oohs over each dress as she flips through them on the cart. “How are we supposed to decide which outfit to wear? They’re all so lovely.”

  I make myself get out of bed and look through the dresses. I pluck a blue one and hold it up against me.

  “That’s the perfect color for you,” Bella says. “Speaking of perfect colors, have you seen my purple sundress? I looked everywhere for it yesterday.”

  “Nope.” I twirl around with my dress. “Maybe it’s hanging out with my missing music player. I went to charge it last night but couldn’t find it.”

  “Maybe it’s the ghost,” Cheryl says nervously. “The townsfolk say the castle is haunted.”

  After getting dressed, even I have to admit how fun dressing up is. I end up choosing the royal-blue sleeveless dress and drape a heart pendant necklace around my neck. Then Bella helps me pick out a yellow cardigan to complete my outfit. The most difficult part ends up being the red strappy wedges Cheryl gives me. I practice walking in them, but I end up doing more wobbling than walking.

  “Don’t worry about the shoes,” Bella says. “Because you look positively divine. The dress totally brings out the blue in your eyes.”

  Then for herself, she chooses a pleated yellow skirt that flares out at her hips, and a blue cardigan sweater that accents her brown skin.

  “Wow,” I tell Bella. “You definitely have the eye for style. You look as perfect as a princess.”

  “It’s a modern version of Snow White,” Bella explains, beaming at my compliment.

  As we head downstairs, I have a hard time focusing on Ms. Teppernat’s instructions. A camera crew joins us on the first floor, and Mom rushes to my side. Her hair is puffed out as if she didn’t sleep a wink.

  “Did you notice anything unusual last night?” Mom clenches a list in her hand.

  “Um—no.” I rub my palm, unsure how to explain the dancing ghost or if I even wanted to. Knowing Mom, she’ll freak out at the first hint of something that isn’t fact-driven.

  “That’s good,” Mom says absentmindedly. “Well, I suppose I should stop worrying, then. Oh! And I made a list of different types of foods that the French eat. Did you know that they have over three hundred and sixty-five types of cheese?”

  “Great,” I murmur. “We can eat a new one every day of the year.”

  As soon as we enter the basement, I scope the area for Madame and hope she stays clear of the photo shoot. An image of her pops into my head. She’s wearing a black pointed hat and emerges from a burst of smoke and white flowers.

  The smell of fresh baked bread floats down the hallway, and my stomach rumbles. I wish we got to have breakfast first. Ms. Teppernat leads us to the sound of clanging pots, to a room at the end of the hall. It’s there that we find the cook, chopping onions and peppers. A tabloid magazine lies open next to her.

  “Oh là là!” the cook says, pausing mid-stroke. “So many cameras.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Ms. Teppernat responds. “It’s just two. Now shall we get started?”

  While Ms. Teppernat barks out orders, Bella and I drool over the mound of baguettes and croissants. Fortunately, Ms. Teppernat is too busy setting up the scene to notice Bella and me grab a croissant each and stuff them into our mouths.

  “You like, huh?” the cook says, a gleam in her eye. “Do not worry. My leeps are silent.”

  “Thanks,” I say, my mouth full.

  “So for this photo session,” Ms. Teppernat says once the crew is ready, “you’ll be cooking French toast soufflé. It’s going to be so much fun!”

  “Of course!” Mom refers to her list. “Pain perdu, which means ‘lost bread’ in English.”

  Cook takes over the instructions from there, showing us how to dip the bread into an egg batter, fry it on the stove, which looks like it belongs in the eighteen hundreds, and sprinkle cinnamon and p
owdered sugar over the top. The camera crew videos and snaps so many pictures I’m not sure what they’ll do with them all.

  Beside us, Mom takes copious notes, determined that we’ll re-create the recipe at home. “How many teaspoons of sugar did you sprinkle on top?” Mom asks the cook.

  “As much as needed,” the cook says vaguely. “A dusting, yes?”

  “But how much is that precisely? One teaspoon? Two?”

  While Mom debates with the cook, a dark-haired head bobs along the back wall behind the pile of potatoes and pots. Then the head pops up, revealing Chet and his signature mischievous smile.

  He puts one finger to his lips, then creeps behind the cameramen and snags four chocolate croissants before slipping back behind the counter. Seeing Chet reminds me once again of last night, and my stomach twists. I set down my plate, determined to get to the bottom of things.

  Bella is so engrossed in a conversation with Cheryl about what to order to go with her designs for the ball that I decide this is the perfect moment to ask.

  “What did you mean last night,” I say, sidling next to the cook as everyone begins to head out, “when you said the castle was haunted?”

  The cook stops slicing, holding her knife frozen in the air. “Haunted, chérie? I never used such word.”

  “Well, you said something like that. Why work here if there are dark things happening? With this amazing cooking, you could work at any posh restaurant.”

  The cook snorts. “Not for zee euro I get.”

  “You’re well paid?” I press.

  “Monsieur pays double anyone else.” She shrugs and resumes her chopping. “So I work.”

  “So it’s like hazard pay.”

  “I do not know what you mean.” The cook waves her knife around, scrunching her nose. “You are a nice girl. I would hateet eef you deesappear.”

  “Um, thanks. I think.” I smile uneasily, all the while keeping a sharp eye on the swooping knife. “Why would I disappear?”

  “You must go before le vendredi.”

  “Go before Friday? Why?”

  “At Château de Chenonceau, we call le vendredi ‘la nuit de la mort.’” The cook leans her bulk over the counter. Her breath smells like onions. “No one works on zat night. Zat ees why you must leave.”

  “La nuit de la mort?” Chet peeks up from behind the potatoes. “That means Friday is the Night of Death.”

  “Why are you in my kitchen?” The cook jams her fist onto her hip, frowning.

  “I may have gotten a little hungry,” Chet says sheepishly.

  “Ah! So you are zee kitchen zief.”

  “Guilty. But your chocolate croissants are so good.”

  This makes the cook purse her lips and lift her hand proudly. “Oui, zey are zee best.”

  “How do you know it means Night of Death?” I ask Chet.

  “Being from Quebec means I’d be booted out if I didn’t speak a little French,” Chet says.

  The basement staircase creaks, and I realize everyone has left except Chet and me. The kitchen suddenly doesn’t feel quite as warm and friendly.

  “Cook!” Madame’s voice vibrates down the hall, calling for the cook. “Nous devons parler!”

  “Why does Madame want to talk to you?” Chet asks.

  “Allez!” the cook says. “Madame must not know we speak.”

  “Why?” I say.

  The cook doesn’t bother answering. Instead, she shoves Chet and me into a back corner and lifts a fire poker next to the fireplace. Alarmed, I start backing away, but the poker never comes out of its mooring. Instead, the stone wall behind the fireplace moves inward just enough for a person to squeeze through, revealing a tiny room strung with cobwebs and full of dust balls.

  “Hurry!” The cook shoos us inside. “Hide!”

  My eyes widen. What is this place?

  Fact: Within the pyramids, the ancient Egyptians built

  secret rooms underneath the main passages as decoy

  rooms to mislead tomb raiders.

  Jumping into a dark and cobweb-ridden hideout isn’t on my to-do list. In fact, the garbage heap in the corner of the kitchen looks more inviting than this secret room.

  “A secret passageway!” Chet peers nervously into the narrow opening. “You sure it’s safe?”

  “I don’t know what the problem is,” I say, deciding I’m most definitely not going in there. “Why can’t we just talk to Madame?”

  Without warning, the cook’s strong arms grab hold of Chet and me and shove us inside the secret opening. The wall clamps back into place, nearly severing my fingers.

  Blackness and sudden silence blanket me in terror that only complete darkness can give. I grope the void until my hands smack Chet’s nose.

  “Hey!” Chet says. “Stop mangling me.”

  “I wasn’t mangling you!” I huff and try to collect my thoughts. Mom always said it’s best to stay calm and focused. But then, I’m sure she’s never been in this situation. “We need to deal with this calmly by taking one step at a time.”

  “Sure, as long as step one means you stop elbowing me.”

  I paw at the blackness, cringing at the thought that there might be gross creatures crawling around or dangling from the ceiling. “I’m sure the cook wouldn’t have locked us in here without a flashlight or a way to get out.”

  My fingers touch something hard and smooth. A flashlight! I seize it, but the object moves. Tiny feet patter up my arm.

  “It’s a bug!” I scream, trying to brush it off. “Watch out!”

  My arm smacks into Chet. Something thumps at my feet.

  “Ow!” he says.

  A light tapping sound skitters across the floor. Then silence. I release a long breath.

  “It’s gone now,” I say. “That’s good, right?”

  “Don’t worry about me,” Chet groans from the floor. “I’m fine.”

  “Oh, sorry.” I grope through the darkness until I grasp Chet’s hand and help him up. “You okay? Creepy-crawly things and I don’t get along well.”

  “Really? I would never have guessed. Just no more screaming today. My ears are still ringing.”

  “How long do you think we have to wait here until the cook opens the door?” I say. “She can’t expect us to hang out here all day.”

  “Check this out. I think this is a message or something.”

  White circles no bigger than my fingernail are inlaid in the stone. They glow ever so slightly in the darkness.

  “What are they?” I say. “How are they glowing?”

  “I don’t know, but look, there’s a whole line of them.”

  “It’s like a path!”

  We aren’t in a hidden room. We’re in a secret passageway!

  But with that thought comes the realization that I’ve been in a secret passageway before in this castle. When I followed Gabrielle and was chased by something horrible.

  As we follow the white specks, a sick dread fills me. Hadn’t the princess in my fairy tale escaped the evil stepsister in a dark, twisted tunnel lit by gems? And if so, did that mean that the things I experienced hadn’t been dreams but real events somehow connected to my fairy tale?

  The similarities of this moment and my fairy tale terrify me.

  I shuffle along behind Chet until the circles lead us to a staircase, so narrow and steep it could almost pass for a ladder. The line of white specks ends abruptly at the top of the stairs, on the ceiling.

  “Here goes,” Chet says as he scales the stairs. At the top, he searches the ceiling with his hands. “There’s got to be some way out. Otherwise, why would the builders go to such trouble to build this staircase?”

  He pushes on the ceiling and then on the wall beside him. Nothing happens.

  “Stupid wall.” He kicks at the stone and as he does, one of the rocks thrusts inward. The wall behind him slides away and Chet tumbles out of my sight. Light floods the passageway.

  “Chet!” I clamber after him.

  When I reach th
e top, I realize Chet has discovered the exit of the passageway. I duck through the opening under the low stone ceiling, scramble over some logs, and stumble out into the library. Dusty and sooty.

  I’ve just tumbled out of a fireplace.

  * * *

  Before I can process everything, the back of the fireplace slides closed. If I hadn’t stumbled through it, I never would’ve guessed it’s an entrance to a secret passageway from the outside. That’s two fireplaces in this castle which lead to secret passageways. That is, if the one the other night hadn’t been a dream.

  “There you are!” Bella says, sauntering into the room, sketchbook in hand. She raises her eyebrows, looking at Chet and me as if we’d grown unicorn horns or something.

  “Why are you staring at the fireplace?” she says. “And what happened to your dress?”

  Bella is so never going to believe me. “We just came from behind it,” I say.

  She giggles. “You two need to get out more.”

  “No. Seriously,” Chet says. “It’s a secret tunnel.”

  “Really? So it’s like an enchanted castle?” Bella says with a look of Sure, I’ll play along with your little game. But then she frowns and tugs at my hair. “Did you know you have cobwebs in your hair?”

  “Ugh!” Pulling my hair band out, I throw my head upside down and brush out my hair. If there are cobwebs, then there might’ve been spiders down there, too. For once, I’m glad it was dark. When I look back up, Bella is on her knees next to Chet, peeking up the chimney shaft.

  “More like haunted if you ask me,” Chet mutters.

  “Haunted?” Bella says.

  “Yep,” Chet says. “This morning I went looking for my rock climbing shoes. But they’re missing.”

  “You think a ghost took them?” Bella says.

  “I haven’t had a chance to talk to you about it all,” I tell Bella. “But last night—” I bite my lip. Just saying what I saw hurtles a shiver down my arms.

  “We saw a bunch of ghosts,” Chet says for me, plopping down on one of the couches. “And then Madame showed up and we hid from her.”

  “What do you mean you saw ghosts?” Bella says.