Staff & Crown

by W. R. Gingell

  “Button explosive!” disclosed Delysia, her eyes bright. “Such fun! I’m testing them to see how destructive they are. They don’t make as big of an impact as I wanted them to make, so I was trying to strengthen them a bit and now they might be just a bit too strong.”

  “What she means by that is that we’ve got one less bookcase now,” mentioned Isabella. She was reclining on one of the sofas, watching the class with avid interest. “Nan, I don’t believe you’ve met our teacher, have you?”

  Annabel nodded politely to the small, mousy teacher, who blushed and curtseyed.

  “It’s all right, Miss Farrah,” said the teacher. “You can go now if you need to. I think I can stop them from blowing up anything else today. Delysia’s mix is more stable than at the first, and I’ve prepared a few containment spells just in case.”

  “Very well,” agreed Isabella, with surprising alacrity. “One shouldn’t be late to class, after all, should one?”

  “What class?” Annabel, when they were strolling down the hall together. “We don’t have class for another hour.”

  “It’s not one of those,” Isabella said, with meaning.

  “Don’t tell me you’ve set up another class! Don’t you have enough to do with lockpicking and explosives?”

  “It’s not one of those, either.”

  “Oh. Well, what is it, then? Who’s it for?”

  “You, of course,” said Isabella. “I take it you have nothing from Melchior?”

  “Exactly,” Annabel agreed. “But I didn’t expect to get much out of him—all I really wanted to know was if he was expecting something like this to happen, and he was.”

  Isabella nodded. “Very well. Then I think it’s high time he was made to share his information. The class will commence!”

  “Will it?” asked Annabel, in a fascinated voice. “When?”

  “As soon as we get back to the suite,” said Isabella. “Come along, Nan.”

  A little later, in the suite, Isabella said again, “Come along, Nan! Out of that frumpy thing and into this! Isn’t it pretty? Isn’t it light?”

  Annabel looked suspiciously at the pretty froth of light blue material, and then suspiciously at Isabella. “Yes. It’s very pretty. But why should I change?”

  “Think of this as one of the lessons,” said Isabella, shaking the froth at her persuasively. “And merely follow instructions. It will make things so much more simple, believe me!”

  “Simple for whom, exactly?” Annabel asked, pointedly.

  Surprising her, Isabella said, “Me, of course! If it helps, it will also make things much easier for you; but I haven’t noticed that you let the easier option weigh much with you. It’s one of the things I like about you. Mind you, it’s also rather irritating.”

  “Oh, good,” said Annabel. She liked to think that it was actually possible to annoy someone so unbelievably affable as Isabella. “All right, all right, I’ll put it on.”

  “And after that, we’re going to do your hair.”

  “Are we? Why?”

  “We can’t have Melchior seeing you with your hair like that.”

  “He’s seen it a lot worse,” Annabel remarked. “If it comes to that, he’s just seen it. He’s seen me wearing a lot worse than this dress, too.”

  “That doesn’t at all surprise me, but it makes not one iota of difference,” Isabella said firmly. “Now, isn’t that more comfortable than that other awful thing?”

  “Yes,” Annabel agreed, pleased and surprised in equal measure. “Actually, I think I’ve changed my mind. It’s a waste to have you as part of my ambassadorial team. You should be the head tailor.”

  “I suppose I could smuggle information in the clothing I made,” said Isabella, as though she had given it previous thought, “but it’s really more of a hobby. Enjoyable, but not enough to live by. Even dressmaking can pall, no matter how many beautiful things one makes. Do sit down, Nan. I’m quite tall, but I believe I’m not tall enough to do your hair while you’re standing.”

  “Wait,” protested Annabel, pushed down summarily at the dressing table. “I don’t think I understand. Isn’t this—I thought we were trying to pump Melchior for information! Are we doing something else?”

  “Certainly we are pumping Melchior for information,” Isabella agreed, rearranging a small, loose curl beside Annabel’s ear. “However, first we will soften him for a few days. You will learn, Nan, that there are some forms of intelligence gathering that require careful attention to one’s appearance.”

  “Yes, but that’s the sort of intelligence gathering you usually do.”

  “And if it was anyone other than Melchior we’re trying to gather it from, I would be happy to do the job,” said Isabella promptly. “However, since I’m a great believer in using the tools most suited to the job…well, here you are!”

  “Melchior won’t tell us anything,” Annabel complained. “That’s exactly the reason I’ve been trying to think of other ways to get the information! If he didn’t even tell us he was coming here, or small things like what he found out about the attack in the village, I don’t see that he’ll tell us anything about the Pretender, even if he does know anything.”

  “Don’t you worry,” Isabella said, turning Annabel around and closely observing her from the front. “I’ve a very effective method that should work wonders. Part of that method involves not losing your temper when you eventually begin to question him, by the way.”

  “Why?” Annabel asked gloomily. “Melchior only smiles when I lose my temper, anyway. It’s annoying, but there’s nothing else to it.”

  “Exactly so,” Isabella said. “When you lose your temper, you stop thinking clearly. Melchior is not the kind of man around whom one can stop thinking, especially if one is trying to get something out of him that he doesn’t want to give. Fortunately for us, we have a secret weapon.”

  Unimpressed, Annabel asked, “What secret weapon?”

  “You, of course. So long as you don’t lose your temper.”

  “Do you mean the staff?” It was there in her pocket as always, where her hand could easily fall on it for either use or reassurance. “I don’t know how you expect me to use the staff on Melchior.”

  “Certainly not. I mean that you yourself are the secret weapon.”

  “That doesn’t make sense. I’m not secret and I’m nothing like a weapon.”

  “Didn’t I say that I’m a great believer in using the right tools for the right job?”

  “I’m not a tool, either,” muttered Annabel. “How am I the right tool for the job? All I have is the staff, and I can’t go using that on Melchior.”

  “Good heavens, when you get an idea in your head you do follow it!” said Isabella. She sounded as though she was caught between irritation and admiration. “Nan, do forget this idea of yours that you can’t accomplish anything without the staff—do! It’s not at all true and it’s decidedly restrictive!”

  Annabel would have reminded Isabella that she had no magic and that everything she had done to date was because of the staff, but it occurred to her just in time that it wasn’t quite true. More, perhaps it was even like her attitude toward her weight when she was younger—I’m too fat for this, or too fat for that. Just another excuse to stop her from doing what needed to be done. I don’t have magic so I can’t do this. I don’t have magic, so I can’t do that.

  After all, Rorkin, along with a lot of things that weren’t true—or perhaps they were true, Annabel had never been quite sure when it came to Rorkin—had also told her that there could have been more than one potential queen heir. The idea of the staff had been to pick between the potential heirs, and it had picked Annabel as much as she had picked it.

  “All right, all right,” she said. “We’re not using the staff on Melchior, and I’ll need to not lose my temper.”

  “Exactly so. I’ve the suspicion that Melchior will continue trying to make you lose your temper, too, so it’s especially important to remember.”


  Annabel sighed. “All right. What else?”

  “I think it would help,” Isabella said, very slowly and thoughtfully, “if you were to be just as comfortable and affectionate as when Melchior was Blackfoot.”

  “I was comfortable,” said Annabel gloomily. “And then Melchior started being prickly about me sitting too close or patting his head.”

  “I said that you should be comfortable,” Isabella said. “I’ve no intention of Melchior being comfortable—in fact, I would like him to be as uncomfortable as possible.”

  “Wait,” Annabel protested. “That is—do you mean you want me to flirt with him?”

  “Certainly I do. What else would you do with him?”

  “But—”

  “It’s no good saying but this and but that,” Isabella said firmly. “I’m certainly not going to do it; I might joke about you having me beheaded, but I certainly don’t want it to actually happen!”

  “But I can’t! It’s Melchior! He’ll see straight through it.”

  “Believe it or not, Melchior is just as prone to self delusion as the next man,” said Isabella. “Or the next cat, if it comes to that.”

  “Yes, but I don’t know how to flirt!” Annabel said, in despair. “It’s not something they taught me at the village school, and it’s not as if Rorkin taught me how, either!”

  “Not to fear, Nan; we will begin very simply. At first, we will simply dress you a little more carefully each day, by way of leading up to it. I’m not inclined to think that it will take a great deal of acting in the actual event, and it’s always best to finesse Melchior in any case. Less is more where he’s concerned.”

  “He’ll only snap at me and tell me that ladies don’t lean on the backs of couches or whisper in gentlemen’s ears,” Annabel warned her. “I don’t think he’s very fond of flirting.”

  Isabella’s grey eyes sparkled. “Well, we’ll see, won’t we? Remember, Nan; I said I wanted Melchior to be uncomfortable.”

  “Yes, but Melchior never is uncomfortable! Even when I lose my temper—”

  “We are not going to lose our temper,” Isabella said firmly. “And if it comes to that, you may very well find that you’re enjoying yourself, Nan. Let me tell you that there is nothing more satisfying than keeping your calm while the person opposite you is becoming unsettled.”

  Annabel looked askance at her. “That explains so much about why you have so many enemies.”

  “I have so many enemies because other girls are envious of my delightful manners and fashionable clothing.”

  “I don’t think that’s it.”

  “Don’t let’s argue about unimportant things,” Isabella said. “Dear me, you are a quick learner, aren’t you? I won’t be sidetracked—you’re to flirt with Melchior, and if I have anything to say in the matter, you will flirt very well.”

  Annabel huffed out a disgusted breath, but grinned despite herself. “Getting better, aren’t I?”

  “I’m very proud.”

  “All right, but if he laughs at me, I’ll want to know the reason why,” Annabel warned her.

  “There are very few things in life that I feel I can promise,” said Isabella, with a sparkling smile. “But I believe that may be one of them. Now, listen, Nan! I want all of your attention!”

  By the time the girls arrived at the dining table for breakfast the next morning, Annabel was heartily thankful that Isabella had chivvied her into spending a ridiculous amount of time in doing her hair and dressing. Not only was it another sweltering morning that the lighter frock and high hair style made easier to bear, but the halls were full of loitering girls. Some of them even muttered as Annabel and Isabella walked between them, a dark undercurrent of distrust and spite that sometimes resolved into words that surprised Annabel with their nastiness.

  “Not to worry, Nan,” murmured Isabella, her chin tilted easily at an unconcerned angle. “It’s merely a gauntlet of words. They’ll probably do it every morning for a while until they get sick of it. Aren’t you glad you let me dress you properly this morning!”

  Since it was exactly what she’d just been thinking, Annabel giggled.

  That small token of amusement must have taken some of the girls by surprise, because someone said, very clearly, “Laughter’s good if you don’t have to eat it. Trenthams doesn’t like liars.”

  “What nonsense!” said Isabella, without pausing her step. “Trenthams is the first to teach habitual lying as a way of conversing. Now, Nan; I’ve never tried to eat laughter, but I suppose anything is possible if you’re hungry enough.”

  “It’s a saying,” the voice said, in bewildered annoyance. As it fell behind them, it was still protesting, “No, it’s a saying—”

  “Do you think they’re waiting for the other one?” Annabel asked in a low voice, as they approached the dining hall. The double doors were open, and through those open doors, she could see that it was almost entirely empty. There were a few girls here and there, mostly clumped together at tables, and Annabel could recognise each of the girls as ones she had seen in either the lock-picking or explosives classes.

  “Almost certainly,” Isabella said decidedly. “What do you think, Nan?”

  Annabel looked over at the other girl and saw that her eyes were dancing. “About what?” She hadn’t meant to feel so, but somehow she felt both insulted and irritated by the appearance of this other contender to the throne.

  “Will she be a Beauty, a Brain, or perhaps a Pawn?”

  Before Annabel could respond, Lady Caro’s voice said from behind them, “She’ll be the Queen, and that’s all that really matters, isn’t it?”

  “There’s still some dispute about that,” murmured Isabella.

  Lady Caro displayed elegant unconcern. “Is there so? I hadn’t heard it; I had heard that there was a Pretender you were supporting, Miss Farrah, but I’m sure that isn’t true.”

  “Are you? But then, people often are sure of things that aren’t accurate, I find.”

  This time when Annabel looked across at Isabella, she found that Isabella was watching her curiously, her lips apart as if she would say something, but was waiting for Annabel’s…permission?

  Was Isabella waiting for permission to directly champion Annabel’s heirship?

  Annabel hesitated for one moment, and said, “If it’s me you’re talking about, you’re only half right. Come along, Belle; we don’t want someone else to take our table.”

  “If I were you, I’d be less concerned about someone taking your table,” said Lady Caro, “and more concerned about someone taking something much more important.”

  “Thanks,” said Annabel. “I’ll remember that. Hadn’t you better go meet Lady Selma? I don’t think she’ll be pleased if you’re not there when she leaves her suite.”

  Lady Caro’s eyes rested on her thoughtfully, but Annabel merely towed Isabella away toward their table, ignoring Isabella’s delighted smile.

  “Oh, well done, Nan!” Isabella said quietly, when they reached their table. “I should have dressed you with your hair up much earlier than this! You made even Lady Caro think twice! She’s wondering if she’s picked the right side now. She’s wondering if she’ll regret going to Lady Selma’s side with the Aunts.”

  “What I’d like to know is whether they actually believe she’s the real queen heir,” Annabel said, seating herself and replying to a wink from one of the girls by winking back solemnly. Was that the bold-eyed girl from the lock-picking class, the one who had asked if Annabel should be there? Obviously she had made up her own mind in the matter. “It’s the first thing I want to know, actually.”

  “Is it?” Isabella considered that. “I suppose you’re right, though I’m inclined to think that if they don’t know, it’s more by an exercise of deliberate rather than accidental ignorance. It’s convenient for them to have Lady Selma as the queen heir—she can represent their interests, and can’t get too powerful if they’re the reason she’s in power at all. I’m inclined, Nan, to consign th
em all to prison directly without too much concern about the finer details of their treason.”

  “If I’m going to jail people for treason, I’d like to make sure they actually knew that’s what they were doing,” said Annabel. “I don’t want the Awesome Aunts running Trenthams again, in either case. It’s privately funded, but I met the old lady who does most of the funding, and I’m pretty sure she’ll have something to say to all of this.”

  “That’s just as well,” agreed Isabella. “My younger sister Susan will be here later on, and I really don’t think the Awesome Aunts are capable of keeping her in order.”

  “I don’t suppose you want to run a finishing school, do you?”

  “Certainly not. How dreadfully boring!”

  “I wouldn’t have called this term boring,” Annabel said. “Actually. But that’s just me.”

  “Generally speaking, we usually have a lot less in the way of treason, treachery, and intrigue,” said Isabella. “In a word; boring! You’re not trying to back out of our agreement, are you?”

  “I wouldn’t dare!” said Annabel frankly, which made Isabella giggle. “Oh! Here she comes! Should I drink my tea in an unconcerned manner?”

  “If you like,” Isabella said. “But I’m going to stare, so you might as well stare, too.”

  As they watched, Annabel in growing interest and Isabella in what seemed to be rising amusement, Lady Selma sailed across the dining room, nodding to all the girls in a regal manner and ignoring Annabel and Isabella’s table as if it had ceased to exist.

  She was a tall, impressive girl with a classically Old Parrasian exterior, all long face and long nose, and a kind of elegance about her. They couldn’t have found a girl more different to Annabel, thought Annabel, becoming amused in her turn. Even the golden hair that sprang from a smooth, oval brow was braided low and elegant at her neck, in contrast to Annabel’s high, sweeping brown bun.

  By the time Lady Selma sat down at the table obviously reserved for her, Lady Caro motioning to the young girls who had bagsed it to pull out Lady Selma’s chair, there was a veritable swell of goggling girls surrounding the table. All of them obviously wished to sit by Lady Selma; and, just as obviously, not all of them could fit.