Staff & Crown

by W. R. Gingell

  “You have a whole carriage full of clothes?”

  “Of course not!” Isabella assured her. “I have two. The carriage has already been and come back with one lot of baggage.”

  “It’d serve you right if I made you walk,” said Annabel, grinning in spite of herself. “Anyway, how did you get here? I didn’t hear a carriage pull up.”

  “Oh, it was dreadfully uncomfortable! I was perched on top, you know! With the driver! I had to sit on two of my cases, and they would keep moving. I fell off just before we got to the turn in, and after that it seemed easier to walk the rest of the way.”

  “I should think so,” said Annabel, who had had more than one accident when it came to a certain horseless carriage owned by a certain enchanter. Belatedly, it came to her attention that Isabella was carrying a rather large parcel. It looked a bit battered around the edges, even if Isabella herself didn’t, which leant a certain amount of credence to the idea that it at least had had an accident on the way to this way stop. “Is that all you’ve got with you?”

  “Yes,” said Isabella seriously. “I brought with me only the necessities. Also, I have two hidden pockets and a very useful garter, so I don’t have to carry much.”

  Annabel would have asked exactly what a very useful garter did apart from the obvious very useful job, but the girl who had shown her into the room now returned to bring in lunch. Isabella proved to be just as interested in that fact as Annabel was, and they sat down by tacit agreement and discussed nothing else until they had made decent inroads on the spread. There would be time enough for discussion on the road over the next two days.

  There was no room reserved for Annabel when she would have stopped for lunch again the next day. Fortunately, Isabella’s haughty nose tilt and sudden alarmingly stiff bearing got them a private room and an offer of ices placatingly made, where Annabel was convinced that her own, less than commanding presence would only have gotten her a scowling face and a begrudging acknowledgement that if someone cared to share their parlour with her she might think herself fortunate.

  Feeling annoyed and hurt, and just a little bit on her dignity, Annabel retreated into the blank, silent front she had used for so many years with such success, and brooded on Melchior’s many evils. If it had been Poly or Onepiece in the coach with her, she would have made the effort to bestir herself to civility, but Isabella could have been said to have foisted herself on Annabel—had, now that Annabel thought about it, foisted herself on her—and she was fully prepared to take advantage of the fact that Isabella wasn’t a friend who, like Peter, could be expected to tell her to stop sulking.

  And Isabella didn’t tell her to stop sulking. She did, however, after a thoughtful hour in her corner of the coach, ask very directly, “Did I offend you by taking charge at the inn? Only I’m so bossy that I sometimes forget, and if you don’t tell me to stop it straight away, I’m likely to keep going on like that.”

  Annabel blinked. It hadn’t occurred to her that her sulking could be interpreted in that way. What a bother. Now she would have to be more thoughtful.

  “You didn’t offend me,” she said. “I just—well, I suppose I expected Melchior to make sure there were rooms and lunches all the way along the road. I don’t know why, since he didn’t even trouble himself to see me off.”

  “He didn’t see you off?” Isabella’s eyes narrowed. “Really? I wonder why?”

  “That’s what I’m wondering, too,” Annabel said resentfully. “He threw Peter out and now I have no one but him, so why should he disappear for most of last week? And why shouldn’t he be there to see me off? Oh well, I suppose I’m sulking. Sorry.”

  “Don’t let me interrupt,” said Isabella, who was finally unwrapping that rather battered box she’d arrived with, “only I’m about to open this very big box of chocolates and it would be such a waste to eat them all by myself.”

  Annabel looked at her suspiciously.

  “No, no!” Isabella assured her. “This wasn’t part of a clever plan; it’s just that I adore chocolates. Here, have one of these—I like them best, so there’s lots. Why is Melchior playing least in sight?”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Annabel muttered, but she took the chocolate. “It’s not as though he had to come out and say goodbye.”

  “What nonsense! Of course he had to! It’s not as though you’re only the queen heir, after all, and Poly says—that is, he’s clearly being rude.”

  “He’s been like that for the last few weeks, actually,” Annabel said gloomily. “He’s always been sarcastic, but mostly he’s sarcastic at Peter. Now he keeps saying things at me in that needling voice of his.”

  “Very curious,” said Isabella. “I wonder why? What is he up to, do you think?”

  Annabel blinked. There had been that letter she thought might be from Mr. Pennicott; Melchior had very carefully refrained from either confirming or denying it came from Mr. Pennicott. And of course there was Luck, but Melchior couldn’t have been avoiding her because of that, could he? She was used to him vanishing every now and then, but this was a new development. “Oh. I didn’t think of that. I should have thought of that.”

  Isabella put another chocolate in her mouth, her grey eyes light and bright. “Really? What did you think?”

  “I don’t know. He’s been in an especially bad mood this week,” Annabel said, accepting the chocolates that Isabella pushed toward her. “I don’t know why. And he’s been away more often, too. That’s the most annoying thing, because he won’t tell me what he’s up to.”

  “I see,” said Isabella, in a pondering way that made Annabel think she really did see. “Now, going back to Melchior needling you—what happened before he started being so annoying?”

  Confused, Annabel asked, “Happened? Nothing happened.”

  “It was probably small and innocent and—wait, that friend of yours, the rude one. Where is he?”

  Annabel found herself grinning again. “Most of my friends are rude,” she said, “but I suppose you mean Peter.”

  “Yes. Peter.”

  “How do you know about Peter? Oh—Poly.”

  “Exactly so! I got the impression she might have given him a clip over the ears every so often.”

  “Something like that,” Annabel said, still grinning. Poly’s effortless magic—not to mention her rather frightening unmagic, and the swirl of antimagic that curled up one arm—had woken in Peter a vast respect that even Rorkin hadn’t. Poly hadn’t been equally impressed with Peter, and from Peter’s expression every so often, Annabel was quite sure that a magical reprimand or three had happened under her nose. It hadn’t deterred Peter in the least, though whether that was because he chose to regard Poly in the light of the mother he was missing, or because he was aware that he deserved a lot more in the way of punishment than he actually received, Annabel wasn’t sure. It had certainly made him better behaved, though Annabel was reasonably certain that it wasn’t possible to rub away all of Peter’s sharp edges. He simply didn’t notice them on himself unless they were pointed out with a cudgel.

  And that reminded her. “Actually,” she said, frowning, “actually, Peter disappeared a few months ago. He was being rude as usual—something about me going around laughing with other boys when I was supposed to marry him, or something like that—and Melchior threw him out. I thought he’d gone to see his mother, but I don’t think so any more.”

  She looked up to find Isabella’s eyes on her in a thoughtful, steady sort of way. “Now that is interesting.”

  “Yes, but he showed up again a little while ago. I think he’s done something, or someone’s done something to him, but Melchior and Luck won’t tell me—”

  “Not Peter,” Isabella said decisively. “No, I meant that—”

  A sudden crack of sound echoed through the open carriage windows and hung in the air. Annabel blinked a little more slowly than usual, too startled to jump.

  “Was that—”

  “A pistol shot? I think so.”
r />   There was a particularly sick-making lurch, and the countryside seemed to blur just a little bit faster.

  “Ugh,” said Annabel. The chocolates she had eaten were sloshing around her stomach in a decidedly dubious manner. “I think we’ve sped up. Oh, and there are people on horseback galloping up beside us.”

  “Good heavens,” said Isabella thoughtfully. “I think we’re being held up.”

  3

  Annabel looked out the window again, gloomily. “Probably. It’s just that sort of day. Well, if they jostle me too much, they’ll have to deal with all the half-digested chocolate I’ve eaten.”

  Isabella eyed her with some respect. “I would never have thought of that! I was just going to poke a few of them with my parasol.”

  “You might have to do that anyway,” Annabel said, a little grimly. She could feel the staff in her pocket beneath her travelling cape; it was still in its pencil form, though Melchior insisted that wasn’t its real form. She wasn’t supposed to use it for another few weeks yet—until the three years were fully up and she and Peter came back into synch with the castle, and the castle came back into synch with real time. Still, if it came right down to it, wasn’t using the staff preferable to being captured by footpads?

  Another shot sounded and there was a distinct lurch as their carriage pulled up in more haste than style, catapulting Isabella over to Annabel’s side.

  “I shouldn’t wonder if this is why Melchior didn’t travel with us,” remarked Isabella, straightening her hat. She didn’t sound annoyed, but she was rather anxiously feeling the front brim of that hat to make sure it wasn’t damaged.

  “Too bad,” Annabel said, grinning. “It’s bent up at the front.”

  “Very well,” said Isabella, wrathful in the blink of an eye. “Just you wait until I get hold of them!”

  Horses pulled up in a thundering of hooves and a clouding of dust on either side of the coach. Above their heads, there was the distinct sound of Annabel’s coachman promising not to move an inch and volunteering the gasped information that ’er ’ighness was inside and fer pity’s sake not to shoot!

  “I don’t think much of your coachman,” remarked Isabella.

  “It’s not his fault,” Annabel protested. She knew what it was like to be so frightened that you said or did anything to make things less frightening. “He just doesn’t want to be shot.”

  Isabella sounded slightly waspish. “I don’t want to be shot either, but I’m not going to be declaring to all and sundry that the queen heir is in the coach.”

  “You don’t have to,” said Annabel, and her own voice held just a touch more vinegar, too. “The coachman’s already done it.”

  Isabella giggled suddenly. “He has, hasn’t he? Oh dear, and I was so determined to be less bossy and more conciliating this year! There—I apologise for criticising your man!”

  “I don’t think that’s important right now,” Annabel said in slight exasperation. “I’m more worried about the highwaymen, actually.”

  “Apologising is always important—dear me! I’m being bossy and forthright again. Perhaps we should back away from the window; it looks like that one is going to come in.”

  “Out you get,” said one of their attackers, tapping on the window frame with his pistol barrel.

  “No,” Annabel said.

  That made him look at her blankly. “What?”

  “I don’t want to.”

  “You don’t—Don’t want—? Get out!”

  “It’s muddy out there,” said Isabella, who had been doing something very light fingered to the end of the pistol barrel while the highwayman was busy talking to Annabel. “Why should we get out in all that? You’ve already done dreadful things to my hat. Who’s going to pay for that, I should like to know?”

  “Last chance,” the highwayman said, and levelled the barrel of his pistol at Annabel.

  “Whoops!” said Isabella, and put up her parasol.

  There was a very loud explosion that ended, not with the tearing pain of a bullet in Annabel’s heart, but a soft snick as Isabella shut her parasol again. The window of the carriage was empty.

  “I do apologise,” said Isabella. “I really thought he’d shoot my way first. He must be labouring under a misapprehension.”

  “What—?”

  “He shot himself. Isn’t that convenient?”

  “Is that what you did to the barrel?”

  “Oh, bother,” Isabella said. “Here come more of them. If I look after this side, do you think you can look after that?”

  “Yes,” said Annabel.

  “Dear me, what a salutary lesson for me!”

  Annabel was conscious of the warring of exasperation and hilarity within her. “What?”

  “I’m about to do what I just told you I wouldn’t in any case do,” Isabella said cheerfully. In a clear, carrying voice, she added, “Do be careful, your highness! We can’t have you being shot now, can we?”

  Annabel would have stopped and stared, but the two men on her side of the carriage had already put away their pistols. Had they first thought that Isabella was the queen heir? Probably. They certainly didn’t think so any longer. Would the three on Isabella’s side put up their weapons too, or would they risk shooting Annabel through Isabella? Annabel was less sure of that; and if she was not sure, Isabella was certain to be feeling exposed, too.

  Unfortunately, the closest footpad chose that moment to wrench on the coach door. The action catapulted Annabel, who had been wedging her foot against the door, out onto the road in a tumble that was neither graceful nor queenly. In the coach, Isabella sat down backwards rather suddenly on the carriage floor.

  Annabel scrambled to her feet, dimly conscious of pain in one of her palms, and called back to Isabella, “Are you all right?”

  “Perfectly fine!” called Isabella. “After all, what else are bustles good for but protecting one’s rear end in the event of sudden collapse?”

  “Up you get,” said one of the footpads unnecessarily.

  “I’m already up, actually,” Annabel said, dusting off her hands and finding that she was smearing blood on her clothes. “Now look what you made me do!”

  “Don’t forget my hat,” Isabella reminded her, leaping lightly down into the road. “Somebody is going to pay for my hat as well. Who shall it be?”

  The footpad grinned at her. “And who is going to make us pay, missy?”

  “If you’re very lucky,” said Annabel, scowling at him, “it’ll be Belle.”

  “Pointed shoes are not only fashionable but useful,” Isabella said sweetly to the dumbstruck footpad, displaying one dangerously shod foot.

  Around them, the other footpads began to gather, grinning. Heartened by this, the first footpad enquired, “And if I’m unlucky?”

  “If you’re very unlucky,” Annabel said, the pencil staff balanced lightly and dangerously between the first two fingers of her bloody hand, “I’ll deal with you myself.”

  “How delightful!” said Isabella irrepressibly. “Fair gave me the shivers, as cook says! I’d listen to her, you know; she may be small, but she’s quite reasonably grumpy and I really don’t know what she’s capable of.”

  Annabel sniffed. “Thank you.” She caught a flicker of movement and colour between the trees behind the assembled footpads and felt an easing of her stiff shoulders. Were those New Civetan colours? She was reasonably sure of it. “Also, you might all wish to know that there’s a regiment of New Civetan Guardsmen in the forest behind you. I don’t think they’re very happy.”

  “H’ain’t no use saying things like that, missy,” said the footpad reprovingly. “We scouted you out well in advance.”

  “You know best, I’m sure,” said Isabella, even more sweetly than before. “But when you’re addressing the prospective queen of the land, I really do think it’s politic to address her as your highness, don’t you?”

  “Well now, that’s a matter h’of opinion, ain’t it? We ain’t got anything agains
t her little missness, but the man who hired us don’t seem to like her much. And a queen ain’t queen until she’s crowned, like.”

  “Oh well, it’s not like he’s actually wrong,” said Annabel, tucking her pencil staff away. “Belle, I think we’d probably better duck now.”

  She dragged Isabella down with her as she said now, and a sudden stillness fell around them as each and every foodpad froze in place with similarly surprised expressions.

  “Good heavens!” said Isabella. “There really is a regiment of New Civetan Guardsmen?”

  “I hope so,” Annabel said. “Otherwise, we’re about to be held up again. And these ones have magic, too.”

  Isabella looked at her admiringly. “And I thought it was merely a particularly good bluff of yours! You do keep a nice cool head, don’t you? Didn’t I say we were going to get along well?”

  “You’ve said it more than once,” Annabel said expressionlessly, her eyes on the six Guardsmen who were approaching. “And I still think it’s suspicious.”

  “Didn’t I tell you from the start that I wanted—” Isabella stopped. “Good heavens! You’re teasing me! What an amazingly straight face you have! Raoul, you might have got here a bit sooner, I think!”

  Since this last sentence was addressed to the tall, broad-shouldered First Guardsman who was currently attempting to bow with all the solemnity and dignity of his office, Annabel only grinned at his discomfiture. The Guardsman, on the other hand, shot Isabella a look of annoyance and tried very hard to otherwise ignore her as he said to Annabel, “Our apologies for seeming to be late to the rescue, your highness; once you were out of the coach we couldn’t be sure we wouldn’t hit you if we targeted the kidnappers.”

  “Oh, you saw that?” Annabel said gloomily.

  Another of the guardsmen—the medical officer, said the part of Annabel’s brain that had been very busy memorising insignias and coats of arms over the last three years—a stocky, blond boy who was a thought shorter even than Annabel herself, added, “We’re very grateful you were observant enough to duck right when you did, your highness. We’d just come to the conclusion that we’d have to knock you out as well.”