“What are you saying, Cyril?” Juniper said. She was not nearly as impressed by this information as Oona appeared to be; the girl was practically swooning in her seat.
Cyril smiled placidly. “I’m not saying anything. Only . . . I’ve never seen a storm flash red before.”
His words sent a ripple of unease through the group, as kids turned to each other, muttering and questioning. Juniper herself felt shaken. She scanned the sky for long minutes, but it had resumed its peaceful look. The tendril of fear stayed, though, twining and twisting its way around the circle. Juniper realized that the mood of the group was in her hands. Pushing her own worries into a hard knot deep in her belly, she stood up and cleared her throat, waiting until the brabble stilled and all eyes were upon her.
“Speech!” Tippy called from her seat.
Juniper knew there was nothing she could do about the ominous sky. She had no way to know what was befalling her father or her country back home. All that was in her control was this moment, this place, these subjects. And that, she could handle.
“Here we are,” she said. Then she squared her shoulders and put her hands on her hips, as she’d seen her father do when he addressed the court. It was a subtle change, but had the effect of pulling in the onlookers’ attention, like sucking water through a straw.
She raised her voice: “Let’s take a moment for reflection, shall we? Only think how far we’ve come to get here!” A murmur rose, then died out just as quickly. “Look,” she went on, “none of us know what’s going on back home. But we do know this: My father, our King Regis, has ruled Torr for the last twenty-nine years, and he’s come through plenty of hard times. He’s promised that he will send us word when all is safe, and that will certainly be well before our planned return trip in two weeks. Until then? We just need to sit tight. Keep busy. And enjoy our brand-new kingdom!”
The response was louder now, with calls of “Queen Juniper!” and “Queen’s Basin!” and “Hurrah!”
She lifted her hands, and the noise stilled. The knot in her stomach hadn’t loosened, but she managed to keep her voice steady and strong. “We’ve done some good settling in today, and that’s something to be proud of. Roddy and Erick turned those diagrams of Master Dorfman’s into the best pull-and-lift device I’ve ever seen. We’ve got a start to our dining area”—she waved a hand at their circle of boulders—“and there’s Filbert and Paul to thank for that. And Leena for this great meal—and a good start on the kitchen, to boot. Toby got the horses settled for the night and found a temporary spot for the goats and chickens. That’s pretty astonishing for just day one!”
She waited while the cheers and scattered applause died down. “But I don’t need to tell you how much more we’ve got ahead of us. Erick and I were planning all afternoon, and here’s what we figure: We need to get proper animal enclosures set up first thing and establish a method for their care. We need to start on the edible gardens. We need to get the kitchen in a good working order.”
“And a cooling box, if we might,” cut in Leena. “Perhaps an oven, in time.”
Juniper nodded. “Remember, this trip is about doing the basics. Setting up our country. Building the framework, if you like. When we head back to Torr, it will be for a week or two as we recruit more settlers and gather additional provisions. So this time, right now, is for kicking things off right. We’ve all got to do our part—and that means cleaning up as we go, too. Dishes and general tidiness, all of that. We want a place we can be proud of! We’ll get our kingdom running smooth as rivers before we head out, so we have something solid to bring our bigger group back to. A true summer kingdom all our own!”
There was a disdainful snort from the outer circle, and Juniper’s only surprise was that it had taken so long to come.
“You have something to add, Cyril?”
He stretched out his long legs and drawled, “Only my most respectful observation: It would take a lunatic to imagine that this ragamuffin group could make any kind of a so-called country work.” He paused. “Your Highness.”
Cheeks burning, Juniper forced herself to take several slow breaths before she answered. “If that’s your opinion, then there’s nothing I can do to change it. But how Queen’s Basin works depends upon each of us, doesn’t it? If you want to be here, you’ll have to do your part, like everyone else.”
At this, Cyril rose slowly to his feet, seeming to tower over her even from across the circle. “Ah, but I don’t want to be here. That’s the point, isn’t it? I wasn’t given a choice, and I’m bolloxed if I’ll lift a finger alongside these boot scrubbers and dough rollers.”
“You may not want to be, but you are here!” Juniper snapped. “And you have to mind what I say. It’s the rules!” Why was it that every confrontation with Cyril left her feeling more like a petty child than an actual ruler?
Cyril strode across the circle to stand in front of her, matching her stance exactly. He loomed over her by nearly a full head. “Oh, do I?” he sneered. “And what’ll happen if I don’t?”
Juniper met his gaze, but didn’t trust herself to speak. What could she possibly say that would make any difference?
“I thought so,” he said, then turned on his heel and strode off into the darkness. Root and Jessamyn stood, looked uncertainly around the circle, then scurried after him.
“All right, everyone,” Juniper said wearily into the silence that followed. “Let’s make quick work of this dinner mess and then we can all turn in.”
• • •
That night, Juniper slept restlessly. She’d settled into her new bedchamber in the hollow of the Great Tree, returning from the disastrous dinner to find that Tippy had made her up a cozy-looking bed.
“Pinched the long seat cushions from the royal carriage, didn’t I?” the little girl crowed proudly. She’d also scrounged up a smaller cushion to use as a pillow, and a pile of duvets fluffy enough to rival Juniper’s bed back in the palace.
“This is magnificent,” Juniper breathed. And then, loving that she could say this now without any fuss: “Thank you, Tippy.”
The little girl beamed and turned to go.
“Where will you be sleeping?”
“Out there somewhere?” Tippy said vaguely.
Juniper smiled. “Do you have a bed set up, then?”
Tippy took a deep breath. “Got to be nearby in case you need me in the night. That’s what Elly said afore I left. ‘Be always nearby her Highness’s side, but don’t go making a nuisance of yourself,’ that’s what she said.”
Something undercut her words, a nervous energy that Juniper couldn’t quite figure out. Then Tippy’s shoulders slumped. To Juniper’s surprise, she scooted past the chamber’s narrow opening, took hold of the knobby trunk with both hands, and started climbing straight up. “This way, then, Your Most Princessful,” she called gloomily over her shoulder.
Mystified, Juniper found that the bark had been notched to make an easy-climbing ladder. She followed Tippy up the tree. Immediately above her own room was a second opening—small and round, like the burrow of a very large squirrel. A girl-sized squirrel, possibly. As Tippy disappeared inside, Juniper leaned in after her. The chamber had satiny wood walls with rippled edges. Wildflowers had been wedged and woven into cracks in the walls, and the very air was the woodsy perfume of summer. On one wall was tacked a delicate charcoal sketch of a girl’s smiling face. Elly.
“I’d only thought . . .” said Tippy, and Juniper realized the girl was on the verge of tears. “I found this spot, and it just felt so . . . round? Like a nest, it were. But I shall move out directly.” She reached over and began pulling down the flowers.
Juniper caught Tippy’s arm in surprise. “Why would you move out? This is the most perfect little chamber I’ve ever seen. No bigger than a button, but if you’re comfortable here, then it’s yours.”
Tippy’s whole face opened
up. “Truly, Your Royalty? You would give me my own room, in your own tree palace?” And the little girl dove forward, arms outstretched.
The timing was unfortunate. Perched as Juniper was on the rim of the opening, the tackle-hug knocked her backward and the two toppled, like a half-made sandwich, to the smooth wood floor below.
Tippy scrambled to her feet and poured out a stream of apology, fanning the winded Juniper with her skirts and patting her cheeks with grubby hands.
“I’m quite all right,” said Juniper, recovering herself. She stood. “Wait a moment, though—I have something to give you before you climb back up.” Leaning into her chamber, she grabbed a thick quilt from her bed and thrust it at the astonished Tippy. “Take this. No, don’t you dare hand it back. I’ve got plenty, and look what a warm night it is! We’ll see what else we can get for you tomorrow, but you must use this in the meanwhile. I insist.”
Tippy took the cover, shaking her head solemnly. “And after I pushed you clear out of a tree! You are the cat’s royal whiskers, milady. I mean that most sincerely.”
Juniper grinned. “Thank you, Tippy. And now we’d best head to bed. Shall I toss the quilt up after you? It’s awfully bulky.”
“No need,” Tippy replied. She reached up and tied two corners around her throat so the quilt trailed behind her like a fluffy patterned cloak. Then she stood on tiptoes and kissed Juniper on the cheek. “Night, Your Princessness,” she said, with a smile and a curtsey bob. “Hope that don’t bother you none. Elly never let me go to bed without my good-night kiss.”
Then she scurried up the trunk to her tree hole with the quilt sweeping behind her like a train, leaving Juniper to her snug bed, her warm cheek, and a curious lingering sense of belonging.
Still, once Juniper had changed into her nightclothes and curled up under her covers, sleep felt as far-off as the palace walls. What was her father doing right now? She thought of his final good-bye—was it really just two nights ago?—and the emotion that had swept his face. He’d clearly been wondering if he was right in letting her leave, and Juniper had dashed off as quickly as she could, fearful to the last that he would change his mind and send them to the coast instead—or keep them home altogether. But he’d just hugged her tight and told her to take care and that he’d see her soon. She’d left with barely a backward thought.
Only now, in the dark, did she reach out and pull him close again in her mind, whispering to him all those things you can never tell a parent face-to-face. Even when you only have one of them left.
THE NEXT MORNING, JUNIPER ROSE BEFORE dawn. According to her brand-new schedule, she could sleep for several more hours, but her body seemed not to care and popped her wide-awake anyway. She dressed quietly, determined not to wake Tippy so early. She was pleased to have brought some dresses that had no eyehooks or heavy lacing up the back. Her trunks and traveling cases had been towed up the day before, thanks to a smaller pulley system Roddy had set up at the base of the tree. These had been stacked to form a makeshift wall in front of her little room, sectioning off some personal space from the rest of the wide-open platform.
Her toilette was quickly accomplished—clever Tippy must have slipped out late to fill her washbasin—and her teeth cleaned with a good chew of licorice root. She slid her bone-carved comb from its hidden pocket in her sleeve and ran it through her long curls. They probably still looked wispy as a summer field, but given the setting, that felt curiously all right.
Now she had two important things to tend to.
Lifting the lid on her clothing trunk, she slid aside the soft skirts and silky undergarments and hefted out the timepiece. It was nearly half her height, and she wished she’d thought to take it out before the trunks had been hoisted up the tree. But she had no patience for waiting now. Wrapping it tightly in one of her duvets, she tied the pulley rope securely around the bundle and lowered it to the springy ground below. Then she scrambled down to inspect her handiwork. Perfect!
It took some effort to get the timepiece to the spot she’d selected, midway between the cooking area and the soon-to-be dining hall, where the sitting stones were still gathered in a loose circle. There was a flat rock, waist height, and last night Leena had used it to lay out the serving dishes. But this would be better. Juniper heaved the timepiece up onto it, then stuffed some fallen dropsy leaves under the base so it didn’t teeter.
The moment it was in place, Juniper felt better. Stronger. More organized. She lifted her outer skirt and polished the glass surface of the timepiece till her own satisfied reflection smiled back at her. She was responsible for the time and scheduling of an entire country, after all. She would need to be extra vigilant and make sure to keep everyone well on track. Reaching into her waist-pouch for her journal, she added an item to her list: Assign someone to perform a check of the timepiece every second day at high noon.
Her next task would take a little longer. She collected the bulky satchel containing the device her father called the Beacon, and set off up the cliffs that overlooked Torr. She really should have done this the moment they’d arrived, but she’d wanted to scout a bit and find the perfect spot. Plus, she’d preferred to wait till no one else was around. Her father’s most prized form of communication was best kept to herself, or to a trusted few. The crag she’d finally settled on took longer to reach than she’d expected, what with lugging her heavy load up the rocky escarpment. Finally, though, she was there.
Juniper took a moment to collect her breath and stretch her arms, then she set to work. She gathered a mound of stones, stacking them to form a rough cave with the open side facing Torr. In there, she affixed the Beacon. Four separate whisper-thin strands of metal twined loosely around a blown-glass stem. This marvel of Gaulian craftsmanship responded to the buffet of wind with a thin stream of sound—so faint and high-pitched that Juniper could hear it only if she concentrated hard. The messenger would hear the Beacon loud and clear, though.
“A week at the most,” her father had said.
All that was left now was to wait.
With her tasks accomplished and the sun barely scratching at the horizon, Juniper took the rest of the time until breakfast exploring her new kingdom more carefully. She walked along the riverbank with her parchment map in hand, stopping to sketch in the details of places she’d rushed by the day before. She discovered an old wooden bridge crossing the river not far downstream from the Great Tree. Could this, too, have been built by her father? Juniper felt a little thrill as she drew it in on the map.
Farther down the North Bank, she came to the fruit orchard. The trees were young, most barely taller than she was, with skinny trunks and spindly branches. But, oh, they were leafy! And more than that: They were bursting with fruit. With little effort, she identified a handful of apricot trees, two especially fruitful fig trees, and a whole grove of sugar chestnuts. There were bushes, too: mulberries and redcurrants and—her absolute favorite—prickly-leafed carmines. Her mouth watering in anticipation, Juniper tugged up her kirtle and gathered handfuls of the large, pale berries.
By the time she turned to head back, tottering a little with her awkward load, she could hear a hum of conversation coming from the dining area. She smiled as she hurried across the bridge. What would Palace Juniper have thought of an entire morning’s unscheduled, unsupervised, largely unproductive adventure? Juniper of Queen’s Basin, on the other hand, felt rather proud of her early-morning jaunt.
“Good morning, everybody!” she called as she approached the yawning circle. Cyril and Root were nowhere in sight, and Juniper wasn’t sure if she felt irritated or relieved. Equal parts of both, perhaps. Jessamyn was there, and visibly fuming.
Juniper poured her carmine berries into a clay pot and plopped it on the low center table stone. “Anybody hungry?”
Leena’s eyes lit up and she rushed off toward the kitchen. The others stuttered to life, slowly at first, then with more gusto as the deli
cious berries began to work their magic.
“So what’s that new thingummy over there?” Tippy chirped between mouthfuls.
Juniper beamed. “Oh, that’s the timepiece! Surely you’ve seen some of these up around the palace? They’re such a wonder, and ever so simple to read! By these lines and markers, you can tell the time nearly to the minute.” The fine, silvery sand trickling through the maze of stops and levers behind the glass seemed to mesmerize the watchers. Or maybe they were still just half asleep.
“It’s almost like magic, innit?” Tippy said at last.
“Almost,” Juniper replied. “But far more useful. This is how we’ll know when to come for meals, and when to rise, and all the other elements of our daily schedule.” She looked eagerly around the circle, but for some reason, the others didn’t seem nearly as thrilled by the concept as she was. They would come to see its value, though, in time.
The silence was broken by Leena’s call that the rest of the food was ready. And it was astonishing how much rewarmed griddle cakes and steaming mugs of carob-flavored goat’s milk (Toby had been up early at the milking) could do to perk up a mood. As the sun slid hot fingers across their backs, soothing tired muscles in a warm sweep of relaxation, Juniper put down her plate and savored the satisfaction of a meal well eaten before finally turning to call the group back to attention.
“I’ve got two things to say,” she said, thinking how much easier it was to stay in charge without Cyril’s bulldog scowl on the fringe of her circle. “First, we shall divide into groups to start on our key tasks. Oh—don’t forget to take your dishes with you when you go. There’s a washing setup in place by the riverbank—couldn’t be easier.” She pulled the journal out of her waist-pouch and opened it to the right page. “Now, when I call your name, go on over and make up your groups, all right? So, Toby, you’re on animal enclosures and upkeep, with Oona and Tippy. Roddy and Filbert, kitchen construction. You can talk with Leena about what exactly she needs. She’ll be there to help you out, too, when she’s not cooking.”
Princess Juniper of the Hourglass Page 10