Once Upon the Rainbow, Volume Two

by Jennifer Cosgrove

  He had the coins because Clara had given him her last piece of jewelry, an exceptionally fine silver necklace she’d once received from his father during better days. Henryk had gone to the jewelers, traded it for tuition for his schooling, and had a pittance left over. He kept a little ledger in his pocket where he noted down how much he owed and to whom.

  Clara had sacrificed the most when Father died. All her jewelry had gone during the first few weeks to pay off debts and to keep Henryk in school. Then they had started selling off the nicer things in their home. Out went the gorgeous walnut wardrobe with the exquisite scrollwork. Out went the cherry end tables with the delicate legs and beautiful grain. Out went the silver mirror, a precious commodity passed down from their great grandfather. Finally, out went the mahogany desk that Father had used for his work.

  All of the best items were traded first and then the not-so-best items. What remained in the house wasn’t worth much at all. Henryk was glad of it. He wasn’t sure how he would have coped with living in a house barren of everything. A broken, lumpy bed was better than no bed at all.

  “Meat pies! Hot and fresh!” Chunder called from his meat pie stand as Henryk walked past. The smell wafting from the cart made Henryk’s mouth water and his stomach churn. The porridge he’d eaten felt like a solid, indigestible lump. Henryk steeled himself and walked past. Even if he ate a meat pie right that very second, he would soon be hungry again for another. Then he would still be hungry and not have the coins in his pocket in case of an emergency.

  Henryk made his way to the university library. His first class wasn’t for another hour, and the library would be a quiet place to do some reading. As he walked closer, he became aware of a commotion.

  A crowd of people gathered around a space on the wall where a large piece of paper had been pinned. Henryk joined the throng. Taller than most, he was able to peer over their heads and read the printing.

  ATTENTION

  By Order of Queen Almarine

  Any and All Doctors or Persons of Learning are

  Hereby Required to Present Themselves to the Palace

  to Render Aid and Assistance

  Beginning Today at Noon

  “They’ve canceled all the afternoon classes.”

  Henryk looked to his left. His friend Mylo stood next to him, squinting slightly at the poster. Mylo required spectacles to correct his vision but did not have the funds to purchase them. He squinted and got as close as possible to whatever he needed to see.

  “Only for today?” Henryk asked. There were enough doctors and learned persons in the kingdom to take weeks to go through even if brief interviews were conducted.

  “That’s all I’ve heard. But it’d make sense if they canceled them for the rest of the week. Speaking with the professors alone would take days.” Mylo turned away. “Do you think we count yet as learned persons?”

  Henryk laughed. “In a few months, maybe. When we have our degrees in hand. But they need physicians, not lawyers. This is obviously a search to find someone who can figure out why Prince Roald is ill.”

  Henryk followed Mylo as he drifted away from the crowd. “That would solve a lot of problems, if someone could do that. The rumor is that he’s under an evil spell.”

  “If they think that, then they should be advertising for wizards and witches, not professors of history or grammar.” Henryk shook his head. “I doubt their answers are in the city.”

  Mylo shrugged. “I hope this search doesn’t stall our last semester. If I don’t graduate, I will have to go to the bank for another loan, and I can’t imagine they’ll give it to me.”

  A chill ran down Henryk’s spine. His family already owed the bank a lot of money. There would be no possibility of a loan. Clara had already traded in the last of her jewelry for this opportunity so that Henryk could finish his last year. They’d done it under the nose of the bank auditor who had come looking for debt repayments and would have snatched up the jewelry if they hadn’t already deposited its worth with the university.

  “You make a very good point,” Henryk said. “This has delayed me and I need to get to the library to study. I have two classes this morning that won’t be canceled, and I should be ready for them.”

  “Good luck,” Mylo said. “I’ll see you in class.”

  Henryk waved goodbye and refocused his thoughts on reaching the library. When he approached the front doors, he noticed two palace guards stood in front, barring the entrance to everyone. Another small group of people gathered to one side, gawking at the resplendent uniforms of the guards and their imposing statures.

  “What’s going on?” Henryk asked of the closest person.

  The young man turned to him. “They’ve closed the library until further notice. Exclusive privilege to search the collection.”

  “For how long?” Henryk asked. That abominable chill shot down his spine again. He didn’t have his own books or papers. He hadn’t been able to afford them. He had been using the collective copies in the library to study from. Without access to the references, his grades would plummet.

  The fellow next to the first chimed in. “For as long as it takes. The prince is dying. He may not survive the month. I think the queen is desperate.”

  “No,” Henryk said.

  His refusal was meant against this sudden limitation of his ability to study and graduate, but the two men he’d spoken with must have taken it as a plea that the prince not die.

  “With the king dead and the rules about inheriting the throne, no one knows what will happen.” The first man’s words came in a hushed whisper.

  “There is only the queen and her daughter, and neither of them can become king.” The second man added his own whisper. “They’ll probably have to find a husband for the princess and hope she bears an heir.”

  “Who won’t be fit to rule until he’s older. Who’s going to take care of things for the next ten years?” The first man looked skyward with a show of exasperation.

  Henryk thought the whole thing ludicrous. The country had a perfectly competent queen. In the year since the king had died while trying to jump his horse over a ridiculously tall hedge, she had begun to put many ideas forward, and things had started to change for the better. Technically, the prince wasn’t really the prince, he was actually the king, but he’d fallen ill shortly after his father’s death and they’d never been able to have the coronation ceremony.

  Other than the frustrating decree of closing the library this morning, which made Henryk worry his undigested porridge might make a return trip, Henryk thought Queen Almarine’s actions to be responsible, practical, and levelheaded. As far as he knew, Princess Jacobina was even more forthright and intelligent. There was no good reason not to turn over the running of the country to either of them.

  “They should change the law,” Henryk said. “The queen has been doing a fine job.”

  Both men looked shocked at the suggestion and opened their mouths to protest. Then the first man held up a finger. “Hold on. You know, that’s not a bad idea. It might work out.”

  The second man thought about it, scrunching up his face. “Yes, but they’d need the current sovereign to change the law. That’d be the prince. He’d need to sign a declaration of some sort.”

  “Hmm. He can’t do that while he’s ill. He’d have to get better.” The first man rubbed his jaw. “Wouldn’t be too hard to write up.”

  “That’s because you loved the class on contracts,” said his friend.

  Lawyers, Henryk thought, and then remembered he was only half a semester from becoming one. “I’ve got to make class. Excuse me.” Henryk cast a disappointed last glance at the two guards protecting the library entrance and headed to his first class of the day.

  A notice on the door informed him that his lesson was canceled for the rest of the week but that all assigned work would still be due. Henryk’s spine grew chillier and stiffer. The situation was growing worse. He rushed to his next classroom and found a nearly identical noti
ce. No classes. No library. Assigned work expected promptly.

  Henryk jingled the few coins in his pocket. No law degree. No work. No money. No food.

  His flippant brothers were old enough to be rebellious, but not yet to enter university. They could find some menial work, as could Henryk, but it would be a squalid life. Most likely they’d all be out on the street before the new year. There wasn’t much else to sell in the house, and even though Clara scraped and bargained to keep them from starving, she couldn’t erase the debts by herself.

  He needed to return to his studies. He needed everything to return to normal.

  Henryk wandered down the path. The soles of his shoes felt especially thin today, and he wondered how long until they wore out. The crowd of people hunched in front of the queen’s notice had grown, and Henryk changed the direction of his walk.

  He had nothing else to try for the time being. He would get in line with the others and see if his meager learning might be enough to figure out what was wrong with the prince.

  THE SMELL INSIDE Gustaf’s bakery made Clara’s stomach pinch. She could see rows of golden bread lined up, baguettes in a pile, and dark pumpernickel on a shelf against the back wall. A basket full of rolls beckoned on the front counter. It would be easy to snatch one and gobble it up. Clara looked to her feet. The smell would diminish in a few minutes, and she would be on her way.

  “Good morning, Clara. Have you come for bread today?” Gustaf greeted her with a kiss to her cheek. He was a large man with strong forearms from kneading dough.

  “Perhaps,” Clara said. “I have six eggs to trade this morning.”

  “Very good. Six you say?” Gustaf motioned for Clara to put the eggs into another basket he had nearby. “My wife says your hens lay the best eggs. She saves them and demands I make soufflés for her for dinner.” He shook his head. “I bake all morning. I bake all day. And what do I do when I get home? I bake again.” Gustaf put a pumpernickel loaf into Clara’s basket along with four rolls.

  Clara could see instantly that six eggs were not worth even as much as the loaf. “I can’t take all this.”

  “Yes, you can.” Gustaf put one more roll into Clara’s hand. “You should come to see me more than once a week.”

  “I really can’t—” The guilt and charity of it dragged at Clara’s heart, yet she knew she would take the bread home. She was hungry and the boys were hungrier.

  “You can. Your husband was very kind to me when I needed him. Friends do not forget.” Gustaf’s attention went past Clara to a new customer coming in the door. “Mrs. Feeny, good morning to you!”

  Clara escaped the bakery as quickly as she could. The roll warmed her hand and smelled heavenly. She found a quiet spot to sit on a stone wall a block away and tore into it. It tasted even better than she remembered.

  When she was done, she brushed the crumbs from her lap and made her way to Mrs. Kimble’s. The bell tinkled overhead as she pushed the door open. The pie shop smelled divine. Clara inhaled the aroma of fruit and butter, cinnamon and ginger.

  Mrs. Kimble emerged from her back room and waved at Clara. “Dearie! Welcome. It’s been awhile.”

  “I’ve brought you ten eggs this morning.” Clara hoped Mrs. Kimble would take the eggs without comment. The shame of having to make amends for the boys was enough in itself. “To put toward our account with you.”

  A sympathetic expression flitted across Mrs. Kimble’s face, and Clara hated to see it there but was also relieved. She was doing her best given the circumstances. She would be truly grateful, however, for Mrs. Kimble’s leniency in this matter. Ten eggs would about cover their debts. Clara would try to purchase nails for the porch steps some other day.

  “Dearie, you don’t have to do that.”

  “I really feel I must.”

  Mrs. Kimble sighed. “Let me find something to put them in.” She rummaged along her back counter for a moment. “Actually, Clara, you could do me a great favor.”

  “If I can, I’ll be only too glad to help.”

  Mrs. Kimble found a wooden bowl. “Here we go. For the eggs.” She retrieved two pies from one of the shelves. “These are for Mr. Paloma. His daughter in town ordered them for him, but she asked me to deliver them. I can’t go myself this morning. He lives in that little woodcutter’s cabin in the middle of the woods. You know the one?”

  “I do.” Clara thought of the cottage. It was a sweet, though plain, home. It meant a long walk through the murky forest to get there. Clara stayed out of the forest as much as possible. Rumors swirled about the possibility of a witch inhabiting the woods.

  “It would be such a help if you could take them to him for me.”

  “Of course. I can go there now.”

  “Bless you, dearie.” Mrs. Kimble handed the pies over so that Clara could tuck them in her basket. “And don’t worry about your boys. If they show up today, we’ll call it even.”

  With the weight of the pies, the basket hung heavily in the crook of her arm. She would need to switch it to the other arm soon or carry it awkwardly in front of her. The long walk to the woodcutter’s cabin would take even more time than she’d anticipated.

  “Thank you, Katrina,” Clara said.

  Katrina Kimble smiled and shooed Clara out the door.

  Clara considered walking home to drop off the bread, but it would mean going in the opposite direction before heading to the woods. She wanted to deliver the pies as soon as possible so she could return home and begin work on various chores. Perhaps start a garden now that spring had arrived. There was so much to do.

  She reassessed the weight of the basket. It wasn’t that heavy. She would be fine to walk to the cabin. Decided on her course of action, Clara set out.

  The shadows in the woods were dark and deep that day, but Clara hummed to herself as she traveled along the road. Hardly anyone lived in the woods. Most people had the good sense not to put their house within the confines of the trees. Clara could see the beauty in the forest, however. A lovely hush filled up the spaces between the trees, and the wind kept its presence confined to swishing the top branches. After a short while, Clara stopped humming and listened to the sway of the trees.

  Except for a naughty squirrel that followed and chattered at her for nearly ten minutes, the journey to the cabin remained uneventful. She made excellent time and arrived at Mr. Paloma’s door. He was home and both grateful and surprised to receive the pies.

  Her basket very much lightened, Clara aimed herself back down the road toward home.

  As she listened again to the wind brushing the highest branches, she caught a glimpse of a figure scurrying on the road ahead. Clara slowed down and peered into the dimness.

  “Who’s there?” she called.

  The figure threw up an arm in greeting but continued to scurry back and forth across the road. “Oh! Good lady, I require your assistance most urgently! Please come and help me.” It was a woman’s voice and it carried a note of desperation.

  Clara hurried forward. “What is it? What has happened?”

  “These mice—” The woman scooped down and picked up a white mouse with pink ears. She held him in her hands but looked around and had nowhere to put him. “Please help me save these mice. Quick, there’s one right in front of you!”

  A plump white mouse with shiny black eyes peered up at Clara. Its whiskers twitched. The woman’s words moved Clara to pluck the mouse up with her hand. It didn’t protest or squirm or bite her. Clara studied it with curiosity. She had never seen a white mouse before. She didn’t know they could be anything other than various shades of gray and black.

  “Why? What has happened to the mice?” Clara scanned the road for more of the unusual creatures. She saw two scamper away, too fast to be caught.

  “Where are the rest?” The woman paced back and forth. “There should be four. No wait, five. I’ve forgotten to include the driver. Or the horses. That’s two more for a total of seven.” She stopped moving. “They’ve all run off. Poor thi
ngs.” She looked down at the one in her hand. “I’ve got one at least.”

  “I’ve got one, too.”

  “Well done.” The woman came over and looked at Clara from head to toe. “You look sensible,” she said. “That will make it more difficult for you to believe what has happened.”

  “What has happened?” Clara asked.

  “I was traveling in my carriage with my assistants and stopped to talk with an old woman on the side of the road. She took exception with us and cast a spell. My carriage turned into a pumpkin, and my driver and assistants transformed into mice!” The woman pointed. “Look, there is the pumpkin.”

  Clara followed the indication and there sat an unusually large out-of-season pumpkin sitting squarely in the middle of the road. She debated if she was a fool to believe the woman or a fool not to. A carriage and five assistants meant that if this woman was telling the truth, then she was quite wealthy. Of course, all Clara had seen was a pumpkin and a few mice. Even a poor person might cobble together those things. Pumpkins survived for months in cool cellars. White mice might be unusual, but they were just mice. Still, the woman’s clothes were especially fine and she was very clean. Her skin and hair nearly glowed with purity and great attention having been paid to her health. Plus, she spoke like a person with money and status. Clara dared to believe the incredible tale.

  “Then the mice started to run away, and I meant to catch them to keep them safe. But I wasn’t fast enough. Oh, poor men. Poor souls.” The woman looked distraught. “They could be lost forever.”

  “It’ll be fine. Here, come sit down over here with me.” Clara gently took the woman’s elbow and guided her to the side of the road. Large stones lined the road on one side for a short distance and made the perfect spot to rest. “We’ll get them back.”