by Moore, John
“Two reasons. One, you’ve seen her. Two, you’re a guy.”
“Caroline is not the only beautiful, doe-eyed, slim-waisted, full-breasted, personable young woman with perfect skin, a dazzling smile, and a sharp mind in town, you know. There are other girls like her around.”
“Name them.”
“Never mind. Let’s say we had enough money to bet on the tournaments, a big enough bet to clear our debts. We don’t, but even if we did, why should I back you? Give me the sword and let me win with it. I have more tournament experience than you.”
Hal shook his head. “Won’t work. You’re too good, Jeff. You won’t get the odds that I will. I had a street fight with this sword last night, outside of a local inn. I was soundly thrashed.”
“I get it. And you made sure everyone saw you lose, of course.”
“It was all over town today. The best part was that the girls were there. Nobody thinks a guy would throw a fight in front of his girlfriend.”
“Let’s see.” Jeff reached back behind his head, where there were half a dozen bellpulls located near his desk. He selected one and rang for his valet. The man appeared in a few minutes. “Good evening, Winthrop.
“You rang, sire?” Winthrop was thin and balding, and always seemed to have a few beads of perspiration on his high forehead, even though his features were usually calm and composed.
“I did indeed, Winthrop. My brother here tells me he has entered his name in the tournaments. He wishes to compete in the swordsmanship contest.”
“I have heard the same thing, sire. Should I instruct the royal physician to lay in an extra supply of ointment and bandages?”
“Hey!” said Hal.
Jeff hid his smile. “A capital idea, Winthrop. But first, answer a question for me. I understand that you have been known to place a wager or two.”
“In my salad days, sire. Alas, Mrs. Winthrop tends to keep a tighter grip on the purse strings. Such bets as I place now are for purely nominal sums.”
“But you’re aware of the odds?”
“Yes, sire.”
“And what are they offering for Prince Hal?”
“When I left the city this evening, sire, the odds on Prince Hal were one hundred to one, against.”
Jeff ’s mouth dropped open, but he recovered quickly. “Thank you, Winthrop. That will be all.”
His valet turned to exit. He stopped when Hal called his name. “Hey, Winthrop.”
“Yes, sire?”
“Did you bet on me?”
“No, sire.”
“Oh, come on. Not even at a hundred to one? Not even sixpence?”
Winthrop hesitated, then cleared his throat. “It is my experience, sire, that bookmakers tend to know their business. They would not offer such long odds without good reason.”
“I see. Thanks, Winthrop.”
As soon as the servant left, Jeff bounced out of his chair. He began to walk back and forth over the length of the room, thinking out loud. “Okay, we’ve got a chance with this, but we’ll have to keep it quiet. I’ll need to train you on your parries, but we can’t let anyone see us. Especially not Kenny.”
“Right.”
“Too large a bet will change the odds. The bookmakers will get wise. We’ll have to get proxies to place the bets for us. Lots of small bets. But no one from the palace. The servants will certainly talk too much and so will the courtiers.”
“Right.”
“The Royal Guards are all under Kenny’s thumb. I’ll use army officers. They’ll be discreet if I tell them to.”
“Right.”
Jeff grabbed some of the ledgers from where Hal had stacked them. He selected two out of the pile and tossed them on his desk, lit an extra candle, and produced an abacus.
“I never could figure out how to use one of those,” said Hal.
“Shush,” said Jeff, pulling a stick of chalk from his desk. He began doing sums on a slate. For a long time there was only the clicking of the abacus, the scratching of chalk, and the occasional quiet whisper of pages turning as he riffled through the ledgers. The more he worked, though, the more his enthusiasm waned. Eventually he threw the chalk aside and sank back in his chair. Disappointment showed in his face. He said, “It’s no use, Hal. I’ve tapped every discretionary fund we have. Even at a hundred to one, we don’t have enough to cover the bets we’re going to need.”
“Yeah, I figured that,” said Hal calmly. “We need to hock the family jewels.”
For Prince Jeffrey, the day had wrought one emotional blow after another. It had started at lunch with Caroline, and the sudden realization that love at first sight was by no means a myth. He had plunged from passion to helpless anger when he learned of his brother’s conspiracy against the Jews. This had been replaced with excitement when he accepted Hal’s plan to gamble the family out of debt. But now Hal had tossed yet another burning brand in the air and expected Jeff to catch it.
“What! Sell the crown jewels? Impossible! No!”
“Not the crown jewels. Of course not. What kind of dolt do you take me for? The crown jewels belong to the kingdom, not to us personally. I mean Mom’s jewels.”
“Good Lord! That’s almost as bad.”
Hal shrugged. “It’s not great, but it can be done.”
“Mom’s jewelry. Hal, some of those pieces have been in the family for six generations. Diamonds, rubies, emeralds. They’re priceless.”
“They’re far from priceless. You’ll be surprised at how quickly the jewelers will be able to put a price on them.” Hal picked up the magic sword, examined it, and slid it back into the simple wood scabbard.
“We can’t do it. These are—”
“Diamonds, rubies, emeralds, I know. Jeff, they’re worthless chips of glasslike material that are only valuable because people think they’re valuable. Anyway, we’ll get them back after the tournaments.”
“You’ve got a lot of confidence in yourself and that damn sword.”
Hal said nothing to this.
“Anyway,” Jeff went on, “it takes time to sell pieces that valuable. We’ve got to act tomorrow.”
“We don’t have to sell them. We just have to borrow against them. We can get quick cash with them as collateral.”
“We’ll only get a fraction of their worth.” Jeff got to work with his slate and abacus again. “Still, yes. We can do it. That still leaves one major problem.”
Hal nodded. “Mom has to agree to it.”
“Right,” said Jeff. “How will you get her to agree to this? Mom is pretty easygoing about a lot of things but still—we’re talking about a woman and her jewelry.”
“Ah, well,” said Hal. He pushed aside some papers to clear a space on a table, then sat down on it, resting the sword in his lap. “Actually, Jeff, you’re going to have to be the one to tell her.”
“What? Why me? This is your idea.”
“Because Mom will hit the ceiling if she finds out I’m entering the tournaments. She’ll never agree to the plan if I propose it. You’re going to have to do the big brother thing and convince her I’m not going to get killed.”
Jeff blew out his cheeks and exhaled. “This is going to be tough. Next to jousting, the swordfighting events are the most dangerous. And she still thinks you’re the baby of the family.”
“I know. Ideally, I’d also like to sell those gold chains that Kenny has, but we can hardly ask him to help us out.”
“I don’t know.” Jeff shook his head. “Mom is going to scream.”
As if on cue, they both heard a distant scream coming from another part of the castle. Both boys cocked their heads. “Was that Mom?”
No further noise ensued. Hal shrugged. “Maybe one of the maids saw a rat?”
“Well, whoever it was has stopped now.” Jeff listened a bit more, then laughed. “It certainly was perfect timing, though.”
And then they did hear something. It was the sound of running feet. The feet rushed in closer, skidded to a stop, and then t
he door was flung open. Winthrop was outside, panting and disheveled. “Prince Jeffrey, Prince Hal, come quickly. It’s the Queen!”
By the time Jeff and Hal reached the Queen’s suite, there were already a dozen or more anxious servants clustered outside the door. The door itself was firmly locked. “She won’t let anyone in,” said Winthrop. “She just asked for you.”
“Then,” said Jeff, “there’s no reason for all this hanging about. I’m sure you all have plenty to do.”
It was clear that he intended them to move along, and they did so, casting backward glances toward the Queen’s chambers. Jeff rapped on the door with his knuckles, at the same time holding Winthrop back. “Stay here by the door. Don’t let anyone in until I say so.”
“Yes, sire.”
They heard the key turn in the lock, and the door opened a crack, just enough to let them see Queen Helen’s eye peering nervously out. Then the door opened just enough for Jeff and Hal to slip in. Once inside, Helen locked the door again and stood with her back to it.
“It’s your father,” she said. “He’s gone mad.”
“Where is he?”
“In the bedroom.”
Jeff and Hal exchanged glances, then walked to the royal bedchamber and opened the door. The King was lying on the bed, clothed in loose trousers, a flannel shirt, and wearing a battered straw hat. He had a candle in one hand. With it, he was attempting to light what appeared to be a pipe made from a corncob.
“Ah, hello, boys,” he said, and waved to them. His fist was closed, and he was holding the pipe between thumb and forefinger. “Let me give you some advice. You can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make it drink.”
“Say what?” said Jeff.
“Remember what my daddy used to say, ‘Just ’cause a cat has her kittens in the oven don’t make ’em biscuits. ’ ”
“I don’t remember Grandfather saying that.”
“What’s he talking about?” Hal whispered to his mother.
“I don’t know,” she told him. “I came back from dinner, and he was in here, dressed like a farmer. I asked him about it, and he’s been rambling like this ever since. I sent all the servants away. I don’t want them to start talking.”
“Take care of the pence,” said the King, “and the pounds take care of themselves.”
“The servants are already talking,” said Jeff.
“They haven’t seen your father. I sent them out right after they heard me scream. I couldn’t help myself. I thought he had gone insane.”
“You can’t teach an old dog new tricks,” said the King.
“Sure, Dad,” said Jeff. “Let a smile be your umbrella.” To Hal he said, “We definitely can’t let the Council of Lords find out about this.”
“We can’t let Kenny find out about this,” said Hal. “Or he’ll want to take power right away.”
“You don’t suppose he’s drunk, do you?”
“Your father never gets drunk,” said Helen.
“Maybe we should get him drunk,” said Jeff. “Maybe he’ll snap out of this after a good long sleep.”
“It ain’t the things we don’t know that get us in trouble,” said the King. “It’s the things we do know that ain’t so.”
Suddenly Hal started laughing. “I’ve got it, I’ve got it,” he said between chuckles, leaning against a bedpost.
“What?”
“It’s the philosopher’s stone. He’s giving us cracker-barrel philosophy.”
“I’ve never met a tax collector I didn’t like,” said the King.
“Yeah, I’m not surprised,” said Hal. He hopped up on the bed, grabbed his father’s wrist, and pried open his hand. “Give me the stone, Dad.”
“I’ve never been a member of any organized political party,” said the King. “I’m a monarchist . . . ow.” The philosopher’s stone dropped out of his hand and rolled across the carpet. He looked at Hal, and at Jeff, and at Queen Helen. Then he rubbed a hand over his face. “That was certainly strange.”
Kenny came through the door, flinging it back against the wall. “Dammit, Jeff, that stupid servant of yours tried to keep me out. What the hell is going on here?”
Helen sat on the bed and put her arms around the King. “Are you all right, dear?”
“I’m fine now, Helen. Just an attack of philosophy.” The King pulled off the straw hat, looked at it with distaste, and threw it and the corncob pipe onto the floor. “Thank you for your assistance, boys. You may leave now.”
“No problem,” Jeff told Kenny. “False alarm.” Kenny wasn’t listening. He had picked the philosopher’s stone off the floor and was staring at it with a surprised expression.
Hal took it out of his hand. “Just some magical stuff, Kenny. I’ll take care of it.”
Kenny didn’t seem to notice. “What does not kill me makes me stronger,” he murmured.
“I don’t doubt it,” said Hal. He followed Jeff back out of the bedchamber. Jeff closed the door and Hal wrapped the philosopher’s stone in his handkerchief. “I’m giving this back to Emily. We can’t use it, and we don’t know what other kind of trouble it can cause.”
“I agree. It’s a bit of sorcery. Let a sorceress handle it.”
“When Mom comes out, will you talk to her?”
Jeff exhaled, then nodded. “All right, I’ll do it. But she won’t like it.”
Caroline was wearing a white dress. She was following a simple rule of fashion: wear colors during the day, white at night, so you stand out more in the darkness. She ran along the outside wall, up the stairs that led to the terrace, where the three Princes had their apartments. A puff of wind disturbed the warm night, and ruffled her hair and the hem of her dress. An observer below, seeing the fair young woman, shining in reflected moonlight, rising against the dark stone, might be forgiven for thinking he was watching an angel ascending heavenward.
But Caroline was thinking down-to-earth thoughts. Although she hadn’t mentioned it to Emily, she had decided to take her case directly to the King. She had, in her own opinion, an ironclad case. She was entitled to marry a handsome prince. Prince Hal, for all his sterling qualities, was not handsome. There were handsome princes available—why not switch? It was simple justice as far as she was concerned, and she couldn’t see why people had to keep muddying up the issue with questions of dowry.
The King, she thought, could straighten everything out. It was better to give decisions like this to a man. The Queen was a very fine woman, but you couldn’t explain to a mother that her son was not handsome. And even among women in general, there were far too many who seemed to think every man who came along was attractive. Whereas a man, on the other hand, never thought another man was handsome. Himself maybe, but not other men.
Getting to see the King would be a problem, she knew. There were people who had waited for years to get an audience with the King. But Caroline was sure she could figure out a way. She would start by getting Hal to explain the protocol to her. She was already in the royal apartments, so she was pretty close to start with.
With these thoughts on her mind she reached the top step and entered the terrace. As she rounded the corner toward Hal’s windows, the bright moon illuminated the stones in front of her. Caroline stopped. Her hand rose to her mouth even as a scream rose in her throat.
There are few experiences quite so chilling as a horrified scream. Queen Helen’s shriek of anxiety, earlier in the evening, was not the kind to send shivers down the spine. A wounded soldier’s cry of pain does not raise the hairs on the back of the neck. No, the combination of a dark castle, a bright moon, and a scream of horrified despair coming from a young woman, splitting an otherwise silent night, is unequaled for sheer, unadulterated bone-chilling.
So it was just as well that Caroline did not scream. She thought she did. She certainly felt like she was screaming. But in truth she was so paralyzed with shock that the muscles in her throat constricted, and all she could utter was a long, drawn-out, “eeeeeeeep.”
It sat on top of a loose pile of clothing, but Caroline was sure who it was even before she recognized Hal’s sailcloth shirt. She ran forward and scooped it up, cradling it against her breasts. “Oh Hal,” she whispered. “I am so sorry. I am so, so sorry.”
The frog wriggled in her grasp. She stroked its back. “It’s okay, Hal. It’s me, Caroline. Don’t worry. I’ll get you out of this.”
It was obvious what she had to do. Kiss the frog. She knew that the minute she saw it. But Caroline was afraid.
For nothing in Amanda’s tales, or Caroline’s own experience, had told her that a kiss from the same girl would break the spell a second time. She feared that if the spell could be broken at all, the frog would have to be let loose in a swamp and found again. Perhaps by a completely different girl.
Perhaps the spell couldn’t be broken.
It would take but a second to find out. But she hesitated. For if she kissed the frog, and it didn’t change, she was facing disaster. It was natural to want to put off the moment of truth.
But Caroline was a girl of strong resolve. She delayed only a few moments before bringing the frog up to her face and looking it in the eyes. A moth flitted overhead. She saw its eyeballs follow the flight. “Try to stay focused, Hal,” she told it. “Pucker up. It’s changing time. Are you ready?”
“Rrrrrrbbb,” said the frog.
“That’s the spirit. Okay, one, two, three, change!” And she kissed the frog.
Nothing happened. The frog continued to stare at her.
“Oh no,” said Caroline. “Oh my. Oh no. Oh no no no nooooooo.” She kissed the frog again. “Come on, Hal. Change!” She kissed it again. “Change!” And again. “Change! What do you want, Hal? Tongue? Change!” Her breath came in short gasps, and she knew she was hyperventilating, but she couldn’t stop. (Kiss) “Change!” (Kiss) “Change!” (Kiss).
Dizziness eventually stopped her. She put the frog down on a parapet and leaned over the wall with her head down, trying to get her breath back. When she came up again her face was wet, but she wiped away the tears and put up a brave front. “Hal,” she told the frog sternly, “you’re just not trying. Come on, Hal. Concentrate. You can do this. Think manly thoughts.”