As they drew nearer to the castle, Elspeth was surprised at its appearance. Of the two kinds of castles, she had imagined it would be more fortress and less fairy princess, more dark, roughly hewn stone than symmetrical blocks of bright white, perfectly stacked in slender towers and topped with conical, red-tile roofs. In short, it certainly did not seem like the home of an evil overlord.
Just outside those gleaming walls was a smattering of cottages comprising the village of Banbury Cross. The residents pointed at Elspeth as if she were some sort of celebrity. In fact, with all the attention, she was beginning to feel how she imagined a celebrity might: important and powerful, yet vulnerable and uneasy.
Her level of anxiety increased with each step forward. She had never met royalty before. Unless she were to count William the Umpteenth, but Elspeth saw very little regality in a man the size of a small table lamp who lived in a cave and was prone to bouts of lunacy. This, on the other hand, was the real thing: horses, an enormous castle, and . . . that smell. What was that delectable mingling of odors that greeted Elspeth’s twitching nostrils? Eager for more, she took the opportunity to draw in several large breaths. “What is that?” she asked. “It smells unbelievably good.”
“The feast, ma’am,” said the man with the sideburns that resembled two dead squirrels. “Celebrating your arrival.”
And there it was—yet another indication that perhaps the stories Dumpty and the others had told were, if not outright false, then perhaps exaggerated to some degree. After all, how horrible could Krool be if he were thoughtful enough to prepare a feast in her honor? On her very own birthday the best her own parents could ever muster was a store-bought cake and a lousy scoop of ice cream.
As Elspeth and her entourage crossed into the castle’s long shadow, the drawbridge was lowered while the portcullis behind it rose up slowly with the grinding of heavy chain. The tired horses clomped across the bridge and into a large courtyard. All around them were small shops that catered to the soldiers and the king’s personal staff. With clapboard roofs, the shops sat side by side and offered up everything from candlesticks to fresh meats to scrumptious tarts, some still cooling on the window ledge.
The man leading Elspeth’s horse stopped the beast in the middle of the courtyard and offered his hand, which she took as a sign that she was to dismount. “The king’s valet will be by presently to tend to your needs,” he said. “Until that time, please make yourself at home.”
Ride a black horse to Banbury Cross,
To meet a fine man who’s made himself boss.
Rings on his fingers, don’t step on his toes,
For he will bring torment to all who oppose.
Chapter 11
As the soldiers rode off toward the stables, Elspeth stood in the courtyard beneath a clear blue sky, looking around in awe at the enormous structure that literally surrounded her. Before today, the nearest she’d ever been to a castle was Maryanne Schnecter’s seventh birthday party, which was held at a miniature golf course. But this castle was the real deal, and Elspeth loved everything about it.
What she found most appealing were the wonderful smells, and she could not help but wander over to get a better look at the sausages hanging in the window of the butcher shop. She leaned toward them, closed her eyes, and breathed in their rich aroma. Her heart nearly stopped when she heard, “No loitering!”
Until then she hadn’t noticed the sign printed with those exact words. Elspeth found herself both startled and annoyed.
“All right, all right,” she said. “No need to yell. I was just . . .”
“Do you have any money?” the sign demanded.
“Uh . . . no,” said Elspeth.
“Then you’re loitering!” said the sign. “Now knock it off.”
Elspeth shook her head in disgust and moved on to the bakery. Recently there had been some trouble involving the Knave of Hearts stealing some tarts. As a result, a sign had been posted out front that read, SHOPLIFTERS WILL BE PROSECUTED TO THE FULLEST EXTENT OF THE LAW.
When she was within a few feet of the shop, the sign barked out, “Watch it now! Shoplifters will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law!”
“I can read,” she snapped back. “Good grief. That’s not very good public relations, you know. Threatening potential customers like that.”
“No offense, ma’am,” the sign replied. “Just doing my job.”
“You’ll be out of a job when this place goes bankrupt due to lack of sales. Treating people like common criminals. How insulting.”
“I’m sorry. I feel horrible now,” said the sign, wilting slightly. “I really do. You know what?” Then, despite its complete absence of eyes, the sign appeared to look first left and then right before turning back to Elspeth and whispering, “Why don’t you go ahead and help yourself to one of the tarts? On the house.”
“Seriously?”
“Consider it a free sample. How’s that for customer service?”
“That’s very nice of you,” said Elspeth as she eyed the tarts, trying to hone in on the most delicious of the lot. “I’ll make sure and tell all my friends to shop here.”
As Elspeth carefully lifted the chosen tart, she realized her hand was trembling. It had been a very long time she’d last eaten. Greedily she shoved the tart toward her mouth and took a bite. Before the flavor could even make its way from her taste buds to her brain, the sign shouted out, “Thief! She’s stolen a tart! Burglary! Robbery! Thievery! Arrest her!”
Elspeth spat out the half-chewed bite and threw the remainder of the tart to the ground.
“What?” she screeched. “You told me to take it.”
“If I told you to jump off a bridge, would you do that?” the sign shouted back.
“You should be ashamed of yourself. Of all the sneaky, dirty tricks.”
“I’m sorry,” said the sign with a sigh. “It’s just that I have a quota to meet. Five shoplifters a week or they’ll fire me. You understand. Tell you what. Let me make it up to you. See that butcher shop over there? The owner is a personal friend of mine. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind if you helped yourself to a sausage or two.”
“You think I’m falling for that again?”
“That’s quite enough,” echoed a voice from across the plaza. The source of the voice, a tall, thin man with longish blond hair and a brownish-yellow mustache hurried over. “I’m quite sorry about that, Ms. Pule,” he said as he reached Elspeth and took a moment to catch his breath. “Rest assured this incident shall not go unreported. Pardon me. My name is Georgie, His Majesty’s personal valet.”
“Georgie? As in Georgie Porgie?” Elspeth replied.
“Georgie Porgie puddin’ and pie,” Georgie replied as if reciting a corporate slogan.
“Speaking of which, when do we eat?” said Elspeth, as she felt hungrier than ever before after having gotten a quick taste of that tart.
“Right,” said Georgie. “The feast. You must be very excited to meet His Majesty, King Krool, Ruler of All the Land, Lord of the Seas and the Moon, Duke of Banbury Cross, Baron of Gotham, Royal Knight Companion—”
“Yeah, yeah,” Elspeth interrupted. “Duke of pickled peppers and peach pie plum, blah, blah, blah. I just want to know when I can have some food.”
“I see,” said Georgie, who seemed genuinely disappointed in not being allowed to finish reciting the king’s full and official title. “It shouldn’t be long. Why don’t we get you inside and you can change for the party?”
“I didn’t bring a change of clothes,” said Elspeth. She looked down at her aquamarine T-shirt and faded jeans, dirty from her encounter with the torcano, and for the first time she worried that she might be underdressed for the purpose of meeting with royalty. “I didn’t know I’d be coming here.”
“Not to worry,” said Georgie. “In anticipation of your arrival, the king’s personal tailor has put together an ensemble I think you’ll find most elegant. He’s quite in fashion these days. Anyone who’s anyone i
s wearing Bobby Shafto.”
“You mean Bobby Shafto’s gone to sea, silver buckles at his knee? That guy?” asked Elspeth.
“He designed this little number,” said Georgie. He raised his arms and performed a full pirouette. “What do you think? Is it too much with the ascot and the epaulets?”
Elspeth, who had no idea what an ascot or an epaulet was, just looked at Georgie and said, “Looks fine to me.”
“Oh good,” said Georgie. “The last thing I would ever want to do is show up his lordship. All right then. This way, please.”
Georgie turned on his heel and walked quickly across the courtyard, and Elspeth followed.
“He really is a wonderful man, you know,” Georgie said. There was a gleam in his eye as he spoke. “A truly great leader who has done so much for his people.”
Georgie stopped and pulled open a heavy wooden door. “We’ll take a shortcut through the kitchen,” he said.
They stepped from the breezy courtyard to the busy kitchen where workers hustled about, stirring this and dicing that. There were bubbling pots and sizzling fry pans. On a long counter running through the center of the room rested the most enormous pie Elspeth had ever seen, its diameter perhaps equal to that of a tractor tire.
“Wow” was all she could manage at first glance. “I’m more of a cake person, but that looks pretty darned good.”
“I should hope so,” said Georgie. “It’s my most important duty, to oversee the making of all pudding and pie. Tonight we’re having the king’s personal favorites: plum pudding and everyberry pie.”
“Everyberry pie? You mean it has . . . ?”
“Every berry,” said Georgie, leaning into the pie and taking in a long whiff.
“Every single one?”
“As the name would imply.”
“Raspberries?”
“Raspberries.”
“Strawberries?”
“Strawberries.”
“Blueberries, blackberries, gooseberries, cranberries, and elderberries?”
“But of course.”
“Lingonberries, salmonberries, and marionberries?”
“Child,” said Georgie. “It’s my job to personally see to it that everything is just right, so believe me when I say this pie contains every berry there is. Huckleberries, thimbleberries, mulberries. You name it, it’s in there.”
“Loganberries?”
Georgie’s face went instantly white. His eyes widened and his jaw dropped. “What?”
“Loganberries. You did say it had every berry,” said Elspeth. “You mean to say that you forgot the loganberries?”
Georgie snatched Elspeth by the elbow. “Shh,” he hissed as he hurried her away. “You mustn’t speak a word of this to anyone.”
“Relax,” said Elspeth. “It’s just a dumb old pie. Who cares if you forgot to put . . .”
Georgie responded by clamping his hand over Elspeth’s mouth while hustling her toward the exit at the far end of the room. “What are you trying to do here? Get my head chopped off?”
Elspeth tore Georgie’s sweaty and foul-tasting palm from her mouth. “Take your hands off me,” she demanded.
“My apologies, Ms. Pule,” said Georgie. “Please forgive me. It’s just that the king is very particular about these things, and if he were to find out, well, there’s no telling what he might do.”
Georgie quickly opened the exit door that took them into a windowless corridor, the walls lit with torches and alive with quivering shadows.
“You just got done telling me what a great guy he is,” said Elspeth as Georgie shut the door behind them. “So what makes you think he’s going to chop your head off just because you forgot the . . . ?”
“Shh! Please,” Georgie implored the girl, even though there appeared to be no one but those two in the hallway. “Yes, the king is a merry old soul indeed and a great and wise man. And that is precisely why he deserves the very best. Now, with any luck he won’t notice the missing you-know-what and all will be fine. We’ll just have to hope for the best.”
Halfway down the hallway, Georgie opened another wooden door, revealing a small, circular room in which nothing stood but a mannequin bodice at the center, outfitted in the most beautiful gown that Elspeth had ever seen. It was made of silk in a dusty rose and trimmed in bone-colored lace with a large bow that tied at the back. Sleeveless and softly pleated from the waist, it seemed to hover weightlessly above the ground.
“Is that for me?” she gasped while walking slowly toward the dress as if any sudden movement might cause it to run off like a frightened deer. Elspeth had never before been much for fancy clothes, but there was something about this particular dress. It was more than clothing; it was a work of art.
“It is indeed especially for you,” said Georgie. “I shall summon the dressers. And please. Not a word of all that previous business if you don’t mind.”
“Sure,” said Elspeth, her mind lost in the breathtaking vision of the gown. A pair of slippers made of the same pink silk, like the ones a ballerina might wear, lay on the floor nearby.
By the time the royal dressers, two pretty and very pale young women, arrived at her room, Elspeth was already wearing the slippers and the dress, though she would need their help in doing up the many hooks that fastened the back.
The young women were abundantly pleasant as they took to their task and, in keeping with their training, spoke only when spoken to. This made for a very quiet room as Elspeth was still quite speechless at the sight and feel of Bobby Shafto’s latest creation.
“How do I look?” she said finally, for there were no mirrors in the room.
“You look absolutely lovely,” said the paler of the two. “It’s just that . . .”
The woman stopped short, and she and her cohort exchanged a look of uncertainty.
“What?’ said Elspeth.
“With permission,” said the second woman tentatively, “we’d like to do something with your hair.”
Bobby Shafto’s gone to sea,
Silver buckles at his knee,
The latest fashion accessory
From bonny Bobby Shafto.
Now Bobby’s working for the Crown,
Paid in sovereigns and in pounds
To make an execution gown
From bonny Bobby Shafto.
Chapter 12
Elspeth’s newly formed curls bounced as she walked, and she felt as though she wore a hat covered in springs, a sensation she was not sure she liked. One of the curls fell to the middle of her forehead, and she brushed it into place once more.
As the pale-skinned ladies in waiting (whom Elspeth learned were named Catherine and Jane) escorted her down the long corridor toward the great hall, she made idle chitchat about the weather as a means of covering up the increasingly loud protests from her empty stomach. The dress, being so snug around her midsection, did nothing to help matters. Bobby Shafto may have been the most fashionable designer in the kingdom, but even he could not properly fit a dress without exact measurements.
Her stomach groaned again, and this time the squeak of the door at the end of the hallway covered it up somewhat. Jane pulled the door open, presenting Elspeth with a view of a large rectangular room with ceilings thirty feet high. At the far end was a fireplace in which fat, dry logs crackled in the busy flames. The sound mingled with the murmur of villagers by the dozens filing in from several doors placed around the perimeter of the room.
Narrow wooden tables lined each length of the great hall and were pushed end to end, giving the appearance of two singularly long tables. While the people trickled in and took their seats upon hard wooden benches, Elspeth was escorted along the smooth, marble floor to one of only three chairs in the entire room. While two of the chairs were rather ordinary, the one in the center was high backed and ornate with a dark blue velvet seat. She assumed this must be reserved for the king and realized that, if this were true, she’d be sitting right next to the man himself.
Just as the
last guest took his seat, a set of wide double doors opposite the fireplace swung open, and in walked the same four bearded men who had escorted Elspeth to the castle. With those same long spears in hand they took position, standing at attention, two to each side of the door.
Right on their heels, two other men entered, holding polished brass trumpets. They moved to the center of the room, raised the instruments to their lips, and blasted out a short and sudden tune.
The moment they finished, the men lowered the horns as Georgie, in his ascot and epaulets, strode into the room and said in a loud voice, “Ladies and gentlemen, all rise for His Highness, King Krool, Ruler of All the Land, Lord of the Seas and the Moon, Duke of Banbury Cross, Baron of Gotham, Royal Knight Companion of the Most Noble Order of Silver Bells and Cockle Shells, Earl of St. Ives, Great Steward of the Pumpkin Eaters, Knight Grand Cross of the Most Honorable Order of Knick-Knack Paddywhack, and Royal Grand Champion of the Order of Pickled Peppers.”
When he swept in through the doors, the first thing Elspeth noticed about the king was the same thing most people noticed about him at first glance. He was tall and slim (especially for someone so fond of pudding and pie), with an unreasonably handsome face. His jaw was sharp and angular, ending in a prominent chin, dimpled at the center. His smile was broad and easy with teeth so straight and white that, from this distance they appeared, like the tables in the room, to be one continuous thing, a solitary piece of pure white enamel. This made Elspeth think about the gap between her own teeth, and she made a mental note that, when smiling in his presence, she must always do so with lips pursed.
The trumpeters reprised their tune as the king walked with a slow and measured grace toward his royal chair, with Georgie and the four guards following at the required minimum distance of six feet. The king’s royal subjects stood and gazed upon the man with placid smiles.
Though Elspeth normally held little or no regard for figures of authority, there was something different going on here. And when the king looked at Elspeth, her heart stopped for a moment.
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