by Jenn Thorson
“A hilt, I would guess,” she said. “Er, look Rufus, I really didn’t want to talk about training, anyway. I just wanted to speak with you alone for a moment. Now, with this Unbirthday party, we have an excellent opportunity to learn about Jacob Morningstar and his operations, as well as find out what possible motives there might have been to —”
“Pointless,” he said, giggling.
“What?”
“The answer to my riddle,” he replied. “‘What do you call a sword without a blade?’ ‘Pointless.’”
“Ah, yes, very funny,” she said, not finding it particularly funny at all. “Now, as I was saying, the motives behind —”
“What do you call a mad duck?”
She didn’t even venture a guess on this one.
“Quackers,” he said and started laughing again. “And did you hear the one about the Bandersnatch?”
“Er, I think everyone’s getting ready to leave again,” Mary Ann said, quickly. And they were, but that wasn’t the reason for her haste. She hated to judge too soon, for he had been through so much of late and she had truly grown to care about him. But she feared that she greatly preferred Sir Rufus when he was humorless and depressed.
Quackers … Really … She grimaced and shook her head. The man had completely lost his focus. It appeared she would be on her own for any further investigation. A surprising sense of loss overcame her at this thought. Their solidarity had been so pleasant and all too brief.
By the time they reached Hearts Castle in Neath, no one in their traveling party had any voice left, but it didn’t matter because no one could have heard them over the crowd already there. There were musicians tootling away, local jesters doing their famous hedgehog juggling, and the largest tea party Mary Ann had ever seen, with tables stretched across the lawn for a mile. There were Neathan courtiers of every suit and all the most elite citizens of Turvy. It appeared the party from White Turvy had already arrived, but perhaps only just, because Mary Ann overheard a few of them talking, sounding raw and dry.
Mary Ann scanned the crowd for familiar faces, the first of which was the Duchess of Additch, whose face was prominent on the best of days, there simply being more face per square inch than other people. At the moment, she was having it painted in portrait by an attending artist. It was a very good likeness so far, so Mary Ann imagined that artist would be run out of town shortly.
The group concluded their journey at the carriage house and stables. Both Goodspeed and Lolly seemed to find old friends right away. (It sounded as if the quality of oats was a prime discussion in their community.) Mary Ann followed Lady Carmine into the castle, and a well-dressed frog took them to her accommodations and sent a toad for their trunks. Those with high enough titles were given rooms, and the rest of the rabble had pitched tents on the expansive lawns. Mary Ann was assigned a sofa in a small sitting room off of Lady Carmine’s quarters.
It took some time to get Lady Carmine settled and refreshed, and her belongings tidied, but that was fine with Mary Ann. Ever since they set foot in Queen Valentina’s castle, she had been overcome by unease. It wasn’t so bad when she was with the group coming in, or even with Lady Carmine, for why would anyone look at a mere servant when such a fine lady was present? But inevitably, she would have to emerge into this society alone, and there were so many people from Neath she hoped to avoid. She would have to be as light-footed and unobtrusive as she knew how, on guard for every set of eyes.
Once Lady Carmine was ready, they left the room to explore the festivities outside.
Lady Carmine, it turned out, was a popular soul. It wasn’t long before the woman had found companions and Mary Ann was left to her own devices. She screwed her Red Turvian maid’s hat down as low as she could and moved smoothly, briskly, about the lawn assessing the area for anyone who might recognize her. Mr. Rabbit was fussing with the gift area, a pile of presents like Mary Ann had never before seen. She thought she spied a mirror-shaped present among them, wrapped in pretty paper and propped in a predominant spot.
Continuing to scan the crowd, she spied Mr. Milliner and his friends, who had taken over one of the longest tea tables for themselves and seemed determined to use as many different place settings on it as possible. (She felt very glad the job of cleanup was not hers this time.) The Duchess was still portrait-sitting, and Cookie Mills was over in a stall where meats were being grilled, giving tips to the chefs there on seasonings.
And that’s when Mary Ann saw him: Jacob Morningstar, the Knave of Clubs. He was looking quite professional and grand, with his sweeping cape and square jaw. He stood chatting with the Knave of Hearts, a shorter blond man who was recounting his recent prison experience due to erroneous tart theft charges. It was at that moment that Mary Ann realized the ideal way to get information about Morningstar was to talk with a housemaid or chambermaid for Queen Valentina. There was no one so knowledgeable about the relationship dynamics of a household as the cleaning staff. And the opportunity presented itself when one such creature, the Six of Hearts by her dress, was working beside a stage, attempting a complicated initiative with hats, red ribbons and a flock of flamingos.
Mary Ann stood a moment to observe and realized the issue. Six was attempting to put these tied ribbons around the birds’ necks, each one with a different letter on it. In theory, it seemed quite simple. In practice, it failed to take into the account that flamingo necks have their own agendas.
“May I help you?” Mary Ann asked after several minutes of tied and then lost bows.
“Oh, would you?” The maid’s voice was all relief. “It’s part of the surprise for Queen Valentina. And they’re being dreadfully dodgy.”
“I suspect flamingo wardrobe is a two maid job,” Mary Ann reassured her.
And, indeed, it proved that when one person steadied the flamingo, while the other tied and hatted, things went along much more smoothly.
“There!” Mary Ann surveyed their work and dusted her hands. “See? Done in two nods of a dormouse’s head.”
“Only now comes the hard bit,” said Six with a sigh.
“I’ve already been bitten hard twice,” admitted Mary Ann.
Six pointed. “You see the letters on them, don’t you?”
“Yes?”
“They’re a message.”
Mary Ann read the crowd of flamingos. “BUNNY RATHER INADEQUATELY VERMIN?” Oh, dear. Mr. Rabbit was not going to like this at all.
“No, no,” said Six. “‘It’s supposed to read: MERRY UNBIRTHDAY QUEEN VALENTINA.”
“Oh, that is an improvement,” said Mary Ann.
“But they simply will not stand in the right order,” said Six. “I ask them nicely, but they don’t listen.”
She was right. In the moment the maids had been talking, the birds had become a jumble of lettering, then: BURN ANY VAIN DEATHLY REQUIREMENT, then a jumble again in the blink of an eye.
Mary Ann said, “Perhaps we should remove the letters altogether. They’d still be very pretty without them.”
“Oh no!” Six’s eyes were all fear. “We can’t remove the letters. We have to have the letters. The Queen specifically asked for this.”
Mary Ann raised an eyebrow. “An Unbirthday banner of well-wishes by hatted, beribboned flamingos?”
“Oh yes. Just that,” said Six.
Mary Ann brushed a lock of hair from her forehead. “I thought you said this was a surprise.”
“Yes, an Unbirthday surprise party. The Queen was very specific about that. She told everyone, then gave us lists with all the details she wanted.”
“Well.” Mary Ann sighed. “Do you not think she might be even more surprised with a banner reading: RUN NERVY HEART INEQUITABLY NAMED?” She indicated the flamingos’ current configuration.
“Not in a way you would enjoy,” said Six.
“Fair enough. Plan B.” Mary Ann turned to the chorus of flamingos. “Could I get the M first?” she called. “The M? Please step forward.”
But the V step
ped forward, a hopeful expression on its face, followed by the Q who then got confused and turned its back to everyone.
“Not you, I want the M. Step back! M please…” She pointed to the bird in question. “You.”
The M blinked and looked round, then nudged someone else forward.
“You see?” said Six. “It’s useless!”
“I believe the trouble is, they do not know their alphabet,” said Mary Ann. “I have an idea. I’ll be back in a moment.”
She searched the various tables of food, and sure enough, found precisely what she needed. She returned to the flamingos holding a silver tray of very large steamed prawns. From four of them, she formed an M shape. “This,” she said, “is an M. You,” she brought the labeled flamingo up. “Are wearing an M.” The moment she showed it to the flamingo, the prawn letter was gobbled up.
“E,” she said, taking two curved prawns to form the letter. She pulled a flamingo labeled E from the group and—gulp!—the flamingo ate the E. On and on this went, prawns into flamingos until all the letters were done.
“Right,” she said. “Now: M-E-R—” And the flamingos began to line up in order. When the whole MERRY UNBIRTHDAY QUEEN VALENTINA was spelled out, she gave each flamingo an additional prawn and promised another at the end of the ceremony, if the job got results.
Six was standing mouth open so wide, Mary Ann almost tucked a prawn into it, as well, but they were running low and needed what they had for the finale. “My goodness, whatever gave you the idea?” breathed Six.
“Well,” Mary Ann considered it, “I just remembered: you are what you eat.”
The flamingo-wrangler held out her hand. “I’m Hexa Hearts, housemaid to Queen Valentina.”
Mary Ann shook it. “Er, Tamsin Woods. I’m from Red Turvy, in Lord Carmine’s household.” She offered a shy smile. “I was wondering if you could tell me: who is that gentleman over there? He’s very handsome.”
“Oh, that’s King Rudolf’s valet, Jacob Morningstar. But I wouldn’t bother with him, if I were you.”
“Does he not socialize with other staff?” Mary Ann asked.
“Oh, he only has eyes for Queen Valentina. Everyone knows that.”
Mary Ann laughed. “Except the King, I’d assume.”
“Oh, I fear the King knows it better than anyone. It’s just…” Hexa looked around nervously and leaned in to Mary Ann, whispering, “One likes that Queen Valentina is properly occupied. When not occupied, things can become—”
“I SPECIFICALLY ASKED TO BE SURPRISED WITH CRIMSON, HEART-SHAPED FLAMINGOS IN HATS WEARING A BANNER! THOSE BIRDS ARE NOT AT ALL HEART-SHAPED AND THEY ARE PINK AT BEST!” It was Queen Valentina, all right. She was possibly the most beautiful person Mary Ann had ever seen. Her rose-gold hair was swept up on top of her head in a cascade of curls, a crystal tiara encrusted with heart-shaped rubies reflecting light like a halo. Her collar was high and framed her flawless heart-shaped face. Her eyes were large and flashing. And her perfect red lips were twisted into a most lovely sneer.
Jacob Morningstar went rushing over to her. Mary Ann couldn’t hear what he was saying, but the Queen did stop shouting.
“You see?” said Hexa.
Mary Ann assessed the fellow in disbelief. “Surely he cannot be the same Knave of Clubs who was known as the Bludgeon of Blackwater in the last game of War?”
Hexa nodded. “The same.”
“Such a contrast, going from blood-thirsty soldier to obsequious servant,” said Mary Ann, trying to picture it now in her mind. “I’m surprised he didn’t join King Rudolf’s Guard instead. What happened?”
“Queen Valentina happened,” the maid told her. “As I said, he is here for her. He stays for her.”
“Would he kill for her?” asked Mary Ann. The question just popped out and she feared it was not possible to put it back in its bottle.
“Anything,” said Hexa, who didn’t seem to find the question at all odd. “Anything for her.”
And this was, perhaps, true because Queen Valentina was all smiles and coyness now, giggling behind her hand and saying, “Okay, nobody sees me! Don’t look yet! I’ll go and come back in!” And she ran off behind some red curtains on the stage.
19
Mr. Rabbit shouted, “Quiet, everyone! She’s coming! Pretend like we’re not here.” And everyone stopped talking. The band stopped playing, and the only thing you could hear was the echoed snoring of that narcoleptic rodent friend of Mr. Milliner’s, who’d fallen into the teapot again.
A sweet voice from behind the curtained stage said, “Why, I wonder what this stage is doing out here on my lawn?” And then Queen Valentina emerged, looked around, read the chorusline of not red-enough, not heart-shaped-enough flamingos, and gasped in surprise. “Why, is this Unbirthday party for me? You shouldn’t have!”
“Presenting Queen Valentina of Neath!” shouted Warren Rabbit. And he blew his trumpet until he looked quite woozy from the effort.
“Recite something!” someone shouted from the audience. It appeared to be one of the Queen’s own courtiers.
“Yes!” said someone else. “Do My Heart Is in the Work!”
“Do Red Roses To Myself!”
“Oh my goodness, well!” Queen Valentina blushed prettily, a fluttering hand going to her chest. “This is such a splendid surprise. But I fear I simply cannot recall anything appropriate to recite off the top of my head like this. If only I’d known to prepare something.”
“Ohhhh,” said the disappointed audience.
“Well…” she considered, “I suppose I do remember this small soliloquy that might be adequate for today …” She demonstrated the microscopicness of it between dainty thumb and forefinger. “From Love and Axes, Act One, Scene Four.’ MUSIC! CUE THE MUSIC!”
A band was suddenly right there playing a moody background accompaniment. And the Queen began:
Within my hands, the pretty, pretty rose,
The sweetly fragrant token of my Love
From tiny sprig was — boop! — awake and grows
As soft and gentle as mock turtledove.
But viny is the path of love once born
And tangled grows the trail so love is lost.
A touch! A kiss! The prick of bloody thorn
Betrays the fickle heart. The love is tossed
Into the garden, dry, the ground it cracks.
The blossoms, once so perfect, come to stop.
Wise gardener must seize the sharpened axe
And with the swiftest blade give it the chop.
But even underground the roots do lie
From scorn and thorn, love shifts to dig and die.
People started to clap, and Mary Ann did, too, but all this trailed away as Queen Valentina launched into yet another verse. It seemed Her Majesty had a slightly different definition of “small.” While Hexa took the opportunity to distribute the second round of payment prawns, Mary Ann decided there would be no better time than now, while everyone was transfixed, to do a little investigation on her own. She slinked off across the lawn to Hearts Castle.
There were so many rooms, Mary Ann almost forgot that she was on a mission and not a pleasure tour. There were sitting rooms and standing rooms, a greenhouse where everything was red, an indoor theater, and a portrait gallery of portraits all painted of Queen Valentina in her various stage performances. There was a memorabilia room which contained posters and review clippings of Queen Valentina’s shows, as well as news articles about the last War, which led to the Hearts family’s rule of Neath. The two topics were treated as logical extensions of each other. There was a library, filled with history books about the Hearts family, but also a surprisingly large collection of contemporary romance novels. The most startling room was the collection of death masks, presumably of people who had displeased the Queen during the course of her illustrious career. Drama critics sat on one side, former political enemies on the other. Mary Ann shuddered at the plaster casts, for they looked altogether too much like th
e original severed heads for Mary Ann’s taste. She made a quick exit and that’s when she found the Armory.
The weaponry was floor to ceiling and included everything from the tiniest dagger to a massive cannon. Mary Ann scanned the room for the axe and momentarily spied it, about halfway up the wall, hung across two pegs. It would be a stretch for her to reach, but not much work for a strapping fellow like Jacob Morningstar. Indeed, anyone with access to the castle and a chair, or a bite of Burgeonboosh, could take it with ease.
“What engages you here, my old friend?” came a voice.
Mary Ann whirled to see Chester, the Duchess’ cat, perched on the back of a chair.
“Oh, Chester! Lovely to see you!” The cat’s bright eyes looked at her sharply, suspiciously. “Er, I’m working for Lady Carmine of Turvy these days. She thought she might have left something in here,” Mary Ann said. “Her … handkerchief. Perhaps it’s over here.” She made a point of peering at the items on a table. It was a stack of large cards, each with a word printed on it. One said, “LAZY,” another “HIDEOUS.” There was “LIAR,” “CHEAT,” “CORPULENT,” “SCOUNDREL,” “VAIN,” “SNEAKY,” “THIEF,” “SMELLY,” “TRAITOR,” and many more. “That’s curious. I wonder what these are doing in the weapons room.”
“You know as well I do that words are sometimes the worst weapons of all,” purred the cat.
He was not wrong.
“And which of those describes you today?” Chester asked and hopped up onto the table. “I would suggest this one…” He pushed the LIAR to her. “And possibly this.” Here SNEAKY was the choice. Then he smiled.
Mary Ann sighed. Of all the people to find her, it had to be this cat. He was generally a lovely fellow, but often too insightful for comfort.