by Ken Brosky
The Hungarian girl shook her head. “No. It’s Jump. What is that American saying for obviousness?”
“Duh.”
I turned right. One of the brunette French girls had taken the sink beside Margaret. She had her own brown pill bottle and was in the process of downing one of the same pills. She didn’t wash it down with water—she just went back to applying her blush.
“Yes, duh.” The Hungarian girl laughed. “Very funny.”
“What is it?” Margaret asked.
The Hungarian girl turned, giving us a strange look. “Are you so stupid that you cannot figure it out?”
“Hey,” I said, turning. I realized suddenly that both of us were wrapped in towels and nothing else. I decided to diffuse the situation. “We’ve just never seen that pill in the states is all.”
“Oh.” The Hungarian girl grabbed the bottle and handed it to me. “That explains much. Jump is a PED.”
“What is—”
I cut Margaret off. “A Performance Enhancing Drug.”
Margaret wrinkled her nose. “Like steroids? Those give chicks facial hair, gal.”
“Not steroids,” the Hungarian girl said, smiling. “Better. No side effects. It makes you faster and stronger. Tired? No. Not with this.”
I looked down at the bottle. A strange feeling crept over me, like I was doing something incredibly wrong just holding the bottle. I turned, half-expecting to see some fencing tournament official walking in, hands clasped behind her back and dressed like an old-fashioned schoolmaster. But the locker room was mostly empty, save for a few girls from South Korea’s fencing team sitting on one of the benches. They grabbed their purses from the old green lockers and shut them, walking out through the main entrance.
“South Korea’s team doesn’t use them,” the French girl said. “They will be first to leave the tournament. Don’t worry—they are not snitches, though.”
“Snitches …” I repeated the word. It came out of my mouth with far less venom than when the French girl had said it. She’d spoken the word as if it was a piece of oversalted food.
“Everyone in fencing uses Jump,” the Hungarian girl said. “You will, too.”
I set the bottle on the lip of the sink. I didn’t want to touch it. I wanted to touch it. I did. I didn’t.
“It will make things fair if you take it,” said the French girl. “Otherwise, you will not stand a chance against the other teams.”
I looked down at the bottle. It was gone. I turned to Margaret. She’d stuffed the bottle in her makeup bag and was zipping it up, giving me a satisfied nod.
Back at the castle, everyone crashed hard. When we woke, we had just an hour before dinner. I spent the time in Chase’s room with Seth and Briar, who’d done some not-so-impressive snooping while we were gone.
“So you literally went on a tour of the castle?” Seth asked, laughing.
Briar nodded, both ears flopping over. He pulled them back like two stray strands of hair. “I thought it would be best to let a certified tour guide do all of the hard work. I kept my distance from the tourists, ensuring I wasn’t detected.”
“So what did you find?” I asked.
“The castle is quite old,” Briar said. “In fact, I do believe it’s far older than the tour guide suggested. She claims it was built in the early 1300’s, but I would place it much earlier.”
“How do you know?”
The rabbit’s eyes narrowed. “Knowledge.”
“Deep, dude.” Seth snapped his fingers in Briar’s direction.
Briar bowed in appreciation. “The design is very eleventh century. This castle is composed of an outer wall and a keep, which is this place right here.” He tapped on the wooden floor with his big brown foot. “The oldest architecture is also very Romanesque. Now, if you’d like a detailed history of that …”
“Got it,” Seth said, holding up his phone. “Romanesque architecture is characterized by semicircular arches. Oh, like the holes in the walls and the towers.”
Briar’s whiskers twitched. “Well, there’s quite a bit more to it than that …”
“At least the prince offers free Wi-Fi,” I said.
“Yeah.” Seth tapped his phone screen a few times. “But it’s not very good.”
“We need more,” I told Briar. “I want to know every inch of this place. I want to know the fastest way out, what’s behind every door, and any secret passages.”
“Indeed?” Briar’s ears straightened. “How very hero-like of you!”
“Yeah, I’m in the groove. Now if only I felt the same way fencing.” I turned to Chase, who was sitting on the bed with me. He had his arms crossed and was staring at the dresser opposite his bed. I’d nearly forgotten all about him. “Hey.” I nudged him with my elbow. “What’s the deal?”
He blinked, shook his head and looked at me. “Sorry. What?”
“Chase, what’s wrong? You haven’t said two words since we got back.”
“It’s nothing,” he said. “I’m just strategizing.”
“Good luck,” Seth said. “From what I hear, it sounds like some tough competition.”
There was a knock on the door. Briar scurried behind the dresser. I went to the door, opening it. Mrs. Satrapi already had her arms crossed, unsurprised to see me.
“I see you are still doing your best to give Mr. Whitmann a heart attack.”
“I’m chaperoning,” Seth said, waving like a doofus.
Mrs. Satrapi pursed her lips. “So I see. Dinner is served.”
“Finally!” Seth said. “I swear, it’s almost eight o’clock for crying out loud.”
Mrs. Satrapi gave him a curious look before shutting the door. I went to the bed, helping Chase slide off and move to his chair. I glanced at Briar. “Now would be a perfect time …”
“… To investigate?” he finished. “Yes. Understood. Enjoy your meal. No, no, don’t worry about me. I shall starve to death with sportsmanlike dignity.”
“Obviously we’ll sneak some food for you,” I said.
“I expect desert!” he called out after us.
We went into the dining room, where the boys were already seated and filling up on slices of multigrain bread sitting on plates between elaborate silver three-branched candelabras. Rachel was with them, talking heatedly with Scott and Miguel about some action TV show that they apparently all watched. I took a seat on the other end with Chase and Seth. Margaret and Jasmine and her mother sat opposite us.
The fire in the fireplace was roaring, warming our backs. I felt comfortable, a word I was having trouble associating with this castle.
“Dang,” Seth murmured, grabbing a slice of white bread and spreading creamy butter across both sides. “I was kinda hoping there’d be food waiting for us.”
Prince Leo entered through the foyer, followed closely by his daughter. The prince wore a swanky button-down black suit while Sanda—ever the more colorful one—had opted for a beautiful flowing red dress with a v-neck and braided shoulder straps. To say the boys were speechless was a bit of an understatement—they’d even stopped eating their bread. Temporarily.
The prince took his seat at the end of the table. Sanda sat beside him. Right next to Seth, who immediately started bouncing his leg up and down underneath the table.
“The tapping of your cane precedes you,” Mrs. Satrapi said to the prince. “Is it a serious injury?”
The prince rested his cane against the table, leaning back while a finely dressed male servant filled his glass with red wine. “It is, unfortunately, a genetic condition. Our family has a variety of unfortunate maladies that make life difficult. I fear I’ll never be able to escape this blasted cane.”
“Do you need a cane?” Seth asked Sanda. He blushed. “Because you don’t need one. You walk really nice. I mean, like, you could totally use a cane though if you wanted.”
I cringed, reaching under the table for Chase’s warm hand to keep myself from covering Seth’s mouth. To my surprise, Sanda simply giggled. �
��Thank you,” she said, “but I’m adopted, so I don’t share the same genes as my father.”
“Right,” Seth said. “So you’ll always be a good walker. And … I mean, like, walking is good. Real good.”
Chase gave my hand a tense squeeze.
“Look,” I said, pointing to the door that led to the kitchen. “A diversion!”
Everybody turned. Three young female servers dressed in white suits each brought out silver trays with dishes of food. The boys’ eyes moved from the servers to the food, and for good reason: each plate looked like a veritable feast. There were thin cuts of a fire-roasted meat dressed with a red wine sauce, resting carefully on a pile of fresh mashed potatoes sprinkled with red peppers and onions. Beside the main course were steamed veggies: carrots, broccoli and two spears of asparagus.
“Oh, that smells heavenly,” Mrs. Satrapi said. “But do you have a vegetarian selection, prince?”
“I’m way ahead of you,” Seth said, reaching over and stabbing the strips of beef on Mrs. Satrapi’s plate. He replaced them with his broccoli and asparagus. “Done and done.”
“The boy is clever,” said the prince. A stray black hair fell away from his carefully slicked-back style. He reached up, pulling it back in place. He was still wearing his gloves. “And the rest of you? Is the taste acceptable?”
The boys, scarfing quickly, nodded and murmured a yes. Mr. Whitmann gave a thumbs-up, slurping an asparagus. Mrs. Satrapi winced at the sight.
“Castle Vontescue’s chefs are the best in the country,” the prince said proudly. He sipped his wine. “Only a select few guests have enjoyed their robber steak.”
“Then why aren’t you eating?” I asked.
The prince smiled. “The taste of meat loses its … finer notes if enjoyed too often.”
“Did you … want some extra meat?” Seth asked Sanda. He cleared his throat. “I have plenty, as you can see.”
I stared, flabbergasted. Is he absolutely insane, offering this wonderful girl a slice of beef? That’s never going to work. Never …
Sanda reached over with her fork, stabbing a slice and putting it on her plate. Both Margaret and Jasmine stared, open-mouthed.
The prince watched with a cool expression, saying nothing.
“So do you think you will win medals?” Sanda asked us.
“They’re definitely winning medals,” Chase said, cutting his asparagus into little pieces. “No doubt about it.”
“Sanda,” Margaret whined, reaching across the table. “How did you squeeze into that dress? Be honest: what do you do to stay in shape?”
Sanda giggled and shrugged. “I give tours during the day. It is a lot of walking.”
“Sanda is our best tour guide,” Prince Leo said with pride. “She keeps the fat ones walking fast so they are tired by the end of the tour. They buy many sports drinks from our gift shop.”
“Can we have a tour?” Seth asked.
The prince waved away the question. “It has already been arranged. I will ensure it does not conflict with your fencing schedule.”
“You will love the history,” Sanda told Seth, leaning close to him. To his credit, Seth didn’t react in a very Seth-like way by dropping his forkful of meat into his lap.
“Are there knights involved?” he asked hopefully.
Sanda nodded, smiling and raising her dark eyebrows. She had a warm demeanor and an animated face, nothing like her adopted father. “Do you know much of the Mongol hordes?”
“Oh sure,” Seth said, nodding furiously. “They were … hordes.”
She giggled, sipping from her glass of water. She leaned in close to him again. “They were furious warriors from Asia. They arrived in Eastern Europe during the 1200’s, devastating the Hungarian Empire. The Mongols had light cavalry—men on horses—who would attack and retreat, attack and retreat. Their enemies would pursue them, thinking the Mongolians were fleeing. Then …” She cocked her head up toward the intricate chandelier. “There, hidden in the forest: more Mongolian soldiers! With the Hungarian soldiers broken and tired, the Mongolians broke through their lines, destroying them.”
“Coooooool,” Seth and Chase said in unison.
“The Mongolian Empire swept west, killing those who fought back and enlisting the men who surrendered. But here …” She tapped her finger on the smooth surface of the dining table. “Right here. This was where the Mongolian Empire tasted defeat. They arrived by the thousands and saw our castle looming on the horizon, its stone walls twice as tall as they are now and encompassing twice the amount of land so that all of the villagers in the region could safely hide inside.”
“Oh holy crap,” Seth said.
“The holiest of crap,” Sanda said, grabbing his hand.
“Really?” Scott said from the other side of the table. “Am I seeing this?” He lifted up the sleeve of his gray t-shirt, making a semi-formidable muscle for Sanda to see. “Hello? We have muscles on this side of the table, FYI.”
Sanda ignored him, snatching her butter knife and clutching it like a sword. “The Mongols had the numbers, but Lord Nicholai Vontescue had the castle. The Mongols, led by a brash general, knew they had to take the castle and its supplies if they were to push westward. Otherwise, their soldiers would starve. Lord Vontescue knew this as well. And when the Mongols finally attacked, Vontescue gave them a taste of their own medicine, thinning out their ranks with arrows from the towers and then opening the castle gates.”
“They opened the castle gates?” Seth asked, his voice cracking. He blushed. “Ahem. That sounds crazy,” he added in a low, manly voice.
“Then,” Sanda continued, “when half of the Mongol army was through, he closed the gates again.”
“Now that is some good strategy,” Chase said.
Sanda nodded gravely. “The Mongols were slaughtered, and those who remained outside the castle were hunted down. Vontescue showed no mercy, just as the Mongols had showed no mercy with the people of Wallachia. More than half of the people in Romania were slaughtered as more Mongol armies invaded Europe. But the Mongols never took Castle Vontescue or its people.”
The entire table had gone silent. Even Mrs. Satrapi looked impressed.
“That is without a doubt the most amazing story I’ve ever heard,” Seth said. “And I’ve heard some crazy stories lately.”
“When the Magyar invaded,” Vontescue said, “they were thrown back. When the Lombard invaded, they were wiped out. The Turks and the Mongols and the Hungarians were no different. All tasted our blade.”
“There is much suffering in the soil of this land,” Sanda said. “And much death.”
“What of this fencing tournament?” the prince asked us. “Is this a popular sport in your country?”
“Not really,” Mr. Whitmann said, tearing at a piece of brown bread. “Dueling with swords never really caught on with us Yankees.”
“Ah, but dueling has such a rich history!” the prince exclaimed. “Did you know that William Shakespeare partook in duels?”
“Really?” Chase asked. “I mean, I’ve read some of his plays with duels in them …”
“In Shakespeare’s time, it was common for men to rush the stage during a dueling scene in a play, drawing their swords and partaking in the action.” The prince sipped his wine, savoring the taste. He continued: “Others dueled for more foolish reasons. One man dueled more than twenty times to prove that Dante was the greatest poet, only to admit finally that he had never read Dante’s poetry at all.”
“A mighty flame followeth a tiny spark,” Chase said.
The prince’s eyes darkened. “Wherever did you learn such a filthy quote.”
“It’s Dante,” Chase said, glancing nervously at me. “I, uh, read the Spark Notes version of his Divine Comedy during Junior year. We used the quote on our baseball team. It’s … uh, not meant to be a filthy quote.”
The prince’s eyes stayed on Chase. I didn’t like the prince’s eyes on Chase. I didn’t like that dark look. That was the
kind of look only a Corrupted could pull off.
With dinner ended, everyone went their own way. Miguel offered to bring Chase upstairs to watch a Romanian movie, but Chase declined with an uncharacteristic brusqueness. Jasmine wanted to read, and Margaret and Rachel wanted to watch TV. Seth wanted to sit at the table for a while longer with Sanda, which the prince permitted with only a hint of bemused wariness.
I stopped at the grand staircase in the foyer, admiring the lions on guard. They were more ferocious than the type of mass-manufactured statue you normally see sitting outside of a suburban house. These had sharper teeth, narrowed eyes, and mangy manes. There was something else, too: dirt. Just a few black granules at the lion’s feet that had missed the sweep of a broom. But they were there, and as I reached down and grabbed a chunk between pinched fingers, I felt the very definition of cold spread over my back like a dark shadow.
“Such a filthy mess, this place,” the prince said, tsk-tsking. His gloved hand touched the railing, sliding upward as he ascended one step at a time. “Do sleep well, young one.”
“You too,” I murmured.
I went to my room, showering and taking advantage of the bookcase that was stuffed with more than a fair share of Castle Vontescue pamphlets. Just having the tourist guides on the bookcase was an insult to its beauty. The wood was intricately carved, full of men clutching books and women wielding swords in the corner of each shelf. Below the shelves were carvings of lions, an entire pack of them running across the base of the case. The top was arched, and three carved faces lorded over the books.
Most of the books were old, mainly histories of Romania wrapped in faded dust jackets that had a wonderful old book smell. Only a few were in English, so I picked the one with the prettiest cover. It was leather, dyed red, the letters of the title embossed and gilded with a craftsman’s precision.
Grimms’ Fairy Tales.
“Nope,” I said, putting it back. “I get enough of that already. Come on …” That little TV sitting on the dresser was looking more and more inviting. “No,” I groaned. “Must … fight … television!” I grabbed another book in English: The Three Musketeers. “Nothing like a little light reading,” I said sarcastically.