Rose and the Lost Princess

by Holly Webb

  The king beckoned to Freddie and the boy approached him, looking more humble than Rose had ever seen him. The king seemed to grow taller as Freddie came nearer. “I know you would, Frederick, and I am grateful. I will remember your offer. But the girl is more useful—at the moment. I’m sorry.”

  Freddie’s face fell, and he sent Rose a hurt, resentful glance. Rose blinked back apologetically. She didn’t want to endanger her own life exactly; it just seemed to have happened, and obviously one had to if one was asked…She would be quite happy to let Freddie do it if he wanted.

  “Will you be my daughter’s guard, Rose?” the king asked her. “I will tell her you are a new maid. Even she won’t know what you really are. It’s her birthday very soon—I shall explain to my wife that now Jane will be eight, she needs another servant-companion of her own age.”

  Rose blinked. She didn’t know exactly how old she was, but she certainly wasn’t seven. Closer to ten or eleven, she thought. But perhaps even a girl three years older was more of a companion than a lady-in-waiting.

  “She is my apprentice!” Mr. Fountain protested faintly. “I need her! For research!”

  “How is dear Isabella?” the king inquired. “She is of an age with Jane. Such a pity that her talents have not yet begun to show. She would have been even more ideal…”

  “Indeed, a very great pity that so far she has not manifested even the merest smidgen of magic,” Mr. Fountain agreed quickly, sounding as though he thought it was completely the opposite.

  The king gazed at him thoughtfully, and Fountain sighed. “Oh, very well. But I shall require Rose to report to me daily, and I shall be most displeased if anything happens to her!”

  The king’s voice was somber as he replied. “My dear Aloysius. If anything happens to her, it will be because it has also happened to my daughter. And if that should occur, the mood of the populace being what it is, I would not give one farthing for the continued safety of any magician or sorcerer or magician’s apprentice in the city. Your apprentice is guarding your life, as well as that of the princess.”

  Mr. Fountain sank into a chair, clearly forgetting that it was infernally rude to do this without being invited to sit in the presence of the king. Freddie made a tiny move forward, as though to stop him, but then thought better of it.

  “Why can we not see what is going on? How is it being made, this strange, unseasonal winter? Is it connected to the disappearance of the princess? I feel it must be, but I am at my wits’ end, sire!” He ran his fingers into his perfectly combed hair, wrenching at the oiled curls, which showed he really was upset. He sighed deeply. “Very well, sire. I shall allow you to borrow Rose, though it goes against my better nature to leave a child in such a situation. Freddie, I shall need you here to help me in my researches. For the moment, you will need to go back to the house, have someone pack Rose’s things and your own, and return at once. My household is at your service, sire,” he murmured ruefully.

  King Albert nodded. Clearly, Rose realized, he had never had any doubt that it would be.

  Eleven

  The king was not used to waiting for things. He stood up and ushered Rose to the door with a wave of one hand heavily weighted with rings.

  “Wait!” Mr. Fountain strode after them, inserting himself between Rose and the king, one velvet sleeve barring Rose from the door. “Not yet. A few hours, sire. That’s all I ask. She is a very capable child but only a child. She has never been instructed in the defensive use of her magic. Rose’s magic is powerful, but undirected power could do more harm than good.” Breathing fast, he stared into the king’s eyes for a second before he dropped his gaze to become the perfect courtier again. “She will be a stronger guard for the little princess if she has some idea what she is doing,” he said gently.

  The king stared at him, at the upstart magician who had defied his orders, and sighed. “You’re right, Aloysius, I suppose.” He sat down, carefully choosing a less exotic chair this time. “I will watch.”

  Mr. Fountain’s eyebrows snapped up, and Rose gazed at the king in horror, but they could hardly say no.

  “Carry on.” The king steepled his fingers together and leaned back in the chair, looking very much like someone expecting a good show.

  Freddie sat down on a small stool next to him. He was carefully not smirking, but Rose could see he felt like it. She supposed it was only fair—she had stolen his coveted assignment after all.

  “I’m not sure quite how much Your Majesty will appreciate…” Mr. Fountain murmured, but the king stared at him frostily and he sighed. “Very well. Rose. I understand that His Majesty wishes you to be in the nature of a spy, an undercover agent. You know a little about being a lady’s maid from looking after Isabella, I suppose?”

  Rose gave him a doubtful look. “I don’t know if I could do what a princess would need, sir,” she murmured, imagining complicated rules about which crown Princess Jane should wear for breakfast on rainy Thursdays.

  The king waved this away dismissively. “There are ladies-in-waiting. I shouldn’t think there will be much for you to do.”

  Rose gave Mr. Fountain a panicked look. She didn’t like not having anything to do. It felt wrong.

  “Dusting, Rose,” her master told her firmly. “There’s always dusting. And listening. Remember that spell I taught you for hearing lies?”

  Rose nodded, gabbling in her relief—something she knew she could do. “Oh, yes, sir. When you stroke a feather through the air to show you the truth, and I could use a feather from the duster!”

  “Good girl. You see. And protection spells. What have we studied that you could use for protection, now…?” He twirled his mustache thoughtfully.

  “She could hit them with the duster…” Freddie muttered, and everyone glared at him. “You know she can’t do anything useful!” he protested.

  “I can!” Rose snapped. “Just as useful as you could, anyway!”

  Freddie flushed angrily. “I’ve been studying for y-years…” he stammered.

  Rose caught the king’s frown and remembered suddenly that she and Freddie and Mr. Fountain were all in danger here. Protecting the princess wasn’t just about scoring points off Freddie. If anything happened to her, it was quite clear, all the magicians in the country would be held responsible, whether it was fair or not.

  Rose turned around, the skirt of her good wool frock swinging. She was thinking as fast as she could, pulling together all her strange talents for creating pictures, and as she swung back to face them all, she cast out one hand and threw what appeared to be a fiery demon at Freddie and the king. It flared around them, roaring.

  “Good God!” Mr. Fountain struggled out of his coat and used it to douse the creature. “How on earth did you do that? And please, Rose, think! We are supposed to be protecting the princess, which means we do not want to immolate her father. Or Freddie, I suppose.”

  “It wasn’t real,” Rose assured him. “I just borrowed the reflection of the fire on that strange screen with the tigers. I thought it might scare somebody who was attacking the princess.” She looked apologetically at the king. “I just wanted you to see I can do things,” she explained.

  The king stood up, shaking out his lacy cuffs, as though he thought they might be singed. “Quite. Most impressive. Well. I have a meeting with Lord Venn, the Talish envoy. I will be back…in a while. Hm. Good.” He walked to the door in a very stately manner that almost concealed the slight tremor around his knees.

  Freddie uncurled himself from around the back of his stool and scowled. “It wouldn’t stop a magician. They’d know at once it was only illusion. I knew, of course.”

  Rose smiled at him. He would swear blind he wasn’t scared, but she’d seen his face. And she was willing to bet that a fire monster would upset anyone, even the most trained magician, if it popped up when they weren’t expecting it. It would throw them off balance for a
few seconds, and that was enough for Rose to call for help.

  Besides, fire melted snow.

  ***

  Mr. Fountain had been working at a gentle pace in their previous lessons. “I was trying to give you some sense of the myriad intricacies of the universe,” he mourned, pacing up and down the lily-patterned carpet after King Albert made his hurried exit. “Get you to appreciate the beauty and wonder of your heritage.” He turned around and stabbed a finger at Rose. “And instead it all comes down to this, showing you how to throw things.”

  “I think she needs to know rather more than that, sir,” Freddie pointed out. He was still eyeing Rose rather cautiously since she’d set the fire-beast on him.

  “No.” Mr. Fountain shook his head gloomily. “It’s all about throwing things. Bullets. Arrows. Fire monsters. No imagination. No creativity.”

  “Girls can’t throw for anything,” Freddie declared loftily. He spoiled the effect rather by giving Rose a nervous look as he said it.

  “I liked the fire monster,” Rose said in a small voice. She had been quite proud of it.

  “Oh, Rose. It was a wonderful spell.” Mr. Fountain smiled at her, but it was clearly an effort. “But I wanted you to be making things like that for the fun of it, not to frighten people. Don’t you see?”

  Rose nodded. “It is for the safety of the British Empire, sir,” she reminded him timidly.

  That finally made Mr. Fountain laugh. “They should put you on a handbill, dear Rose. Come, we don’t have much time.” He removed his frock coat, revealing a smart purple velvet waistcoat, rolled up his sleeves, and smoothed his mustache to businesslike points. Then he shot suddenly sideways, making Rose squeal, and darted a hand down a very small hole in the wainscoting. He came back up holding a very surprised-looking rat.

  “Ugh.” For once, Rose and Freddie were in agreement.

  “Don’t be silly,” Mr. Fountain murmured absently, waving a hand at the rat, which shivered, squeaked miserably, and turned into a small, toothy man in a hairy brown suit.

  Rose gasped. This sort of thing only happened in fairy stories.

  “It’s just a glamour,” Freddie said doubtfully, trying not to sound too impressed.

  “Of course it isn’t,” his master snapped. “I’m doing it, not him. It’s an extremely complicated enchantment, so I’d thank you to stop chattering and concentrate. Right. Rose. This rat—because he’s still a rat inside, you know—is about to learn that you have stolen the cache of bacon rind he had concealed in a hole under the palace’s third meat larder. He is not going to be very happy about this.”

  “I didn’t!” Rose protested. “Oh! I see what you mean. But what am I supposed to do? Oh no…” She backed away a few paces as the rat man turned and stared at her, showing his horribly yellowish teeth. He had ceased to look pitiful, and now she noticed his glittery little eyes, his claw-like fingernails, and the scuttling speed with which he moved—toward her.

  He’s a rat. Only a rat, Rose tried to tell herself. But she couldn’t stop thinking about the rats in the orphanage dormitories, who nibbled the girls’ toes if they left them sticking out. This rat wanted more than toes.

  Traps. Cheese. Poison. Things one did to rats whirled through Rose’s head. She didn’t have any of them.

  Freddie was grinning at her, blast him. Oh well. Mr. Fountain had said himself that it was really only about throwing things at people. Rose grabbed the spiky water-lily chair and hit the rat with it, quite hard. The poor thing sagged in the middle and disappeared, and suddenly there was a standard-sized brown rat in Mr. Fountain’s hand again, looking even more confused than before. The magician kindly released it back into the hole in the wainscoting before he turned to look thoughtfully at Rose.

  Rose blushed and stared at her toes.

  “Well…I have to admit I’d expected a magical solution, but it did work. A chair in the stomach certainly distracted him from the bacon rind.” Mr. Fountain folded his arms. “I think perhaps you need a more balanced opponent. A bespelled rodent isn’t really an adequate sparring partner.”

  Freddie was looking around the walls, as though he was expecting Mr. Fountain to seize a spider. Then he glanced back at Rose and his master and worked out what was going on.

  “Oh no…that isn’t fair! I can’t hit her, sir! She’s a girl!”

  Mr. Fountain sighed. “Frederick, you are an evil magician. You do not care that Rose is a girl. You are trying to assassinate a princess, who is also, surprisingly enough, a girl. Use some imagination, boy!”

  They kept at it for two more exhausting hours, spell after spell, until it really did start to feel as though it was all about throwing things. Rose was as white as milk, and Freddie looked as though the next bolt of blue lightning would have him in a puddle on the floor.

  “Good. Good,” Mr. Fountain muttered approvingly as Rose pinned Freddie to the wall with a backhanded flick of his own spell. “Ah. Rose, straighten your hair. His Majesty is coming.”

  Rose rather liked royalty looking at her sideways. It made her feel slightly better about her mission, that she was obviously a little bit frightening. She still didn’t feel very frightening. Rose felt as though the spells were all in a jumbled pile in the back of her mind. The chances of rummaging through the mess and grabbing the right one just when she needed it seemed slim.

  “I will arrange for you to report back daily,” Mr. Fountain told her firmly. Rose hugged Freddie—she was almost as surprised as he was—and scuttled after the king as he strode off down the corridor.

  She realized as they walked that he must have abandoned his entourage to visit her master. A number of worried-looking courtiers who’d been lurking on corners gradually formed a little procession behind them. None of them looked particularly happy to see Rose, and she wondered if they knew what she was there to do—perhaps not, as the king had wanted it to be so secret. Probably they had just assumed that she was Fountain’s servant and mistrusted her as they did him. How had the disgraced magician worked his way back into the king’s favor? And what was his spy doing following His Majesty toward the princesses’ suite? Rose could feel the questions vibrating in the air.

  They were heading toward the royal family’s private quarters now. The atmosphere of the rooms was changing, the grand red and gold corridors with their warlike portraits of kings on horseback and bloody battle scenes had given way to papered walls in a softer pattern, without quite so much ornamental gilding and gore. The king seemed to have changed too. He didn’t look back to check that Rose was following—he knew she would be, Rose supposed, since he had ordered her to—but she could see his face as he turned the corners. He was smiling now, and he was walking faster. Rose sighed a silent breath. He loved the children, then. It wasn’t just that Jane and Charlotte were the nation’s darlings, and they were making him the most loved monarch in centuries.

  Of course, that meant he would probably risk anything to save them.

  Including Rose.

  ***

  As they neared the door to the princesses’ rooms, a page boy sprang into action and flung it open, bowing in the same movement so that Rose only saw the top of his head as King Albert swept by. The door led into an anteroom, where there was another page boy—possibly the first one’s twin, Rose wondered, as the tops of their heads looked exactly the same. The boy threw open another door, revealing a beautiful drawing room, with pink-and-white-striped wallpaper and the largest dollhouse Rose had ever seen almost covering one wall. Admittedly, Rose had only ever seen one other dollhouse, the one in Bella’s schoolroom, but this one was a mansion by comparison.

  “Papa! It isn’t Wednesday. What are you doing here?” A girl a little younger than Rose jumped up and ran to the king, smiling delightedly. It looked as though she was going to throw her arms around his waist, but at the last minute she pulled back and curtsied low to the ground. The king raised her u
p and held her in his arms, but Rose couldn’t watch. Did she only see him on Wednesdays? And she had to curtsy to her own father? No wonder Bella didn’t like coming to tea.

  “Darling Jane, I’ve brought you a present.” The king waved an arm at Rose, and Rose blinked indignantly. Really! He might as well have tied a bow around her! One did not give people as presents.

  “This is Rose, your new maid. It is very nearly your birthday after all.”

  The young princess gazed at Rose in surprise. Everyone else in the room looked equally shocked, and those the king couldn’t see glared at Rose. She peered at them under her eyelashes as she curtsied to the princess and shrugged inside. It would be just like home.

  “It’s very kind of you, Papa, but I have so many maids…” Princess Jane said doubtfully.

  Her father waved her objections away. “This girl is your own age, Jane dear. She will be good company for you. Keep her with you always, won’t you? Promise me?”

  Jane nodded, but she glanced in confusion at Rose, clearly wondering why this was so important. Then she smiled at her father, more worried about keeping him with her than his strange gift. “Perhaps I should add her to the pile?” she suggested innocently, turning to show him a table laden with presents. “I just can’t wait another three days!” she complained, laughing. “They’re so tempting. And Charlotte has already got as far as undoing the ribbons on two of them; we had to hide them at the back!”

  “Sire…” One of the courtiers who had followed Rose and the king coughed meaningfully. “Your meeting with Lord Venn—you excused yourself for only a few minutes…”

  The king sighed and stroked his daughter’s hair.

  “I have to go now, dearest. Rose will entertain you, I’m sure.” He glanced at Rose as he turned away, his smile fading and a dark, agonized look settling in his eyes. He nodded slightly, and Rose nodded back. She didn’t know what she was agreeing to—except that she would do what she could. She wondered what else he was expecting.