by Nancy Chase
Catrin blinked several times. Gradually, the room stopped spinning. Only her gnarled left hand and the little stub of candle on the coverlet before her convinced her that she had not been dreaming.
“Well done, Princess,” said the Magpie. “You surprise me.”
She scowled. “You’ll find I’m full of surprises.” Quick as a thought, she stretched out her witch’s hand and caught the Magpie by the feet. He flapped wildly, but could not get free. “That was a cruel trick, frightening me so and nearly killing that knight, who was only trying to help me. Give me my Story back now, or you’ll be sorry.”
“I can’t do that, Princess. Not until you answer the other six riddles.”
“Very well,” she said. “But I’ve had enough of your trickery. I don’t think you can be trusted. I think I’ll keep you close at hand, where I can keep my eye on you.”
“You can’t do that!”
“Oh, yes I can. Do you see this pouch? It is made from the sails of Geoffrey’s ship, and you have no power over it. It should hold you quite securely until this is all over.”
“No! It is too small. I won’t fit.” The bird’s flapping grew even more frantic.
Catrin smiled grimly. “It’s a magic pouch. It can fit anything.” She shoved the screeching bird inside with her magic book and yanked the drawstring closed. “And you’ll stay there until I get my Story back. Let your brothers and sisters think about that.”
Catrin was about to say more, but red-headed Megan popped into the room, carrying breakfast on a tray. Catrin remembered to hide her withered arm under the bedcovers just in time.
“Oh, did I wake you, pet?” the good woman asked. “I was sure I heard you talking to someone. I thought it must be your father. He was on his way up here to tell you that he’s sending out invitations to all the princes everywhere to come and compete for your hand in marriage. What a grand day it will be!”
Booted footsteps clomped up the stairs, and the king’s voice resounded in the hallway. “Prince Athelrede, Prince Jolyon, Prince Ranulf.”
Resplendent in his ermine robes, he strode into Catrin’s room, followed by a disheveled scribe who was scribbling a list on a rumpled sheet of parchment. “Good morning, my dear. Sleep well?” The king kissed Catrin’s forehead.
“Prince Morgan,” he continued, waving his arm at the scribe. “Oh, and don’t forget that ugly foreign fellow, the one who won the tournament last year—Ignatius!” The king beamed. “He had an excellent bay stallion.” The scribe nodded and wrote it down.
“Father—” Catrin began.
The king grabbed the paper from the scribe and squinted at it. “Good. Now write up the invitations for this batch and give them to the messengers, while I check the list to see if we’ve forgotten anyone.”
“Father—” she tried again.
“And make sure to use the gold sealing wax!” he shouted after the departing scribe. “This is a celebration, you know!”
He smiled down at Catrin. “Why, Little Bird, you look well this morning. I think the fresh sea air agrees with you.”
He patted her cheek. “Now I must go down to the stables and make sure Hobb has horses ready for the messengers. The last clerk I sent to check on things couldn’t tell a stirrup from a starling. And it seems the morning watchman found my warhorse wandering loose in the courtyard with his saddle on and his reins dragging. I think Hobb must be going a bit soft in the head. He’s never been so careless before. No matter, we’ll set things right. I’m glad you’re feeling better, pet. You’ll be bright as a silver penny by your wedding day.”
“But Father—” The door swung shut, and he was gone. Frustrated, Catrin heaved a pillow after him, and sank back down in the bed.
Megan clattered the dishes on the breakfast tray. “It’s good to see him cheered up, after all the troubles in recent years. But, my stars, you’d think it was his own wedding, the way he flies about the place. Looking better, indeed! Why, you’re as pale as a mackerel’s belly. It’s plain as plain you didn’t sleep a wink last night. You just drink up this nice hot tea I made for you, and you’ll be on the mend in no time.”
Catrin took the cup and sipped its warm, bland contents. Below the open window, the brooding sea prowled like a jilted lover.
Clicking her tongue sympathetically, Megan retrieved the pillow from the floor and plumped it behind Catrin’s head. “Little Bird, your sailor lad isn’t coming back, love. All the grieving in the world won’t make it so. You must try to be cheerful and think on your wedding day.”
“I do,” Catrin muttered, watching the waves hurl themselves onto the rocks. “I think about it all the time.”
Megan recoiled and swiftly made the sign against misfortune. Then she gave an embarrassed laugh. “I declare, child, for a moment you sounded just like your mother, rest her soul. Gave me a shiver, it did.”
She nodded toward Catrin’s untouched breakfast, cooling on the tray. “I don’t suppose there’s any use in trying to coax you to eat a little something? Not even these nice smoked kippers? And those eggs are fresh this morning. Well, all right. You’ll feel more yourself after you’ve had a decent rest. Now you finish up that tea while I go clear the rest away.”
When Catrin opened her eyes again, the room was dark. She sat up, spilling the dregs of Megan’s tea onto the floor. The sky outside was just growing pale in the east. Morning! She threw back the covers and leaped to her feet. She had slept away a whole day and night, and she still had six more riddles to answer before the ball!
She quickly retied the laces on her black gown and checked that the white pouch was still fastened at her waist. Then she crept down to the stables, where she found the old horse keeper sleeping against a haystack. “Hobb, get up! Saddle my horse.”
The old man lurched to his feet, so flustered by her reappearance and so sure that she was the ghost of her mother the queen that Catrin indulged him in his fancies by swaying and moaning softly, like a lost soul. He buckled the horse’s girth as fast as his shaking fingers would allow and didn’t ask a single question.
The horse’s hoofs flew over the dewy grass. In no time, they reached the clearing in the forest. “Good morning, Princess,” the second Magpie greeted her. “I was beginning to think you weren’t coming.”
“I am ready for the next riddle.”
“Are you indeed?” the bird said. “Then here it is:
“What fetters may bind
The will and the mind
With locks that no one can see?
When you’re caught in a snare
Made of sunshine and air
What hand will offer the key?”
Almost as an afterthought, the bird added, “I will come to your window at sunset for the answer.” It spread its wings and vanished into the forest.
“I will be ready,” Catrin said to the place where it had been, though she didn’t feel ready at all. She reined the horse around and rode for the beach. She hoped the old woman could tell her where to find the answer.
No one was in sight when Catrin arrived at the little hut huddled among the rocks. She dismounted and pounded on the door until the old woman came out, squinting sleepily. Her gray hair was matted and tangled, and she hobbled when she walked, but her left hand was pink and rosy as a child’s. “Back again, Princess?”
“I have another riddle to answer,” Catrin said. “Why didn’t you tell me about the sea beast last time? I could have been killed.”
The crone shrugged. “Magpie Island is beautiful and perilous, like all the world. Who can predict what wonders you may see? What is the riddle?”
Catrin recited:
“What fetters may bind
The will and the mind
With locks that no one can see?
When you’re caught in a snare
Made of sunshine and air
What hand will offer the key?”
“Magpie riddles!” the crone grumbled, rubbing her new hand with her old hand. “You won’t find t
he answer from man nor woman, nor beast in the field, nor tree in the wood. You must ask the Sunstone.”
“What is this stone? Where can I find it?”
“Give me what you have in your pouch, and I will tell you.”
“No,” said Catrin, “I told you already, you can’t have that. I will give you something else.”
The old woman scowled. “Very well. Give me your right arm, and I will be content.”
Catrin bowed her head. She curled and uncurled her fingers, noticing for the first time the slenderness of her wrist, the faint blue veins below the smooth skin, the pink and white curve of her nails. It was the hand that had written countless letters to her father, the arm that Geoffrey had touched that day by the abbey wall. “All right.” she said finally, and the old woman reached for her.
When it was done, both of Catrin’s hands were withered and old, with bony knuckles and knotted veins, while the crone’s two rosy young hands caressed each other, joyous as reunited sisters. The crone watched them tenderly, smiling a small, crooked smile.
Catrin cleared her throat. “Where must I go to find the Sunstone?”
The crone’s smile faded. “Go to the White Tower and climb up nine flights of stairs to the highest room. Take the silver key that hangs on a hook by the door and go in. You will find the stone in a room with a hundred windows fastened shut with a hundred locks. Unlock the locks and open the windows, and the stone will give you the answer.”
Catrin took the white horse by the reins and led him down to the edge of the sea. The waves licked and whispered against the causeway, occasionally tossing a net of foam across the damp stones. She squinted at the silver waters, seeking a glimpse of the black-tentacled sea beast below the shimmering surface, but if the beast was there it gave no sign. Catrin climbed into the saddle, closed her eyes, hid her face in the horse’s mane, and let him carry her across.
The tower was just as she had remembered it, except by daylight it seemed even taller. The great hall was again set for a banquet, but this time the room was not empty: Someone was seated at the foot of the table. At the sound of her footsteps, he turned and rose to his feet.
“Baldwin!”
He smiled. “Greetings, Your Highness.”
“I was so worried about you. Are you hurt?”
“No, I am unharmed. I have had time to rest and eat.” He nodded toward the laden table. “But I am glad to see you. I was growing lonely. What brings you back here?”
“I have another riddle to answer. Will you help me?”
“Of course.” He bowed low. “I am at your service, Princess, always.”
He picked up his spear. Together they found the staircase and, side-by-side, started the long, steep climb.
At first the windows were just narrow slits that let in little more than a splinter of light and a breath of air. But as they ascended, the windows got bigger, the light brighter.
The sea wind blew through the openings and, when Catrin glanced outside, she could see nothing but vast, empty sky. She edged closer to the center of the stair and slipped her hand under Baldwin’s elbow.
When they reached the top, they found the silver key, just as the crone had promised. Catrin unlocked the door, and Baldwin led the way into the dim, hushed room beyond. No ray of sunlight pierced the shuttered windows, no breeze stirred. Thick rugs coated with centuries of dust muffled their footsteps. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, shapes emerged: a broad writing table, a scribe’s bench, and—standing like sentries in every nook and corner of the room—dozens of tall, cobweb-swathed bookcases, each overflowing with stacks of fat, leather-bound volumes.
“There’s the stone,” she whispered.
“Where?” Baldwin’s soldier’s voice rang out a little too loudly.
“Shhh!” Catrin hissed. “There, on that pedestal.” In the center of the room, upon a carved mahogany stand, rested a crystal sphere almost as big as Catrin’s head.
She hastened forward and used her sleeve to wipe the dust from the stone’s surface. “I am Princess Catrin. I’ve come for the answer to a riddle.”
Baldwin’s sneeze shattered the hush. “Sorry,” he muttered, wiping his eyes.
Catrin frowned at the stone. It was as clear as rainwater, but what about those faint, wispy shapes swirling slowly in its core? It was hard to focus her eyes upon them, but even harder to look away.
Her own reflection—or was it an image of her mother?—loomed in the foreground with great, sorrowful eyes. Slowly, another figure rose behind that one. She could see, faintly, the face of a tall young man with hair dark as—
“Geoffrey!” She gripped the sphere with both hands. “Where are you? Speak to me!”
“Princess, you are in grave peril.” The figure’s lips seemed to move, but the voice came from behind her. She whirled around. He was standing there, lean and elegant, dressed in purple silk and black velvet, with silver buttons down the front.
Baldwin glanced at the expression on Catrin’s face. “Is this your friend?”
“No,” she said in a hollow voice. “I’ve never seen him before in my life.”
Baldwin raised his spear to the stranger’s chest. “Who are you?”
The stranger quirked an eyebrow. “Since you are the intruders, it would be more seemly for you to offer your introductions first. The princess has already declared her name and purpose, but who are you, sir?”
“I am Baldwin, the princess’s protector.” The knight eyed the stranger up and down. “Are you a prisoner in this garret?”
“Prisoner?” The stranger snorted. “I am a scholar. This is where I do my studies. My name is Hugh,” he added, making a courtly bow in Catrin’s direction.
He really didn’t look much like Geoffrey after all, she decided. His dark eyes gave no hint of the sea, and his pale hands had surely never hauled a rope or mended a sail. “Pleased to make your acquaintance.” She smiled politely, hiding her disappointment.
“Why did you say the princess was in danger?” Baldwin persisted, wagging his spear beneath the stranger’s chin.
“There are hazards in the world that can’t be pierced with sword or spear.” The scholar nudged aside the weapon’s point with a slender finger. “The Sunstone is a source of great wisdom, but it is perilous to use without years of study.”
“I don’t have years. I only have until sunset.” Briefly, Catrin explained about Geoffrey, the Magpies, and the crone. “So you see, I have to find the answer to the riddle today.”
“So it seems.” Hugh nodded. “Very well, I will help you if I can. Did this old woman say what you must do?”
Catrin showed him the silver key. “I’m to unlock the locks and open the windows, then the stone will give me the answer.”
She looked around at the shuttered windows. Some of the locks that fastened them were small enough to fasten a lady’s jewel box. Others were as big as her fist. Some were rusty iron, some shining silver, some bright gold. There were plain locks, carved locks, locks inscribed with scrollwork and runes, locks shaped like birds and beasts and serpents. Her heart sank. There was no way one key would fit all those different locks.
“You made a hundred candles from just one candle,” Baldwin reminded her. “Maybe you can make a hundred keys from one key.”
“It’s worth a try.” She cupped the key between her two witch’s hands and wished with all her might. When she threw the key down onto the floor, it struck with a metallic clatter and burst into a hundred pieces, each piece a key, large or small.
Baldwin picked one up and handed it to her. It was small and delicate, and its handle was wrought into an exquisite representation of a common housefly.
“That’s strange,” she said. “Why could anyone make a key with a fly on it?” She tried it in locks shaped like a leaf, a rooster, and a basket, but it didn’t fit any of them. Finally she tried a lock shaped like a fat garden toad. The key slid into the keyhole and turned until it clicked. The lock became a real toad that swallowed up
the fly and hopped into her hand.
“’Allo, Princess,” it said. “Nice ta meet ya!” With a startled squeak, she dropped it onto the floor, but it didn’t appear to mind. “Oh, ’allo Hugh, old boy. Didn’t expect to see you still here after all this time! Still haven’t discovered the secret of the stone, eh? Too bad, too bad. And who’s this big fellow with the stick, then? Handsome fellow, and strong looking too. But then, I don’t expect he’s terribly bright?”
Hugh gave the creature a pained look. “Pay no attention,” he advised Catrin and the knight. “This is why all the windows were locked in the first place. To gain a little peace.”
“I can see what you mean.” Catrin shook her head in amusement. Leaving the toad to continue its commentary on its own, they all crowded around the window as she pushed open the first pair of shutters.
A fresh sea breeze stirred the air. A beam of sunlight sliced through the room and sparkled on the surface of the Sunstone. The misty shapes inside stirred, and a low hum emanated from its center. “It’s working! Baldwin, quick, give me another key.”
The next key had a handle shaped like an egg. When Catrin tried it a lock shaped like a nest, the egg hatched into a full-grown dove with brown-speckled feathers. It flapped three times around the room and, when Catrin pushed open the shutters, flew straight out the window. The excessively cheerful toad shouted greetings after it.
“Is this going to happen every time I unlock something?” Catrin asked.
The scholar looked as if he might be getting a headache. “I expect so.”
“All right,” she said, taking the next key from Baldwin. “But I must say, this a very peculiar place, even by Magpie standards. How did you come to be shut up in here, anyway? And what was that about the secret of the stone?”
The scholar rubbed a smudge of dust off the edge of a shelf. “My father was a famous alchemist, a very learned man. He taught me everything he knew, and dreamed that one day I would surpass him in knowledge. But when he was old and it was time for him to die, he grew afraid that, like all youth, I would be tempted by the transitory joys of the world and forsake my studies. In my pride, I assured him that I would persist, and begged him to allow me to prove my devotion to his wishes. So at last he brought me here to this tower, and set me to complete the one task he had failed at: to discover the secret of the Sunstone, the technique for turning stone into gold.”