The Piano Girl - Part One (Counterfeit Princess Series)

by Sherri Schoenborn Murray

  The hem of my sky-blue dress teased the floor as I danced with Father. His slim hazel eyes sparkled with love as he gazed down at me.

  Loud voices interrupted the affirmations of my heart; it had only been a dream. The hard wooden cot beneath me and rock ceiling overhead reminded me that I was in the pit of Yonder.

  The loud voices continued. With their backs to me, two guards and a man of royal cloth gathered in front of Knot’s cell. I recognized one of the guards as Cragdon. With my luck, his companion was Prince Wron.

  The pink spots with scaly dry centers remained on my hands. When I met my betrothed, I would not be healed. I peered up toward the gaps of light and prayed: Heal me. Please heal me. As the men approached my cell, I continued the prayer. Please heal me. Heal me.

  “Swamp Woman,” Cragdon said.

  I was not healed.

  “Knot informed us of your role after our prisoner’s escape.” He extended a piece of buttered bread through the bars.

  Wide-eyed, I took it, and though I did not forget my manners, I began to eat it in front of them.

  “It appears that Jorgensen is fine, and the prisoner did not get far.” He nodded toward the far side of the prison.

  Fallon was back, lying on his bunk. I had slept through more than I’d realized. My gaze shifted to the dark-haired man beside Cragdon. He was of solid stature with broad shoulders. Though he was handsome, it was not love at first sight for either of us.

  “Knot said that you knew Fallon prior to prison.” My betrothed’s voice was clear and pleasant, as was his face.

  He was nothing like Prince Dell.

  I swallowed a bite of bread. “I met Fallon in Merner. We happened to be at the same home for supper.”

  “Knot said that your name is Dory.” My betrothed flicked a leather glove into his open palm.

  “Yes.”

  “And that you are from Blue Sky?”

  My stomach curled into a tight fist. I glanced toward Knot’s cell. Had he overheard Fallon, or had he somehow figured it out on his own? Did he think me a counterfeit, with the ultimate of all ploys?

  “I believe he is correct. I have only heard the Blue Sky accent twice, but it is very distinct.” Prince Wron glanced at the fair-haired guard beside him. “Cragdon, that is one thing we must tell the counterfeits to improve upon. They are still rolling their ers like they are from Yond-er.”

  Heat climbed up into my pox-riddled cheeks. He was indeed Prince Wron.

  “Is Knot correct? Are you from Blue Sky?”

  “Yes.” My mouth felt dry. I glanced toward Fallon’s cell. Could he hear us?

  “Don’t worry about him. He will be here for a very long time,” my future beloved said. “How long did you live in Blue Sky?”

  “All my life.”

  His gaze narrowed. “What did your father do there?”

  “He worked for the king.” It was not a lie.

  He suppressed a smile. “What skills do you have, Dory?”

  I lifted my gaze to his icy blue eyes. What he was really asking was how Yonder might enslave me. I had to be careful. In my hideous state, I could easily be assigned to work the fields or stables.

  “What are your skills?” he repeated.

  “Tomorrow your skills will be bartered for your freedom, Dory.” Knot’s voice climbed the rock walls. “It is the only way out of this pit.”

  “Her pox will limit her from public service?” Cragdon said.

  Wron held up a hand to silence him.

  I became all too aware of my greasy, matted hair, my soiled dark green dress that I’d worn since the night at Liisa’s several weeks ago.

  “Though I am sorry to hear about your father”—Wron gripped the glove in his hand—“the fact that you are familiar with Fallon—a liar and a cheat—is not in your favor.”

  I sat down on my cot and, wide-eyed, gripped the edge.

  “I play piano.”

  “And . . .” Wron shook his head. “Do you mend, cook, teach…?”

  My skills were very limited, except I could teach ballroom dancing, French, lessons in etiquette, how to sight in a gun, clean small birds…

  “I play piano.” I lifted my gaze from the cold stone floor to his eyes.

  “That is all.” He nodded.

  “No one will employ her,” Cragdon said as they walked away.

  I wanted to shout after them: I am Alia, but all it took was a glance at my spot-riddled hands to silence me.

  ΦΦΦ

  “Who are you, Dory of Blue Sky?” Knot paced his cell. “Dory who plays piano and speaks French. Dory who doesn’t know how to cook or clean.” The cunning old man’s gaze narrowed, and then he shook his head. “But your father died in the Giants’ Snare.”

  Felix had never given name to the entrance to Shepherd’s Field, and now I understood why. Using my fingers, I combed through my matted hair, halting on a knot.

  “A pianist who arrives from Blue Sky only weeks before Princess Alia is expected.” Knot paced.

  I had almost deemed Knot a friend, yet now he thought me a counterfeit.

  With his back to me, he studied the numerous inscriptions etched behind him on the wall. “Dory, from Blue Sky… you’ve been imprisoned in the wrong kingdom.” He chuckled, shaking his head. “There is no piano here.”

  ΦΦΦ

  “No piano?” I echoed.

  No piano. My mind tried to wrap around the impossible.

  “There is no piano in Yonder.” Knot etched the tally mark for that day into the rock. “Thirteen years ago, someone made the mistake of playing the piano the night Queen Eunice’s infant died in her arms. Prince Wally was only two.”

  “What happened?”

  “His fever would not break. Though the bells were rung, and all the people of Yonder prayed—night and day—Prince Wally’s soul was taken.”

  My heart broke for the Queen and for myself. My knees buckled beneath me to the hard stone floor.

  No piano.

  Overhead, the gaps of light felt like my only view of God. Tears streamed down my cheeks as I told Him the petitions of my heart.

  Perhaps my tears were audible; Long’s tenor voice reached its way through the bars as the dear man tried to console me.

  I sniffled.

  “My missus will be sorry she sent me for bread.

  Not a dixel in my pocket, just a song in me head.”

  His crackly old voice carried a tender tune.

  “A loaf in my coat, I tried to escape,

  but the bowels of this hell

  were to be my fate.

  A slathering of jam, a rim of butter,

  Does my wife of fifty years

  remember me at supper?”

  Though his lyrics were melancholy, everyone listened, for in his melody there was hope.

  “In the pit of hell, Father,” I whispered to the rays of light, “I learned that there is nothing like a chunk of bread for the hungry, a blanket for the cold, and the gift of music for the wounded soul.” Tears dripped down my cheeks. “Nothing.

  “Please, Lord, if it’s not asking too much, find me a piano.”

  I found the small stone that I’d used for my seven tally marks. To my earlier inscription of DORY, I knew what I would add. Though The Swamp Woman was fitting, each time I heard it, it caused me pain. Instead, I etched into the rock two words, a nickname from my childhood.

  If I survived and someday became queen, I would return and scribe Princess Alia into the rock. I stepped back to review my work and was pleased with:

  DORY—Piano Girl.

  ‡

  Chapter Twelve

  On Tuesday, only three of the prisoners were released to be interviewed for castle work: Long, Fjord, and me. Duron, with the assistance of another guard, blindfolded us with dark strips of itchy cloth. Our hands were tied behind us with the same.

  The comrades we were leaving behind strummed their water tins against the bars. “It is a weekly ritual, Dory,” Knot’s hoarse voice said.
“Remember to bring me a slice of pie.”

  Fallon added a snide laugh.

  “I hope I am so lucky,” I managed, before a guard grabbed my elbow and pushed me forward into the darkness. I soon joined the others to climb the rocky path.

  “Let it be this time, God, that they find work for an old blind man like me,” Long whispered. “Let it be this time that I am set free. How I long to see my grandbabies and my wife, if she has not deserted me.”

  To block out Long’s constant mumbling, I prayed silently to God. I asked that He’d show favor on me; find me a job in the castle, not the fields; and, of course, heal me.

  In the bottom fringe of my blindfold, I detected a threshold of light and then even ground. Still we stumbled along, shoulder to shoulder, with Duron barking orders. There were the sounds of horses whinnying and the smell of crisp morning air. The guard behind me tugged on my shoulder, motioning for me to stop.

  Duron removed my blindfold. Even though the sky was gray, I blinked repeatedly at the brightness of daylight. We stood in an inner courtyard across from stables which were, judging from the mountains, on the south side of the castle. A woman several years older in appearance than my mother called Duron over to where she stood beside an umbrella-shaped mulberry bush.

  “Do you get to walk up here very often?” I asked Long.

  “Each Tuesday they bring me up here to break my heart all over again.”

  I hoped today would be different for him. Duron and the queen conversed for a few minutes before he beckoned us over.

  With Fjord on my right, and Long bobbing into my left shoulder, we awkwardly made our approach. My future mother-in-law was of medium stature, slightly plump, and her hairstyle resembled three snowballs, one on top of the other.

  “How are you today, Long?” she asked. Her striped dress had balloon-like sleeves and a white, lace-trimmed collar high up the neck.

  “I am well, Your Majesty,” he said, as we stopped in front of her. “Even though I am blind, I am not useless. I can thresh wheat, knead dough, sing songs to my grandchildren upon my knee…” My heart ached for Long and his apparent suffering.

  “You are good at song, Long.” I nudged him. “Sing something for the queen.”

  She wrinkled her nose, but gave him a moment all the same.

  He swallowed. “Uh… uh, uh…” His voice sounded like a warted toad crept up his throat. “Give an old chance, give an old chance, on meeee, old man.”

  “Grossly unremarkable.” The queen stepped past him and lifted her wire spectacles to peer at me.

  Poor Long. My future mother-in-law’s lack of empathy greatly disappointed me.

  “Pick an old man like me.

  Give me a try.

  Pick an old man like me

  Before I die.”

  Long’s tune was too late.

  “I have never seen them up close before.” The queen’s voice softened as she studied me. “They’re like unsightly canker sores, except for the pink-and-white dots… everywhere. They are hideous. Do they hurt?”

  For a moment I wondered if falling through the treadmill’s blades to the water below would have hurt as much as her honesty. “In the beginning, they itched unbearably. I believe they are now more unsightly than they are irritating.”

  “Very unsightly. We are in need of a female server, but you can’t be seen. Do you have any strengths?”

  “Yes.” I inhaled. “I play piano.”

  “And Long sings.” Lifting her spectacles, she studied my spots. “Do you play anything else?”

  “No.” I never imagined my future kingdom without a piano or my future mother-in-law without empathy.

  “That is too bad. I am quite fond of”—she glanced at Long—“good music. I hear you are from Blue Sky. What color is Princess Alia’s hair?”

  “Auburn.”

  A line deepened in her forehead. “What color are her eyes?”

  “Hazel.” I prayed that I would someday love this woman.

  “Are your eyes not hazel?” Behind the round spectacles, her swamp-green eyes appeared enormous.

  “They are a greenish brown.”

  “My husband is against having you pay penance in our home. I am not to mention it. He thinks you are a part of some grand plot—a pianist with swamp pox from Blue Sky.” She clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth. “I must say you have a very bad case, one that might last years.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I don’t. It’s just so, so… disagreeable.” Her eyes locked on mine. “Are you really from Blue Sky?”

  “Yes, I am.” My heart ached at the mention of my beloved homeland.

  “When Princess Alia and her father arrive, they will be the judge. If your words do not match the truth, you will be abandoned deep in the hills to never find your way out.” Her voice held dramatic flair.

  “I understand, Your Grace.” The thought of her reading fairy tales aloud to my future children buoyed my heavy spirits.

  She eyed me thoughtfully. “Word came to me late last night that there is one piano in the village.”

  Darest I breathe?

  “Roger . . .” The Queen waved her fingers for a middle-aged guard’s attention. He had a generous belly and a tuft of white hair on top of his head. “What is the name of the shop woman with the piano?”

  “Peg,” he said.

  There was indeed a piano! Though my hands were tied behind me, my fingers began to twitch.

  “If she has a piano, why is the odd little woman not in prison?” the queen asked.

  The guard shrugged. “No one knows how to play it.”

  “If Peg does not approve of the Swamp Woman, she may work the fields.”

  “Peg?” Roger asked.

  “No, you ninny, the Swamp Woman may work the fields.” She turned to address me. “You will work for thirty days. Then the wages you’ve earned will be paid to the crown.”

  “Might I ask where I will live?”

  “Details are not my specialty.” She stepped past me to Fjord.

  “Queen Ulrich, I petition,” I said, without thinking. To petition was the way Blue Sky citizens often addressed my father. “Might I stay at the Smithy—Leeson and Elza’s home—while I work for the shop?”

  “I don’t see why not.” She tilted her head back to peer up at Fjord’s face, taking in his mass. “My husband needs to see you. What are your strengths, young man?”

  He smiled.

  ΦΦΦ

  The shop with a piano was not a shop at all. The stand-alone stone building on the edge of town had its own belfry tower and must have been a church at one time. The sign that hung from two brass chains read: The Bell Tower. In smaller print beneath it: Home of Hope and the Mutton Burger. Inside, torch sconces lit the smoky stone walls, and on the left, a boar’s head hung above a rock fireplace.

  My hands were finally untied, and Roger, the middle-aged guard short on conversation, introduced me to Peg.

  “I’d shake yer hand, but you look contagious.” Peg topped out near my shoulder, and I was only of average height. Her front teeth slightly overlapped each other, and she wore her tight curly red hair in two fluffy piles atop her head.

  “I can assure you that swamp pox are not contagious, unless we fell in the muck togeth-er.” I didn’t mean to grab her accent, yet I heard it slip out.

  “Ah, you’re a sight, but I heard ya plaaay.”

  “I do, though I haven’t played in months.” I scanned the dimly lit room, the crude wooden tables, and the captain-style chairs. A few patrons sat at a table near the fire.

  “Where is your piano?” I asked.

  “On the stage. Over dere.” Peg waved a hand toward the raised stage at the back of the room.

  I saw no Great Beast, only a squatty, blockish thing.

  “Where is it?” My eyes scanned the raised platform.

  “Right there.” She pointed to the blockish thing. It looked like a grand piano that had been used as a battering ram. O
nly the front portion was intact.

  “They didn’t tell me you were blind, toooooo. It cost me twenty dixels a year ago at auction. I want to hear you plaaay before I keep you.”

  I tried to manage my disappointment while I walked up several steps to the wooden stage. A thick layer of dust coated the little beast’s scarred wood. I lifted back the front lid. So worn were the ivory keys that I could see the imprints of the prior owner.

  I pressed my forefinger down on middle C, closed my eyes, and listened. The tone was favorable, and the key lifted with ease. Then, I smoothed the back of my soiled dress and sat down on the round bar stool. I don’t remember if Peg spoke to me or not after that.

  Back straight, shoulders down and relaxed, I reflected briefly on where to begin. I thought of Mother brushing my hair, of all the sweet pleasantries of Blue Sky that I might never know again. I started with the outer keys and played toward center. From my childhood, I moved to the potion-tainted milk that Father and Dr. Krawl had given me the night of my birthday celebration. I’d gone to sleep a princess and woken up a pauper.

  The keys were worn because the piano had been well loved. Only one key stuck for my pinkie, two octaves over on my right hand, and only for two counts. Tears slid down my cheeks at the emotion I was finally able to expel.

  “She’ll do,” Peg told the guard behind me. “And as long as she doesn’t turn around, the fellas will think she’s right pretty.”

  ΦΦΦ

  After my first full day of work at The Bell Tower, I walked the dirt road home to Leeson and Elza’s. The children along the roadside already knew my name.

  “Swamp Woman,” some of the boys sneered. The young girls simply avoided eye contact with me, while younger children hid in their mothers’ long skirts. There was a long stretch where, finally alone, I picked a bouquet of wildflowers for Elza. I paused to admire the sky at twilight—pinks and violet-orange hues.

  I was free and felt older for it.

  I told Elza and Leeson of my trials in prison and wept in the folds of the elderly woman’s skirts. She made me a late meal of stewed beans, sourdough bread, and honey. Following dinner, she prepared a bath for me in the center of their small, one-roomed home. She ushered Leeson out, and he groomed the horses while I bathed for the first time since Merner.