by Moore, John
“Caroline is correct,” said Tailor. “Your mother talked about this constantly, Emily. She spent considerable time alluding to Hal’s handsome appearance and his right to inherit the throne.” Councilwoman Tailor was a widow. Her own two daughters had devoted the better part of a week to kissing frogs. The councilwoman herself had slipped down to the swamp one night to kiss a few. She did not admit this.
Emily had been packing to leave town when the council summoned her. She had two years to go on her apprenticeship and was growing more and more impatient at what she felt was an unreasonable delay. She pounced on the councilwoman’s words. “Alluded, perhaps yes! But Mummy never actually said that the Prince would be the heir. For that matter, I don’t think she actually said what he would look like. Maybe Mummy thought he was handsome. Maybe she was speaking in a relative sense. You can’t hold someone to an agreement like this!”
“We certainly can,” said Councilman Dunbury, who was an attorney. “I have given the council my opinion that Amanda’s words constituted an oral contract. I’m sure she never expected that a single enchanted frog could be found in all that swamp, that she’d never have to make good on her claims, but there it is. Your mother was a powerful and respected sorceress, but she was not above the law.”
“Oh, sure,” said Emily. “You can spout off judgments like that all you want, now that my mother is dead. You wouldn’t be talking like this if she were here.”
“No doubt she’d be turning all of us into frogs. Nonetheless, for a contract to be valid there must be an exchange of consideration—that is, both parties must contribute something of value. Caroline contributed her labor—a great deal of hard, unpleasant labor—and deserves something of value in return.”
“But she gets to marry a prince! So what if he’s a bit of a dweeb . . . ?”
“All right now,” said Twigham. “Let’s not be disrespectful to the young man. He is royalty, after all.”
“My point exactly,” Emily said to Caroline. “How many of us commoners get to marry any sort of a prince at all? You should look upon the glass as being half-full rather than half-empty.”
“My glass is full of swamp water,” said Caroline. “And I’ve been wading in it for seven weeks.”
Durley stood up. “It is clear that—”
“It is clear that it is time for a break,” said Twigham.
“First I want to say that—”
“Break time,” said Twigham firmly. He rapped the table three times with his knuckles to signify order. “I’m calling a recess. We will meet back here in half an hour. Emily, you will remain here with me.”
Twigham’s standing in the village was such that few were willing to flout his authority. Caroline was the first to leave, going out to join Hal in the courtyard, throwing a resentful glance back over her shoulder at Emily. Durley followed, then the rest of the council. As soon as the door closed behind them, Emily turned to Twigham and wailed, “They’re all picking on me!”
“You’re absolutely right,” said Twigham.
Being a teenager, Emily was not used to having adults agree with her. “I am?”
Twigham had produced a pipe from one jacket pocket and a pouch of tobacco from the other. He proceeded to begin that complicated stuffing and tamping thing that pipe-smokers do when they need time to think about what they are going to say. Apparently he was a fast thinker, though, because he stopped with the pipe only partly ready and set it down. “Emily, your mother was a skilled sorceress, greatly respected throughout the kingdom, and in this village. But she was not well liked.”
“You liked her.”
“People were afraid of your mother, Emily. At my age there is little to fear anymore. You learn to take the long view.”
“She did have a bit of a temper,” the girl admitted.
“Brigands and highwaymen tended to give our village a wide berth, once they learned a prominent magician had set up shop here. So we got some advantage from it. Often, though, Amanda was able to run roughshod over people’s feelings because they were afraid of her. But Emily, that affair of the frog.”
Here Twigham stopped talking and started working on his pipe again. Emily sat silently until he got it lit. He took a long pull, let out the smoke, and started again. “Amanda made fools of us all. I don’t know whether you’ve noticed, but every family in Ripplebrook has at least one girl. Every one of those girls would like to marry a handsome prince. Well, your mother led them all a merry chase. The girls were all out there slogging through the mud, kissing frogs, and generally looking ridiculous. And by extension, making their families look ridiculous. You know how it is in small villages. People remember every slight. Some can hold a grudge for generations. Now the town council has an advantage, and they think that it’s payback time.”
“Okay, fine. I can understand that they didn’t like Mummy. I can understand that they’d all be ticked off a bit. But my mother is dead! Any chance they had for retribution is gone. This has nothing to do with me. I didn’t turn the poor guy into a frog.”
Twigham picked up his pipe and started to tamp it again, but immediately put it back down. “Emily, if the villagers decide that Caroline deserves compensation, they will take it out of your mother’s estate.”
“No! They wouldn’t!”
“I think they would. They’re talking about it already. Your mother had her craft to protect her. You are still an apprentice and have none. They know your mother had a tremendous store of magical books, worth a pretty penny. They’re liable to confiscate the whole lot. Dunbury will collect his fee for making it legal. And if I know Durley and Tailor, they’ll take a percentage for themselves before handing the crumbs to Caroline.”
“Caroline!” Emily practically spat out the name. “She makes me so mad, the way everyone lets her push them around. It isn’t enough for her to be the most beautiful girl in the village. And the most popular also. Now she wants my library.”
“Hmmm. Emily, when the Smiths had typhoid fever, and we had to quarantine the house, who went inside to tend their baby?”
“Caroline,” Emily said reluctantly.
“At the village faire, who volunteered to organize the charity auction?”
“Caroline, yes, yes, I get the picture. She’s beautiful, she’s popular, and she’s a saint, okay? But Twigham, I can’t lose my mother’s library.” Here the girl stood up and pounded her small fists on the table. “I can’t! I can’t!”
“Calm down, my dear. I understand.”
Emily unclenched her fists but remained standing. “Do you know how Mummy was able to apprentice me to a first-class wizard like Torricelli? It’s not easy, you know. The top magicians only take on a few new kids each year, and competition is tough. But every magician in the Twenty Kingdoms would like to get a peek at Mummy’s library.” Emily finally sat down. “Twigham, without those books, I’ll just be another sorceress wannabe, studying under some third-rate spell hack.”
“I understand perfectly,” said the old man. “That’s why you should bring Caroline to the city with you.”
“What!”
“Bring her with you to the City of Melinower. Hal is returning there. The two of you can travel with him. It’s not safe for a young woman to travel alone anyway.”
“I am not taking that girl with me. I am going there to study. I’m not a tour guide.”
“You are not listening. You have to set that girl up with a handsome young man. Your best chance for doing that is in Melinower.”
“With a prince? I have no more chance of marrying her to a prince than I have of marrying one myself.”
Twigham’s mouth quirked up at the corners, and he looked like he was about to say something amusing. But he forced himself into a serious expression. “I understand your mother had many friends and clients in the city. You should have no problem getting an introduction to the better families. Once the boys see Caroline, nature will take its course.”
“But a prince? Mummy didn’t have those k
inds of connections.”
Twigham shrugged. “A duke, then. An earl, a count, a baron. Even a wealthy merchant’s son. I suspect Caroline is not that picky. She just doesn’t want to spend the rest of her life in this village, sitting at a spinning wheel. She’ll forget about princes if she meets a good-looking boy who can keep her in style. A girl who looks like Caroline will have plenty of opportunity to meet men. Well, once those mosquito bites fade, anyway.”
“Hmmm.” Emily thought this over. Twigham made it sound easy, but men always thought it was easy for a girl to attract the right boy. Girls knew better.
Still, Emily knew she had to do something, and quickly. If word got out that a lien might be placed on her mother’s books, her chances of getting a good apprenticeship would be greatly diminished. It would be better for her to arrive in Melinower with the Prince, rather than get there later and have to face a lot of exaggerated stories.
She looked at Hal in the courtyard. He was freshly scrubbed, and the village merchants, eager to score points with the royal family, had brought him clean clothes. The village girls were gathered around him, offering baskets of homemade jams and jellies, freshly baked rolls, or bundles of flowers. The Prince accepted all the offerings graciously. Emily thought he would be a very nice person to travel with, and she certainly thought he looked presentable enough. Still, she had to admit that Caroline had the facts on her side. Hal was the kind of boy who, if you asked his friends what he looked like, they would tell you he had a great sense of humor.
She also saw that Caroline was standing beside him, acting a trifle possessive, in Emily’s humble opinion. She considered the girl. Perhaps Twigham was right. She’d rest easier if Caroline was with her in Melinower, away from the town council, rather than back home in Ripplebrook stirring up trouble.
“All right,” she told Twigham. “You’re right. I’ll do it. Wait! What if she won’t go?”
“I’ll have a talk with her and the council,” said Twigham. “She’ll go. And I’ll make sure the council doesn’t take any action while you are gone.”
“Thank you,” said Emily. She kissed him on the cheek. “For an old man, you’re pretty sharp.”
“I like to think so myself.”
“But if you think this is going to be one of those situations where two girls start out disliking each other, then have some sort of adventure and end up being best friends, well, forget about it. That isn’t going to happen.”
“The thought had never crossed my mind,” said Twigham.
Caroline was attractive enough to inspire jealous spite in all the other girls of the village, except for one very helpful fact—she never competed with them to win the other boys. Caroline simply didn’t want any of the village boys. She had long ago determined that she was not going to stay poor, and she was certainly going to get out of Ripplebrook. In her day and age this meant marrying and marrying well. Not one of the villagers saw any reason to dissuade her. Marrying a prince (or, for the boys, a princess) was a common enough fantasy. Now they rallied around Caroline the way they might rally around a local sports hero who was about to play the big game. And nearly every one of the girls wished that she, too, had spent more hours in the swamp, kissing at least a few extra frogs before giving up.
Emily was in quite a different position than Caroline.
She had inherited from her mother a tiny castle, complete with a narrow tower from which eerie lights gleamed. The castle was right on the edge of the swamp—in fact she was Caroline’s closest neighbor—but in the sorcery business a nearby swamp was okay. At night mists rose from it and shrouded the castle, making it look dark and foreboding, exactly the way Amanda thought a sorceress’s castle should look. Especially when she did the eerie tower light thing. Emily was petite, and dark-haired, and had deep black eyes. Her appearance was going to work out very well for her, because a sorceress was expected to look a bit mysterious and exotic, and deep dark eyes are always a help there. For the same reason, Emily’s mother had always insisted that she dress in formal sorceress attire when visitors came to the castle—silken black robes, with high heels and bloodred lipstick and nail polish. “If you want to succeed in the magic business, you have to look the part,” Amanda taught her. “People trust a sorceress who looks like a sorceress. The customers aren’t going to give hard money for enchantments to someone who looks like a pauper.” Emily had taken her mother’s teachings to heart and continued to dress like her even after Amanda’s death. Emily was also considered something of an outcast by the other children. They didn’t tease her—they were smart enough to know you didn’t tease the daughter of a woman who could turn children into vermin—but Amanda taught her daughter at home instead of sending her to the village schoolhouse. Thus she hadn’t had the chance to mingle with the other children and make friends, join a clique, gossip with girls, and banter with boys.
The result was that now, as she silently rode her horse alongside Prince Hal, Emily was coming to an important realization.
She had no idea how to talk to a boy.
At least, in her own mind, she didn’t. Where the road was narrow they rode mostly one behind the other, with the Prince taking the lead, so that any trouble they might happen to meet would be confronted first by a young man with a sword. Where the road was wider, and this happened more and more frequently as each day brought them closer to Melinower, they would ride three abreast so they could talk, the Prince in the center on a dark gelding, Caroline on a large bay, Emily on a dappled mare. A packhorse with their supplies followed. The village merchants had provided Caroline with a horse, and her girlfriends had forced upon her gifts of clothing. “You can’t go to the city without a proper wardrobe,” they said, and Caroline, who did not like to ask favors, had reluctantly accepted. Hal was riding the horse that had brought him to Ripplebrook—it had been housed in Amanda’s stable since then. Emily was riding her own horse. It was late summer, and the sun was warm, the pace of the horses lulling, and the words flowed easily from all three young people: yet Emily felt that her conversation was awkward. She would make a statement about something simple, the beauty of the countryside, for example, then immediately decide that she had said something stupid. Then Hal would give her an easy smile and say something back, and Emily would stammer out a reply. Except that she knew that she wasn’t stammering, but it just seemed like she was. Sometimes Hal would address a question to Caroline, and Emily would feel a little pang of disappointment in her stomach and a desire to break into the conversation and turn the Prince’s attention back to herself. That would have been rude, of course, and she never actually did it, but it bothered her that she wanted to do it.
On the third night away from Ripplebrook, after they had hobbled the horses and set them to graze, set up a camp in a clearing in the woods, built a fire, and were sitting around it, Caroline asked Hal how he came to be turned into a frog.
“I mean, Hal,” said Caroline. (Both she and Emily were calling the Prince by his first name now, at Hal’s insistence) “Amanda can’t just turn anyone into a frog. She can’t just say, ‘Presto, you’re a frog’ and you change. You have to have wronged her somehow. Am I right, Emily?”
“Well—right,” said Emily. Uncomfortable with this question, she was watching Hal carefully across the fire. “These types of spells are like curses—they’re done in revenge. That’s a simplification, of course, it’s not all cut-and-dried and there are a lot of gray areas.” She swallowed nervously, because what she was saying was tantamount to accusing Hal of a crime, and he was royalty after all, and there was no telling how he might take it. “But if you tried to do it to some innocent chap on the street corner, nothing would happen.”
“So Hal,” Caroline went on brightly, “what was your crime?”
Emily winced, but Hal answered cheerfully, “Tried to steal some philosopher’s stone from the sorceress.”
“Philosopher’s stone? The stuff that turns lead into gold?”
“Brass,” said Emily.
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“Brass into gold,” said Hal, “is the way I heard it also. Anyway, Dad learned that this sorceress in Ripplebrook got some, or made some, and sent me off to get it.”
“You tried to steal the philosopher’s stone? That doesn’t sound very princely. Aren’t you supposed to be honest and truthful and virtuous and things like that?”
“Oh no.” Hal shook his head, a trifle irritably. “You’re thinking of knights. The ruling class just takes what it wants.”
“And so she got angry and turned you into a frog.”
“That’s about the size of it.”
“All that trouble for something that doesn’t even exist.”
The Prince shrugged. “That’s the downside of being a prince. Dad sends me on these off-the-wall quests, and there’s not really much I can do about it.”
“What? What are you saying?” Emily was confused now. “You think the philosopher’s stone doesn’t exist?”
Now Caroline looked surprised, and so did Hal. “You mean it does?”
“I’ve got it right here,” said Emily. She rose, went to her saddlebags, and rummaged around in them for a while. When she returned she had a small leather bag with a rawhide cord for wearing around the neck. She tossed it to Caroline. “Mum spent years working on this.”
Caroline opened the bag and looked inside. “This is a joke. It has to be. Amanda couldn’t have had the philosopher’s stone.”
“I don’t know why you’d say that,” said Emily. “I didn’t follow the formulation myself very carefully, but that is what she came up with.”
“Come on, Emily. Figure it out. If your mother had this stuff to change brass into gold, why wasn’t she doing it?”
“You need a lot more than just the philosopher’s stone. Red mercury, for one thing. And a whole lot of preparation. And it won’t work on just any old hunk of brass. It takes a particular alloy called virgin brass. And then you need a girl who can—um—help with the preparation.”
“Can you turn brass into gold?”