The Starlight Slippers

by Susan Maupin Schmid

  I was exhausted.

  The lamp on the floor sputtered as if it were about to go out.

  “Are you okay?” Dulcie asked, coming down the stair with a refilled lamp in her hand. “You don’t look too good.”

  Two caressed my shoulder with a concerned air.

  I didn’t have time to sit there; I needed to bound up those steps double-quick and get another dress. Now that the doors to the terrace were standing open, the Princess could waltz outside at any minute.

  “I can’t,” I gasped out loud. “I’m so tired.”

  “It’s late,” Dulcie agreed, and broke into a yawn.

  Which made me yawn—a cheek-splitting, jaw-crackling yawn that rolled my eyes back in my head. I tried to stand up, but my knees refused to cooperate. They were not climbing those stairs again, they let me know in no uncertain terms.

  “I can’t get up,” I told Dulcie, panicked.

  “I could get you a dress,” she said. “I’ll run real quick there and back.”

  She could; she was that fast. And having spent the evening playing games like cat’s cradle, she wasn’t as tired as I was. It was tempting; I reached up for the shoulder of Two—and stopped.

  I had promised the dresses last summer that I’d never leave one off the hanger.

  “I have to do it,” I said, defeated. “The dresses need to either be worn or be on their hangers. Otherwise they…die.” Die came out in a thin whisper.

  Two flinched. But then something unexpected happened. Something heroic. Two loosened its grip and began to return to its original size.

  “No,” I said, clutching its folds. “I can’t let you do this. You’ll be ruined!”

  But Two squeezed my waist. Magic tingled in its touch, and deep down—somewhere I couldn’t put a finger on—it was all right. The dress could be off the hanger briefly. Very briefly, but, still, it had happened before. Sixty-Eight had launched itself off its hanger onto the closet floor to get my attention. And I had to take the dresses off their hangers to put them on. And off myself again in order to hang them back up.

  “Are you really, truly, absolutely sure about this?” I asked Two.

  The magic in it buzzed faintly. Two would risk it. It had been filled up with magic to guard the castle. And now, no matter what the cost, it would carry out its mission until the very end. Whatever that might be.

  Tears welled up in my eyes as Two slithered off me.

  “You have to run faster than you’ve ever run,” I told Dulcie. “You have to hang this dress back on its hanger. And fetch me another.”

  “Okay,” Dulcie said, gathering up the dress.

  “Don’t just grab any one,” I said, catching her sleeve. “Tell the dresses who you are and what you’ve come for! Ask for someone who won’t be dancing! Understand?”

  “I can do it,” Dulcie said, straightening her thin shoulders. “You can count on me!”

  I nodded, knowing that I was putting the fate of Two—and whatever dress volunteered—in her hands.

  “Run!” I started to say, but she was already off, shooting up the stairs like a pebble out of a slingshot.

  Dulcie barreled back down the steps with a coal-black dress over her arm, holding the lamp well away from herself.

  “I’ve got it! I’ve got it!” she announced, flushed.

  “Is Two all right?” I stood up, knees still wobbly as I took the dress.

  “Shipshape,” she said, breaking into a big grin.

  “You’re faster than the Princess’s horses,” I told her. “Which number is this?”

  “Seventy-Four,” she said. “I like sevens and fours.”

  “Good, so do I,” I said, and pulled on Seventy-Four.

  Seventy-four was slashed on the skirt and sleeves to reveal an emerald velvet underdress. The thing weighed half as much as I did. I tugged it up over my shoulder, wondering how anyone could wear something so heavy all day. But Seventy-Four became as light as one of the Pastry Chef’s piecrusts when it conformed to my size.

  Dulcie stared at me, lamp bobbing in her shaking hand.

  “Francesca?” she whispered. “Is that you?”

  “No, silly, it’s me, Darling,” I said.

  She swallowed hard. “If you say so.”

  “It’s me, Dulcie,” I assured her. “Besides, I can’t be Francesca; I’ve already been her.”

  And then I realized that was true. I had. Which meant that I was Faustine.

  I cringed; she was the very last person I wanted to be. I’d forgotten she was at the ball; I hadn’t seen her since early in the evening. But I had asked for someone who wouldn’t dance. Seventy-Four felt my disapproval and became a leaden weight hanging from my waist.

  “I’m her sister Faustine,” I told Dulcie. “Which is perfect,” I added for the dress’s benefit.

  * * *

  —

  Marci laughed when she saw me.

  “I always knew those dresses had a sense of humor,” she said, escorting me out the door.

  This time no one bothered me or spoke to me or even noticed that I was there. I was practically invisible. That suited me fine. I headed to the buffet table and helped myself to a plate of strawberries. Then I parked myself where I could watch the door and the Princess and eat without being bothered.

  Music rolled through the ballroom. Dancers moved and shifted in complicated patterns. The candles on the candelabra burned low. I leaned back against the wall, tired and sore and stuffed with berries. My eyelids began to sag. My knees began to buckle.

  “Whoa, missy,” a voice said as a hand caught me. “Tumbling off to sleep?”

  “Glug,” I said, wrenching my eyes open and staring up into the Stable Master’s face.

  “Tina-bean,” he said. “I thought your mother sent you to bed hours ago.”

  “Umm,” I slurred, too sleepy to talk straight.

  “Off we go,” he said, and scooped me up in his arms.

  The waves rolled as my father held a spyglass to his eye. He was tall and handsome in his blue coat and captain’s hat.

  “There’s a storm blowing in, Darling,” he said.

  The wind howled. The ship pitched beneath me. A gigantic wave slapped at the deck. And swept my father clean away.

  “Father!” I cried.

  “Right here, Tina-bean,” the Stable Master said.

  The world around me was as dark as midnight. It took me a moment to realize that he was carrying me upstairs. I was caught! I was in terrible trouble! I thrashed in his grip.

  Seventy-Four gave me a sharp squeeze, bringing me to my senses. I wasn’t me; I was Faustine.

  “Hold still,” the Stable Master said, “or I might drop you.”

  Perspiration rolled down my face. I’d been sound asleep. For how long? And where in the castle was I now?

  And worse: what was going on back in the ballroom?

  I squirmed uncomfortably; I wasn’t used to being carried.

  “I suppose you’re going to tell me that you’re too old for this?” the Stable Master said with a chuckle.

  “I am too old,” I said, latching on to the excuse. “I can walk all by myself.”

  “All right, Tina,” he said, and set me on my feet. Then he reached to take my hand.

  “I’m not a baby,” I protested.

  He looked sad.

  “No, I suppose not,” he said, sounding as if he wished I were a baby.

  I felt a stab; I’d never had a father carry me to bed. Or take me riding on a pony. Or tell me a story.

  “Thanks…um, Father,” I told him. “I can find my way from here. Good night.”

  “Kiss your old dad good night,” he said, bending over.

  I froze. Kiss the Stable Master?

  He presented his cheek. The real Fa
ustine would kiss her father; she wouldn’t make a fuss. And I had to get out of there without arousing his suspicion. So I stretched up on tiptoe and kissed him very lightly on the cheek.

  He grabbed me in a bear hug and kissed the top of my head. And for a moment, the warmth, the feel of his strong arms, and the scent of leather overwhelmed me. Then he whispered in my ear.

  “I love you,” he said.

  “Love you,” I echoed.

  I tore myself away and bounded up the steps as hot tears coursed down my cheeks.

  It wasn’t fair! Not one little bit. Mean ol’ Francesca and grumpy ol’ Faustine had a real father. All I had was a plaque in the Maritime Chapel.

  Seventy-Four stroked my arm with its velvet interior.

  “It’s okay,” I said, dashing away my tears.

  I might not have had a family or parents, but I had the Princess and the castle. And I was not about to let anything happen to either one.

  * * *

  —

  By the time I circled back to the west wing and found my way to the ballroom, the crowd of dancers had thinned. The banquet table looked as if it had been ravaged by birds. And the music had died down to a single violin.

  The ball was almost over! I’d done it! I, Darling Wray Fortune, Outsmarter of Opals, had kept those slippers out of the starlight! Any minute now, the Princess would bid everyone good night and go to bed.

  And somehow I’d see to it that she never wore those shoes again!

  Princess Mariposa and Prince Sterling lingered by the open terrace doors, gazing out. I hurried over to where they were—to be close to the slippers in my moment of triumph. A cooling breeze drifted in. Outside, the stars blazed in a brilliant display.

  “It’s such a beautiful night,” Princess Mariposa said.

  “Perfect weather,” Prince Sterling agreed.

  “It was the perfect day,” she said.

  “I know the perfect ending,” Prince Sterling replied. “A dance on the terrace!”

  My mouth dropped open.

  “Maestro! A waltz!” Prince Sterling cried out across the ballroom.

  “No!” I shrieked as the orchestra struck up.

  Music rolled through the air, thick and rich and haunting.

  And Prince Sterling and Princess Mariposa waltzed right out onto the terrace.

  I scrambled to the doorway.

  Around and around they whirled. Her skirt flared about her like a pool of moonlight as quicker and quicker they flew. The starlight kissed the jeweled butterfly in her hair and danced along her shoulders. The gems on her gown sparkled as they moved from shadow to shadow.

  I tore my hair. What could I do? I raced out onto the terrace.

  And then it happened.

  Princess Mariposa stepped straight into a pool of milky starlight.

  The starlight opals blazed with color, sending sparks into the darkness. Under the toe of the Princess’s slipper, the ghostly outline of a starburst appeared. I rubbed my eyes. It hadn’t been there a minute earlier.

  Starlight unlocks the opals! I braced myself against the outside wall, waiting for the terrace to split open, the walls to crack, the ceilings to come tumbling down. Waiting for screaming and shouting and—

  The Prince and Princess danced on, unaware. The starburst gleamed solid now, as if starlight had painted it there on the terrace. But nothing else happened. Maybe that was it. It might raise questions once someone noticed the starburst, but if the only thing the opals unlocked was a sparkly image on the terrace, well then—

  A sensation started in the stones against my back, a rising tide of boiling magic, as if the wall itself shivered and shook. Caught by surprise, I stumbled backward, putting my full weight on the wall. Magic lapped over me and coursed through me and ran out to greet the shimmering starburst.

  “Oh no!” I cried, but the magic paid no attention to me.

  The magic hit the starburst, and—whoosh!—a surge of magic rocked the castle, and me with it. Every creature caught in the castle’s web thrummed to life, straining against its hold. My insides wobbled. My head stretched sideways. My hair stood on end. Deep in the magic, the dragons stirred.

  “No, oh no!” I gasped, my tongue as thick as a sausage.

  With a roar of triumph, the dragons reared up and pulled with all their massive might.

  In an instant, every creature in the castle’s web panicked, each bird and beast scrambling to flee to safety. They created such a tumult in the magic that the castle stones themselves bobbled. The magic stretched paper-thin. With a ferocious growl, the dragons yanked all the harder. The other creatures grew frantic. The magic’s hold wavered.

  I gasped in horror. The magic couldn’t fail! I couldn’t let it!

  I gripped the doorframe with my hands and reached through the magic, scrabbling for a hold on the dragons’ collars. I slammed up against the fierceness of their hatred and the scorch of fire on their breaths. Determined, I flattened and thinned until I was half in the magic and half out, desperate to restrain those monsters.

  Say it! the dragons commanded.

  I knew what they meant: say the magic word, Sarvinder. If I broke down and spoke that word—the dragons would rip free.

  “Never!” I told them.

  They sank their teeth into my thoughts.

  SAY IT!

  “Not if I snap in two!” I sobbed.

  They smacked against me with their spiky, scaly tails. Whap!

  My vision blurred. My head spun.

  Thousands of tiny cracks raced through the magic, plunging deep down to the base of the cellars and ripping all the way up to the roof.

  The dragons licked their chops. They’d break free, and then—then they would consume the magic itself. Lap up every tasty drop. Because I understood what Magnificent Wray had been trying to tell Lady Amber in that letter. It wasn’t the starlight slippers that had attracted the dragons so long ago. It was the magic in the slippers. Magic pulled out of the Wrays and put there by her father. No wonder he’d lived to regret it. And I realized why she hadn’t mentioned it in her book. He was her father; she’d wanted to protect his memory.

  Not that finally figuring it out was going to help me any. My heart stopped. My breath died. My eyes glazed. I felt myself about to wink out like a snuffed candle. The dragons screamed in victory.

  Then something deep, deep down in the magic awoke. It reared up like a great stallion tossing its head, champing its bit, and stamping its powerful hooves. The magic snapped those dragons back into its grip like a giant hand closing them in its fist.

  And it held. The magic held!

  Darling, the magic said, breathe.

  My heart thumped. Air poured into my lungs.

  A boom-crack sounded through the night. Overhead, streaks of light blossomed into gigantic flowers in the night sky. The Prince and Princess applauded. The remaining guests hurried out onto the terrace to view the fireworks.

  Gently, like a hen gathering her chicks, the magic wrapped me in its folds.

  Darling, the magic whispered, stay strong.

  It released me into the cool evening breeze. I stood on the threshold, dazed and in one piece. Perspiration trickled down my sides. My knees wobbled, but I was still me.

  Then I realized that the magic wasn’t as unscathed as I—it had held, but at a cost. The thousands of tiny cracks were still there. But the dragons remained bound, and that was enough for the moment.

  I turned and saw softly shimmering starbursts flower on the ballroom’s floor and on its walls. Everywhere I looked, more appeared. I waited with bated breath and clenched fists for someone to notice and start screaming.

  But no one did.

  And nothing else happened.

  I caught the threatening glare of a Footman. I, Darling Wray Fortune, Under-assist
ant to the Wardrobe Mistress, had no business watching the fireworks.

  And then I remembered that I was Faustine. I smirked as if I had every right to attend the ball (which is what I thought a girl like Faustine was apt to do) and pranced back inside. Lady Kaye sat snoring in a nearby armchair, which she’d no doubt commanded be brought in for her. Footmen were clearing away debris from the banquet table. If anyone saw the starbursts glittering everywhere, they paid them no heed.

  In a sense, I’d failed. The starlight had touched the opals. And if the starlight opals had unlocked something more than sparkly images, then they had. There was nothing more I could do. I swayed on my feet, worn to a frazzle.

  Across the room, the eagle eye of Mrs. Pepperwhistle spotted me.

  Me, Darling/Faustine, who’d been sent to bed hours earlier.

  Her eyes narrowed. My heart pounded with terror. There was no way I could deceive her. The minute she caught up to me and I said anything, she’d realize I wasn’t her daughter. Unlike Aster, Mrs. Pepperwhistle wouldn’t let go once she had me in hand. She’d get the truth out of me whether I wanted to tell it to her or not.

  She started toward me with a determined gleam in her eye.

  I abandoned all ladylike pretense and bolted for the servants’ entrances. Behind me I heard the quicksilver tattoo of her dancing slippers in pursuit. I dashed behind the screen and jumped through the door and right into a startled Marci.

  “Come on, come on! Hurry!” I said, grabbing Marci and dragging her to the portal.

  Startled, Marci hit the baseboard lever with her shoe. The wall slid open. I yanked her in and shut it just as the servants’ door opened.

  “What on—” Marci began.

  I slapped a hand over her mouth. Her visage darkened dangerously. She gripped my wrist with her hand and tried to tear it away.

  “Faustine,” Mrs. Pepperwhistle called on the other side of the wall. “Come down here at once!”