by Moore, John
“So what will happen?”
“She won’t marry him.”
“Does that mean something bad will happen to Prince Hal?”
“It could.”
“I’d better catch up with Emily,” Twigham said.
“Here’s the problem,” Emily told Twigham. “The problem is that a lot of these big-city sorcerers think they’re better at magic than Mummy was. Maybe Mummy didn’t write learned papers and present them at sorcery conferences, but she knew how to cast a spell. She didn’t worry about the ‘magicality’ of it. If she wanted to turn a prince into a frog, he turned into a frog. End of story.”
“Or perhaps the beginning of one,” said Twigham. “Your mother was deeper than you give her credit for, Emily. You don’t think Bungee is right?”
They were coming up to the gates of Melinower Palace. Emily was now familiar enough to the guards that she could come and go at will, but Twigham was not allowed to pass. “I don’t know,” she said. “I’m just an apprentice, and I’ve got two more years to go at that. But it sounds like Master Bungee has come up with a circular argument. He says that certain spells don’t work because they’re not magical enough, then says that if a spell isn’t magical enough, it won’t work. Isn’t that just saying that a spell doesn’t work because it doesn’t work?”
“I have to admit it sounded more credible when he described it than when you do,” said Twigham.
“Either way, there’s nothing I can do about it. Caroline and Hal have made up their minds. And I have to go in now.”
“And I must return to Ripplebrook. Give Caroline my best wishes and tell her that we are all happy for you both.”
Emily hugged him, then made her way into the palace. It took some time. The hallways were crowded with Royal Guards and their officers, bustling up and down the stairs, shoving through doorways, carrying written orders on folded papers that had been sealed with string and wax. She thought she heard Prince Kenny’s voice, confidently shouting commands, but she didn’t see him.
The others were in Jeff’s suite of rooms—Hal and Caroline and Jeff and Bear McAllistair. Hal was lying on the bed. Jeff was sitting on his desk. Bear was standing at the wall, looking at Jeff’s collection of swords. Everyone looked glum. No one was talking.
Caroline took the vial of ointment from Emily and began unwrapping the bandages on Hal’s arm. “The Royal Surgeon looked at them while you were gone. He said it’s a bad puncture, but clean, and if we keep changing the dressings, it will heal just fine.”
Hal gave the slightest wince as she applied the ointment. “Bear, you want some of this also?”
“Guess I wouldn’t mind, Your Highness.”
Emily asked, “How are your wounds, Bear?”
“Just a couple of scratches, missy.” He grinned. “Kind of deep scratches, mind you. I’m still trying to figure out how you won with that lousy sword, Your Highness.”
“There’s a trick to it,” said Hal.
“What about the bets?” Emily said. “Were you able to come up with a way to collect while I was gone?”
Hal looked at Jeff. Jeff shook his head. “Nothing.”
“It just seems so unfair. You borrow the money to redeem the chits, collect on the bets, and use the winnings to pay back the loan with interest. You would think that someone would want to make some easy money.”
“I’ve sent couriers to everyone I know,” said Jeff. “The problem is that they want to hold the chits as collateral for the loan. And the army officers, of course, don’t want to give them up.”
“It’s not going to happen,” said Hal. “If we could borrow money we wouldn’t have had to go to the officers’ pension fund in the first place. Dad has borrowed too much too often.”
“I’ll loan you my winnings, Your Highness,” said Bear. “I’ve still got the second-place prize for magic swordfighting. Plus first place for the crossbow contest.”
Hal shook his head. “Not enough to make a difference. You keep your money, Bear.”
“We still have until tomorrow morning,” said Emily. “Something might happen.”
Hal said nothing. Jeff said, “All that is going to happen is that the Jews are going to be run out of the country.” He heaved himself to his feet, took a sword down from the wall, and strapped it on.
“Where are you going?”
“I’m meeting with some of the officers. We’re planning to go into the city and help stand up against the Royal Guard.”
“What?” said Caroline. “The army is going to stop the expulsion?”
“No.” Jeff shook his head. “Dad ordered the army not to get involved. This is just some of the officers and myself. Out of uniform and off duty. We can’t stop the expulsion but we can prevent some looting, protect people from getting beaten up, that sort of thing.”
“You’d be surprised,” put in Bear, “how often just a few men with swords have turned a mob away.”
“Excuse me,” said Hal. “Why wasn’t I let in on this? You’re going into the city without me? I think not.”
“Get real, Hal. You’re not going anywhere with that arm.”
“Sorry, Your Highness,” said Bear.
“You’re taking Bear, and I gave him two cuts.”
“Yeah, and he’s four times your size, so percentage-wise he’s half as wounded. Sit down, Hal. You lost too much blood, and if there’s trouble, you wouldn’t be able to fight.”
“I can fight with my left hand.”
“You can’t fight worth spit with your left hand.”
“It’s a magic sword. It fights by itself.”
“Sit down, Hal. Get some rest. I’ll talk to you later.”
“It makes sense that the army officers want to get involved,” said Caroline. “A lot of the bookmakers are also the moneylenders who are about to get run out of town. I’m sure they don’t want them leaving until the pension fund cashes in the bets.”
“As a matter of fact, no.” Jeff gave her a level, steady look. “They’re doing it because they’re decent men who want to do the right thing, and they’re my friends.”
Caroline was embarrassed. “Sorry, Jeff. I guess I’m just feeling overly cynical.”
“It’s okay. I’ll talk to you later. C’mon, Bear.”
They left, and Caroline ran to the door to watch them go down the long hallway and down the stairs. She closed the carved oak door and stood with her back against it.
“Sorry about the dowry business,” said Hal. “I know you like Jeff a lot.”
“Don’t worry about it, Hal. I’m engaged to you, and I won’t let you down.” There was a knock at the door, and she opened it to let Winthrop in.
“Good afternoon, sire.” Jeff’s valet was pushing a serving cart. “I have extra towels, clean bandages, and hot water for you.”
“Put them on the sideboard, Winthrop.”
“Also, Mrs. Winthrop has baked a cake for you, sire, and begs you to accept it with her humblest thanks. I took your advice and bet a shilling on the magic sword match. She was very pleased at the result.”
“I don’t doubt it,” said Caroline.
“Great,” said the Prince. “At least someone came out ahead on this.”
“I wish I had placed a bet myself,” said Caroline. “A hundred to one. Imagine.”
“Where would you get money to bet with?” asked Emily.
“Can’t you guess?”
“Oh, right.”
“What?” said Hal. “Where would you get the money?”
“I’d have sold my hair to a wig shop.”
“Oh,” said Emily. “I thought you meant you were going to spin flax with that dwarf.”
“This is one of those cream cakes,” said Hal, lifting the cover. “I love these. Give my thanks to your wife, Winthrop.”
“Don’t be silly, Emily,” said Caroline. “The idea is absurd. Besides, you told me that wouldn’t work.”
“I don’t feel like eating anything now, Winthrop. Maybe I’ll hav
e some later. What wouldn’t work, Caroline?”
“Spinning flax into gold.”
“The Law of Similarities,” said Emily.
“And the Law of Transformation.”
“And what,” said Hal, putting the cover back on the cake, “is the Law of Similarities?”
“It just means that if you’re going to transmute one substance into another, the two have to look similar to begin with. Golden flax into golden metal, for example.”
Hal did a funny thing. He stopped moving with the cover suspended over the cake and held it there for several minutes. He looked at the cake, but it was with that faraway look that meant he wasn’t really seeing it. He was so obviously deep in thought that both girls, and Winthrop, stood still and silently watched him.
Finally, he put the cover down, leaned back on the bed, and said, “Okay, so what is the Law of Transformation?”
Caroline, looking at him curiously, picked up the slack on this one. “It means for a transformation to take place, there must be an exchange of magical power. Such as a loss of virginity.”
“Right,” said Hal instantly. He swung his legs off the bed and rose to his feet. A spell of dizziness overtook him, and he sat back down again, but got up a few moments later. “I’m okay. What was the name of the dwarf again? Was it Gerald?”
“Patrick,” said Emily.
“It was Rumpelstiltskin,” said Caroline. “How could you forget a name like that?”
“Where is he, do you know? Staying at the Bull and Badger?”
“No, he said he has a room at a goldsmith’s shop on the edge of the Jewish quarter.”
“I know it.”
“He might not still be there.”
“We’ll find out.” Hal was bustling around the room, strapping on his sword, grabbing a fresh shirt, and putting it on with the sleeve pulled down over his bandages. “Never let them see you bleed.” He grabbed Emily by the hand. “Emily, do you still have the philosopher’s stone?”
“Sure.” She showed him the pouch around her neck.
“Then I’ll need you to come with me. Caroline, go to the stables and get a coach. Tell them it’s for the Prince and get the fastest team of horses they have available. Then you’ve got to find Jeff and bring him to the dwarf’s place. Winthrop, go to Caroline’s room, get her cloak, then show her to the stables.”
“Right away, sire.”
“Wait,” said Caroline. “What’s going on?” But Hal was already out the door, dragging Emily with him, and was immediately followed by Winthrop, leaving Caroline alone in room. She picked up the cover herself and looked at the cake. “Either he’s come up with some big idea, or there’s something really strange about this cake.” She tasted it. “Not bad.” And went off to find Jeff.
Among those who practice the art of defense, it is axiomatic that a large man is better off with a club, while a small man is better off with a knife. It is also well-known that very few men will rush forward into a naked blade. Something in the human psyche inhibits doing so. So while a soldier will hold his knife behind him, to lure his enemy in closer, the man defending his life will hold the blade out in front of himself, to ward his opponents off.
Rumpelstiltskin was well aware of all of this. In fact he had two knives, one in each hand, and was brandishing them at the growing mass of men that faced him. There were eight of them now, enough for mob psychology to take effect. It was only a matter of time before the deadly combination of stupidity, hysteria, and alcohol would drive the men forward. Rumpelstiltskin knew he was in a bad position. The location at the edge of the Jewish quarter meant it was among the more vulnerable. And assaults of this sort, when all is said and done, are as much about greed as they are about religious bigotry. The chance to loot a goldsmith’s shop was a powerful temptation.
So he paced back and forth just outside the door of the shop, brandishing the knives and roaring threats like, “Back off, back off!” and “One step closer and I’ll gut you like a fish!” and otherwise explaining that anyone who dared attack would be singing hymns with the angels and not as a tenor either.
His enthusiastic band of antagonists had formed themselves into a rough wedge shape, with the biggest of their lot, who was possibly also the meanest, dumbest, drunkest, or all of the above, at the point of the wedge. He was armed with a cudgel and was slowly edging closer, while the others were egging him on with shouts. Rumpelstiltskin had switched from threats to oaths, but these were getting increasingly drowned out by his opponents. The distance between Rumpelstiltskin and the point man was closing. He was swinging his cudgel before him in wide arcs. Finally, he raised it over his head and rushed the dwarf.
And found himself staring right at the point of Hal’s sword.
Hal stepped through the doorway he had just opened behind Rumpelstiltskin. He pushed his sword forward, so that the point was just touching the man’s chest. “Drop it.”
The mob leader dropped the cudgel.
“Now get lost.”
The mob retreated. Unfortunately, they did not disperse entirely, as Hal hoped, but merely backed across the street and re-formed. Hal, even with a sword, was not all that intimidating a figure. He realized this and pulled Rumpelstiltskin inside, then put the bar over the door.
“It’s a goldsmith’s shop,” he said. “Barred windows, heavy barred door. What were you doing outside instead of sheltering inside?”
“Just stalling for time,” said Rumpelstiltskin. “It’s not my shop. I was doing a favor for the guy who owns it, guarding the front door while he got his stock out the back. Where is Izzy anyway?”
“He’s gone. He went out as we came in the back. Emily, you remember Rumpelstiltskin.”
“Hello again.”
“Charmed,” said Rumpelstiltskin. Then recognition flashed on him and he turned to face Hal angrily. “You! Your Highness! Prince Hal! It’s all your fault!”
“It is?”
“The match. The swordfight! I lost fifteen crowns because of you and that stupid magic sword. You played us all for suckers, throwing that fight at the tavern.”
Hal made a clucking noise with his tongue. “It sounds like you’ve been gambling, Rumpelstiltskin. I’m shocked, truly shocked. Aren’t you shocked, Emily?”
Emily nodded. “I shudder to think what other vices you have developed, Mr. Rumpelstiltskin. You realize, don’t you, that impressionable young people like ourselves look to adults like you for role models?”
“Uh, well, it was just a friendly wager,” said Rumpelstiltskin. He tossed the knives onto a counter. “Well, I think this part of town is getting too hot for me, especially considering I’m not even Jewish. I’ll tell Izzy you came to his shop.”
“Wait,” said Hal. “Actually, we came to see you. Do you still have that spinning wheel, the one you said was magic?”
“It is magic. You just have to know how to use it.”
There was a sudden series of splintering crashes, and the windows disintegrated. An onslaught of rocks came through the iron bars. Rumpelstiltskin ran to the door and flung it open. “Listen, you idiots! There’s no gold in here! It’s all been taken . . . dammit!” He slammed the door again and dropped the crossbar, just as the door bowed inward under a heavy blow. “These jerks are serious.”
“The spinning wheel,” said Hal. “Where is it?”
“Upstairs. And you know, right now I can make you a really good deal—” He was interrupted by another heavy crash. The wood around the bolt splintered.
“Guard the door,” said Hal. “I’ll get the wheel.” He started up the narrow wooden ladder to the second floor. “Emily, be prepared to run.”
“I’m prepared right now.”
“Forget the wheel,” said Rumpelstiltskin, as the door splintered further under another heavy blow. “We can come back for it later. They’re looking for gold, they won’t even notice it.” He placed his shoulder against the door and leaned the weight of his small body against it. The next blow knocked him back of
f his feet. “This is what I get for trying to help people.”
“Is this it?” called Hal. He reappeared with a wooden object slung over his shoulder and slid down the ladder, wincing as he hit the ground. “It’s some sort of wheel, but it’s not a spinning wheel.”
Emily looked at it. It was a small, spoked wheel, set in a triangular frame of highly polished, dark wood. “What is it?”
“It’s a spinning wheel,” said Rumpelstiltskin. The pounding on the door was coming at a steady rate now, and the angry voices outside were growing louder. “Trust me, I’ve been making wheels since you kids were eating porridge. This kind is called a Castle Wheel. It’s for little cottages where they don’t have room for a Great Wheel. See, here’s your foot pedals, and here’s your spindle.”
There was a bang. All three looked up. One of the metal bolts had popped from the door. “That’s it,” said Rumpelstiltskin. “Out the back. You coming, or not?”
“One more question,” said Hal. “What was his name?”
Rumpelstiltskin was already sliding between the empty work benches. “Who?”
“The sorcerer. You said a sorcerer commissioned you to build this wheel, but he never showed up to pay for it. What was his name?”
Rumpelstiltskin reached the back door and pushed a chair up against it. He had to stand on the chair to reach the heavy oak bar, which he wrenched up and tossed to the floor. “The sorcerer?” He hopped down, kicked the chair out of the way, and grabbed the door handle. “I think he called himself Torricelli. Why?”
“That’s it, then,” said Hal. “Let’s go.” He lifted the wheel with his good arm, grabbed Emily’s wrist with the other hand, and in a few steps was right behind Rumpelstiltskin. The three of them burst out the door in one mass, slammed it behind them, and turned into the narrow street.