The Starlight Slippers

by Susan Maupin Schmid

  I arrived at the main gallery, gasping for breath. A series of beautiful gilded doors rose around me. I’d been in most of these rooms when I was younger, and the Guards had good-naturedly looked the other way as I ogled at their grandeur. I didn’t remember one of them being green. Sixty chose the doors that led to the gold receiving room, and hustled me inside.

  “Green, not gold,” I told the dress.

  But it paid me no heed. It dragged me across the room to another door, which was closed. There it swished impatiently around my hips. I opened the door to a salon I’d never seen: a gorgeous room decorated in shades of green, from the leaf-colored wallpaper to the forest-green draperies to the fern-colored carpets. White furniture with gold trim and apple-colored cushions finished the décor. And between a pair of tall, twisty golden candlesticks hung the portrait of a young woman in a wedding dress. It had to be Queen Candace; I’d recognize One Hundred, the dress in the picture, anywhere.

  I heard voices and snatched up a book someone had discarded on a table.

  “Lady Seraphina,” Princess Mariposa said as she came into the room. “Enjoying the view?”

  Lady Kaye and Madame Zerlina were with her. The mousy girl clung to the shadows behind them as if she were afraid she’d be seen.

  For a moment I was at a loss; then I spied the castle’s rose gardens through the window.

  “Yes, Your Highness,” I said, curtsying. “It’s distracted me from my reading.”

  “Seraphina,” the Baroness greeted me with a nod.

  “Countess Carioca, you are marvelous in stripes,” Madame Zerlina said.

  “Thank you,” I murmured.

  “Don’t let us disturb you,” the Princess said, and headed straight for the portrait.

  I followed along with the others, careful not to get close enough to touch them. I might have looked like Countess Carioca, but my body felt like an eleven-year-old girl’s. I had to be careful or I could get caught.

  Queen Candace smiled out from her portrait as if she knew secrets the rest of us could only guess at. She was beautiful. Her ebony locks resembled the Princess’s. But while the Princess’s eyes were a changeable sea blue, the Queen’s eyes were emerald green. She stood in a garden, one hand holding up her skirt. A lace slipper peeked out from under her hem. Milk-colored gems blazed on the instep.

  “The starlight slippers!” Princess Mariposa said, pointing. “You can see them in the portrait. I never noticed that before.”

  “You weren’t looking for them,” Lady Kaye said.

  I leaned closer to the canvas; rose, blue, and gold twinkled like stars in the milky sky of the gems. The rest of the shoe was obscured by painted shadows. The starlight slippers didn’t appear particularly magical. But could you tell that from a picture?

  “You catch only a glimpse here, but it should give you an idea,” Lady Kaye told the Royal Dress Designer.

  “Lace slippers; terribly impractical. And starlight opals! The rarest jewels of all. I have seen one only once, long ago in a brooch worn by—” Madame Zerlina waved the thought aside. “The Royal Cobbler could make similar shoes—and decorate them with paste gems!”

  “But then they wouldn’t be starlight opals,” Princess Mariposa said.

  “My dear Mariposa, if you require starlight opals, then I shall obtain them,” Lady Kaye said, patting her arm. “Of course, it may delay the wedding….Oh, but not more than a year or two.”

  “So long?” Princess Mariposa cried.

  “Starlight opals come from the farthest east,” Madame Zerlina agreed sadly. “And you’d need several to trim both shoes.”

  The Princess twisted her fingers together.

  I studied the tall, narrow portrait. It seemed odd to me that it pictured Queen Candace in her wedding dress…but no King Richard.

  “Do you think the portrait was larger once?” I wondered out loud.

  “Larger?” Madame Zerlina echoed.

  “When the d-disaster occurred,” I sputtered, catching myself just short of saying dragon. Most people in the castle didn’t remember the dragons, let alone believe that the creatures were real. They hadn’t seen them up close on the roof, like I had. “When the castle burned down.”

  “Seraphina, you astound me,” Lady Kaye exclaimed. “That’s brilliant! Ring for a Footman.” She pointed to the bell pull.

  I tugged on it. Straightaway, two Footmen came running into the salon.

  “Take down the Queen’s portrait,” Lady Kaye commanded, “and turn it around so that Her Highness may see what lies behind it.”

  A bemused Princess Mariposa waited as the Footmen hurried to do the Baroness’s bidding. They struggled to lift the heavy painting down from its hooks. Once accomplished, the Footmen rested its base on the soft carpet and slowly rotated it. On the back of the canvas, you could see the discoloration caused by smoke and a trace of burned edges.

  “It was damaged in the fire,” Princess Mariposa agreed. “How sad. I wonder what the original looked like.”

  “See if there’s anything written on the back,” Lady Kaye said, nudging me. “People used to write secrets on the backs of paintings sometimes.”

  “Secrets?” Madame Zerlina wondered aloud.

  “The location of family heirlooms,” Lady Kaye assured her. “People snoop through letters—”

  I felt a twinge of guilt.

  “But nobody thinks to look on the backs of paintings,” Lady Kaye concluded. “Maybe Candace left us a hint as to what she did with those shoes.”

  I knelt down and looked, but if there had been anything there, it was obscured by the damage.

  “Nothing,” I said, shaking my head.

  “But don’t you think we can find the slippers ourselves?” Princess Mariposa asked Lady Kaye. “The wedding dress is still in Candace’s closet. It didn’t perish in the fire. Surely the slippers must be somewhere?”

  “You can search the castle from the rafters to the cellars if you wish to find these shoes,” Madame Zerlina said. “Or you could wear a lovely pair of—”

  Princess Mariposa’s eyes welled up with disappointment.

  “Or,” Lady Kaye said, pounding the carpet with her cane, “we can search the storage trunks in the attic.”

  “Exactly!” Madame Zerlina said. “That is what I meant!”

  Magic held a special fascination for Father. The King believed that Father discovered it to ensnare the dragons, but really, he’d known about it long before, holding its secret close to his heart. From the time I was a little girl, he’d searched, certain that not only did magic exist but that it could be harnessed like a team of horses. And reined in by his desire.

  Where and how he found it, he would never say. And the evening before he died, I found him in his study, kneeling before the fireplace. His white hair waved around his head in the blasting heat as he frantically shoveled books and manuscripts into the flames.

  He frightened me. His red face shone with perspiration. Soot marred his snow-white beard. His aquamarine eyes blazed bright with fever.

  “They mustn’t tamper with it,” he’d warned me as I urged him to retire and rest. “They don’t understand. They don’t realize what it is.”

  I pleaded with him to stop, but he thrust me away. With a strength he’d not possessed in years, he ejected me from his rooms and locked the door behind me. I went away sobbing, certain that he had gone mad.

  The next day, when we could not raise him, we broke down his bedroom door. He lay on his bed, hands folded over his best gold-embroidered silver robes, hair and beard combed clean—dead. In his study, smoke hung in the air. His bookshelves were empty. Only the small cache of papers he’d left in his desk survived.

  The wealth of what he’d known and what he’d discovered lay in a mound of ashes that overflowed the hearth and littered the singed rug. />
  I pulled the crate stamped ARTICHOKES out from under my bed. Marci had given it to me long ago to keep my treasures in. At that time, I hadn’t any, but I’d clung to the box like a Gardener clutching his last tulip bulb. And now the crate was no longer empty.

  I slid back the lid. My mice friends lay curled up on the mittens and socks Jane had made. Painfully nearsighted, Jane had first knit only for me. But when the Head Cook saw Jane’s fine work, she asked for a hood and mittens. They created such a stir that now Mrs. Pepperwhistle kept Jane knitting for all the servants.

  That suited Jane. She spent her days by the hearth, needles clicking away, a basket of yarn by her side. If she hadn’t been worried about my toes being cold, she’d still be working with the Pickers. I told her how much I loved the socks and mittens, but I didn’t tell her that the chief beneficiaries of her talent were five little white mice.

  Iago opened his eyes and blinked at me. He gave me a warning twitch of his whiskers—he didn’t want his children disturbed. It was too early in the evening for them to be up.

  I nodded, reached in, and gingerly slid my book out. Iago’s ears drooped. His tail curled in a corkscrew. He seemed…sad.

  “Is something wrong?” I asked him.

  He shook his head and snuggled back down next to his children. I bit my lip. I’d never seen him downcast before. Did he need more cheese? Another pair of socks or a scarf, perhaps? Something more challenging to do than keep tabs on the dragons for me?

  “Are you sure everything’s all right?” I asked him.

  His tiny brow creased. He burrowed deeper into the lavender wool. One of his children rolled over in his sleep—and off his mitten. His eyes popped open when he felt the rough wood. He sat up and stared at me. His tiny eyes grew round.

  I suppose I was quite the giant to someone his size. But after a minute, he overcame his shock and scampered to the side of the box.

  “How do you do?” I asked, and received a string of squeaks in reply.

  Now, try as I might, I had never mastered Mouse. Iago communicated with me through pantomime. But if Jane had taught me one thing, it was manners.

  “Good evening,” I said. “I’m Darling.”

  He squeaked louder, something like Eeckabonbon, which I assumed was his name. Or rather her name, now that I looked closer. Her eyes were blue, and she had the most delicate pink ears.

  “What a nice name,” I said politely, not wanting to admit I couldn’t pronounce it. “Shall I call you Bonbon?”

  The little mouse wriggled with delight.

  “And I’ll call your siblings…Éclair, Flan, and Anise!”

  Iago opened one eye. Obviously, those weren’t the names he’d chosen for his children, but after a moment’s reflection, he nodded and went back to sleep.

  I put my hand down, and Bonbon hopped aboard. I held her up where I could talk to her without disturbing the others. She chittered away as if telling me a mighty tale of woe. I listened, wondering what had her so excited. Finally, she yawned so hard that her eyes disappeared in her furry face. I bid her good night and put her back on my mitten. Then I pulled the lid closed and pushed the box back where it belonged.

  I settled on my bed and ran my thumb down the spine of the slim gray book. My Father, Magnificent Wray, by Lady Amber DeVere, it read. Gillian had asked Lady Kaye if she had any books on the Wrays. And Lady Kaye had given her this.

  It told me only so much and no more. Lady Amber neglected to mention the starburst key—or the starbursts at all, for that matter. Instead, she wrote about her father’s life. It was interesting, sure. But it didn’t help me figure out what Cherice’s inheritance had been or how it fit into the magic. I kept revisiting the book in case I’d missed some clue. But if one was there, I hadn’t found it.

  “You disappeared after supper,” Gillian said, plopping down on the bed next to mine.

  “I didn’t want Dulcie to follow me,” I said.

  “Are you going to waste the evening reading?” She leaned forward with a mischievous grin. “Or are you going to have an adventure with me?”

  “What kind of adventure?”

  “A dress kind,” she said, arching an eyebrow.

  “We can’t risk Dulcie finding out about that.” I studied the closed cover of the book.

  “The Icers are rolling fondant roses for the wedding cake,” Gillian said. “They have hundreds to make. So they’re starting now.”

  “And? You need a dress to swipe one?”

  “No, goose. Dulcie dear is helping them. You know—filling bags, mixing colors, the easy stuff. She begged until they gave in.”

  “Really?” I set the book down.

  “They’ll be at it for hours,” Gillian replied. “Roger had some”—she rolled her eyes—“whatever to do in the stables. And I heard that Mrs. Pepperwhistle volunteered Francesca to help address the invitations. Apparently, she has nice penmanship.” Gillian shrugged as if even Francesca had to have one talent.

  I was up and out of the dormitory before Gillian could blink. I raced down the corridor. She ran behind me, laughing. We bolted through the wardrobe hall and into the closet. Our arrival stirred up a drowsy Lyric and caused the dresses to flutter expectantly on their hangers.

  The dresses vied for my attention, bouncing and flashing away. Until they spied Gillian. While the dresses had given Roger the cold shoulder, they had taken to Gillian like a long-lost friend.

  “Good evening,” she purred, tidying a bow here, a flounce there. “You’re looking lovely.” The dresses swelled under her touch. “Where shall we search next?”

  The dresses rustled on their hangers, but I knew she wasn’t asking them. She was talking to me. We’d taken turns sneaking back into the King’s reading room to try the key. We’d had to go at lunchtime when we were sure Dulcie was elsewhere. But we’d found nothing. So where to go next?

  “The kitchens are a waste of time—there isn’t a lock there that hasn’t been opened a million times,” I said.

  “True,” she replied. “Do you remember you told me that Cherice kept mumbling about six and seven?”

  “Yes, but six and seven could mean anything.”

  “I’ve been thinking.” Gillian feathered a ruffle with her fingers. “What if she was counting, like six of one thing and then seven of another?”

  “Okay, but six and seven of what?” I asked.

  “What about the library? Shelves of books. Six across, seven down. Or the sixth book in the seventh bookcase—”

  “There are a million books in there! How would we ever guess which one?” I argued. “Besides, you don’t need a key to open a book.”

  “Maybe there’s more in the library than books?” Gillian said.

  “Oh!” I said. “The King’s special collection sits inside a locked cabinet. Magnificent Reflections, that book written by Magnificent Wray, was on one of those shelves.”

  The dresses shivered with delight; the library books were full of magic. Not exactly the same flavor as in the dresses, but it was magic all the same. And I’d only ever gotten a glimpse of the library. The Royal Librarian wasn’t fond of me since I’d been found with a book from the library. He’d lent it to me—but I’d been wearing one of the dresses, so he hadn’t known it was me. Which made it impossible to explain how the book had gotten into my hands.

  “Master Varick won’t exactly welcome us,” I said.

  “Silly,” Gillian said.

  Eighty-One flashed a sequin at her.

  “Not you, lovey—Darling,” she told it. She poked me. “You will distract the Librarian while I—” She twisted her fist as if she held an imaginary key.

  Eighty-One caressed my arm with a gossamer sleeve. The deep purple dress had shoulders and sleeves made of chiffon as sheer as a spiderweb. Crystals and sequins twinkled over the shoulders and met
in the center of the satin bodice to form a V. Below a girdle of crystals and sequins, the skirt billowed out in layers of chiffon. Matching slippers sat on the rose-patterned carpet beneath it.

  “Eighty-One agrees with me,” Gillian said. “Let’s go.”

  I handed her the key and took Eighty-One off the hanger. I slithered into it. The crystals and sequins blazed as the dress gave me a welcoming squeeze. Then, in a purple flurry, it transformed into my size.

  “I know you,” Gillian said. “You’re Lady Kaye’s daughter Lorna, the Duchess of Umber!”

  “Really?” I asked, turning to see myself in the mirror. A tall, hazel-eyed lady with brown hair piled atop her head regarded me from the glass. She wore a spectacular ruby necklace and a dress that might have come from one of the Princess’s closets. “How do you know her?” I asked.

  “I don’t know her,” Gillian said, “but I’ve seen her with the Baroness. Lady Kaye talks about her all the time.” Gillian clasped a pretend cane. Then she threw her head back and eyed me down her nose. “ ‘She has iron in her bones,’ ” she said, imitating the Baroness. “ ‘Iron, I tell you!’ ”

  “Then no mere Librarian will stop her,” I said, chuckling. “Good work, Eighty-One.”

  A sequin winked at me.

  “Let’s look at books!” I cried.

  “Wait,” Gillian said, grabbing my arm. “Why don’t you wear the shoes, too?”

  Most of the hundred dresses didn’t have matching shoes, but if one did, I’d never worn them.

  “They won’t fit,” I said with a laugh, remembering the orangey-scarlet shoe on the Princess’s foot.

  “Shouldn’t they work like the dresses?” Gillian arched an eyebrow.

  I pondered that. Eighty-One’s skirt swayed in the direction of the matching shoes. I’d never considered wearing them before. But what Gillian said made sense. And they were gorgeous.

  I unlaced my boots and set them aside. Then I slid my feet into the purple slippers. The crystals and sequins across the insteps flashed brilliantly. Magic bubbled under my toes, tickling them.