by John Moore
“Until someone gets hurt, I know.”
“Yes, you go ahead and make fun of me, Jeffrey, but wait until you have boys of your own. And you don’t need to lecture me on the tournaments. Your father used to fight in them, before we were married, and I would go to see him.”
“Did he get hurt?”
“No, but he could have.”
“Totally convincing,” said Jeff. “There, see, it’s normal for men our age to want to fight in the tournaments, in some way or another. All the guys do it if they can.”
“Certainly. And I suppose if all the other boys—”
“Jumped off a cliff, would we do it, too? Mom, it has to be Hal. The odds on him are tremendous. It’s the only way we can win enough money to get out of debt.”
“Oh Jeffrey, please! Tell me you’re not betting on the tournaments. That’s just the sort of thing that got your father into so much trouble to begin with.”
Jeff had the feeling his own words were echoing back to him. Worse, they made sense. He tried to remember the arguments that Hal used to talk him into this. “I can’t explain it now, Mom. You’re going to have to trust me. Hal and I have an angle on this. You know how I feel about gambling. I wouldn’t do this if the outcome wasn’t certain.”
“You and Hal have an angle? Jeffrey, you boys aren’t doing anything illegal, are you?”
“Illegal? Of course not. Unethical? Maybe. Sneaky, dishonest, disreputable, and underhanded? Perhaps. But not illegal. I mean, if we were commoners, we could be in big trouble. But we’re royalty, so it’s okay.”
“Well, that’s good. I don’t want you being a bad influence on Hal.”
“Perish the thought. Now, Mom, here’s the kicker.” Prince Jeffrey paused and took a deep breath. There was no way to ease into this, so he decided to just come straight out with it. “To get the money to lay the bets, we’re going to have to hock your jewels.”
Helen’s answer came back swiftly. “No.”
Jeff held up his hands as if to forestall argument. Although in truth, the single word “no” could not exactly be considered an argument. “It’s not what you think, Mom. We’re not going to sell them. No no no. Absolutely not. We’re just going to borrow against them. We’ll get them back for you right after the match.”
“Jeffrey, you cannot sell my jewels.”
“Not sell them. Use them as security. Sure, I know that they’re family heirlooms, handed down from generation to generation and all that, but really, they’ll only be out of your hands for a few days. I’ve already talked with the major auction houses. They’ll take good care of them . . .”
“I’m sure they will.”
“No, really they will. They know the gems are of good quality . . .”
“They certainly do.”
“. . . and I’ll get them bidding against each other to give us the best rate for the loan. The stones alone . . .”
“Are paste,” said the Queen.
“. . . are worth more than—what?”
“Are fakes.” Helen refilled her teacup and very carefully added hot milk. She didn’t look at her son while she spoke. “Jeffrey, it’s very common for rich families to have duplicates made of their most expensive pieces. We wear the duplicates under normal circumstances and keep the real ones under lock and key, bringing them out only for special occasions, such as weddings and coronations and such.”
“Uh, okay. They’re duplicates. So where do you keep the real ones? Is there a strongbox in here? Or at the estate?”
“There are strongboxes both here and at the estate. But the family jewels are gone. I sold them. I haven’t told this to you boys, or to anyone else. I quietly sold them off years ago, to pay some of your father’s debts.” This time the Queen did look at Jeff, and there was a tear in the corner of each eye.
“Um,” said Jeff.
“I made the auction houses agree that they would not put them up for sale until after your father’s death, so as not to embarrass him.”
“Ahhhh, good thinking,” said Jeff. “Okay then. It was just an idea, really. You know, Hal and I were brain-storming this bankruptcy thing and we just thought—well, it doesn’t matter. We’ll think of something else.”
The day of the tournaments dawned bright and sunny and clear and warm. To be precise, the tournaments had been going on for three days before Caroline and Emily got there, with the most popular matches—the jousting, archery, and swordfighting—being saved for last. And the first two days had been partly cloudy. But today was definitely clear and warm, and the sod of the fairgrounds was dry and firm. The playing field was an oval one hundred yards long and fifty yards wide, with wooden stands erected around it. The royal box was situated at the fifty-yard line. The King and Queen were already seated inside, and the boxes of lesser nobles were spread out on either side. But the princes had their own box on the opposite side of the field, and it was here that Jeff led the girls.
“Just show these passes to the guards,” he said, giving them tickets embossed with gold print. “And they’ll let you into our box without any problems. I have to get ready for my match now, but you can look around for a while and take your seats whenever you’re ready.”
“So many guards,” said Caroline. “Jeff, they’re everywhere. Are they expecting some kind of trouble?”
“Hmmm? The guards? Oh no. They’re mostly here to keep people from bringing outside food and drink into the fairgrounds. The King gets a cut of the concessions. Okay, I’ll see you in a little bit.”
He strode off quickly across the fairgrounds. Caroline watched longingly until he disappeared into the crowd. Emily nudged her.
“Hey, girl. You’re going to marry Hal, remember?”
“I remember,” said Caroline, glumly. “I hope he doesn’t get hurt.”
“Me too.”
“I didn’t put him up to this. He’s not trying to impress me. I just want you to know that. I don’t think he is, anyway.”
“I know,” said Emily. “Hal told me he was entering a match, before we went to see Bungee. I don’t know what possessed him.”
Both girls maintained an unhappy silence for a minute or so. Then Caroline pointed, and said, “Look! Isn’t that Twigham?”
It was indeed the eldest of the village elders. The old man, dressed to the nines in a brown velvet jacket and high-collared shirt, was leaning on his walking stick, waving his peaked cap to get their attention. Emily ran over and hugged him. Caroline followed close behind.
“Twigham! What are you doing here?”
“One of their judges, an old friend, had to cancel, and asked me to sit in for him. And I thought it was a good excuse to see the city again, and see how our girls were getting along. The invitation came just a day after you left, but I was never able to catch up with you. Old men don’t travel fast, you know.”
“We’re fine,” said Caroline.
“We’re sitting in the princes’ box,” said Emily. “Can you believe it? Shall we also try to get you in?”
“No, that won’t be necessary. I’ll be in the judges’ box at the other end of the fairgrounds. I’m afraid I’ll have to put off our talk until later. I’m supposed to meet with the other judges before the contest. This will be a particularly difficult field to call.”
“What are you judging? Archery? Wrestling?”
“More serious than that. We’ll be judging the prettiest baby contest.”
“Ouch.”
“You said it. They try to choose judges from out of town, so we can skedaddle back there and avoid the wrath of the disappointed mothers.”
They were still walking as they talked, and Twigham paused in front of a row of heavy tables, staffed by bearded men in black gabardine. Behind each table was a large chalkboard, where other men were furiously writing and erasing numbers. In front of each table was a tight throng of fairgoers, all with coins, or even bags of coins, in their hands. Most looked eager, some looked desperate. Twigham took his pipe out of his mouth and pointe
d with the stem. “The betting tables. Doing a particularly good business this year, I see.”
“What are they betting on?”
“Everything. Including the baby contest. Prince Kenneth is the favorite for jousting, I see. The odds favor Prince Jeffrey for swordfighting, too. He’s not really at the top of his class, but he’s popular with the crowd.”
“What about Prince Hal?”
Twigham scanned the chalkboards. “Your Prince does not seem to be a serious contender.”
“Are you going to bet on him?”
Twigham shook his head. “I am not a betting man, my dear. And if I was, I’m afraid our youngest prince would be too long of a long shot for me.”
“I knew it,” said Caroline. “He is going to hurt himself.”
“Emily,” said Twigham, “I believe that man is waving to you.”
Emily looked. The man in question wore sorcerer’s robes. “It’s Bungee. I’m about to apprentice to him. I’d better see what he wants.” She excused herself and walked toward him. Bungee in turn, excused himself and separated from his own companions, taking her arm and speaking quietly in her ear. “The young woman you are with. The tall, blond one. Is that her?”
“Is that who?”
“Sorry, I should have made myself clear. Is that the girl you spoke of? The one who kissed the frog?”
“Yes. Her name is Caroline. She is going to marry Prince Hal. So everything is set.”
Caroline had resumed talking to Twigham. She didn’t see Bungee give her a long hard look. “No,” he said. “She is beautiful.”
“I told you she was beautiful.”
“I didn’t know she was that beautiful. No, there is something wrong.”
Emily was immediately alarmed. Was her much-valued apprenticeship about to fly out the window? She was too good a negotiator to let her anxiety show, and her next words were carefully unconcerned. “Well, if there is a problem with the apprenticeship agreement, I’ll be happy to—”
“No, no, not the apprenticeship. Everything is fine. It’s your mother’s spell. I’ll have to check it. It shouldn’t have worked. It lacks magicality.”
Bungee had mentioned magicality once before. Emily had never heard the term, and she said so. “It lacks what?”
“It’s a word I made up myself. A theory of my own. Never mind for now. Go off and have fun. But come by after the tournaments are over, and I’ll explain.”
“Okay.”
“And don’t count on Caroline marrying Prince Hal.”
Emily turned to look at Caroline and when she turned back, Bungee was gone, having disappeared into the crowd. She shrugged and went back to Caroline and Twigham. “That was Bungee. I’m apprenticing to him.”
“What did he want?”
“Um, he wanted to give his best wishes to you and Hal.”
“Oh, well that was nice.” Caroline looked for the sorcerer’s robes and hat. But he had vanished.
The girls extracted elaborate promises from Twigham to meet them later, then continued with their tour of the fairgrounds. They passed the chained bear, the fortune-tellers, and the puppet shows; the jugglers, fire-eaters, and strolling musicians; the booths selling sausages and sweetmeats; and, of course, the numerous tents selling ale and wine. They watched footservants help highborn women out of their carriages, noted their clothing, and reassured each other that much of this city fashion was absurd frippery—the people back home dressed far more sensibly and looked just as good.
“I can’t believe how women dress here,” said Caroline. “Look at those bodices.”
“I agree. They seem so tasteless.”
“Why even get dressed if you’re going to show all that?”
“I think it indicates a lack of confidence, to draw attention to yourself that way.”
They studied the women some more.
“Of course, we’ll have to get something like it.”
“It’s the fashion. We have no choice.”
“It would look good if it was accessorized properly. Perhaps with a light jacket.”
“Or a scarf.”
By and by they worked their way back to the princes’ box. “We should go up now. The jousting is about to start.”
Caroline handed the passes to the guard. “I just wish . . .” she said, and stopped.
“I know,” said Emily.
“What?”
“You were going to say that you wish our friends in Ripplebrook could see us getting into the princes’ box. I know it’s awful of me, but I feel the same way.”
“Yes. It’s silly, but it would be kind of nice to show off a little. Here we are, hobnobbing with royalty.”
“Mmm.” Caroline was studying the people around her. To the left was a box belonging to the Duchess of Momerath. The duchess was not around but her three daughters, who ranged in age from late teens to early twenties, were present and talking among themselves in excited whispers. They carried parasols to shield their complexions from the sun. To the right was another box whose owner she could not identify, but which held half a dozen occupants, all young women or adolescent girls. It seemed odd, then Caroline realized that Melinower’s nobility, of course, would take pains to seat their fairest daughters next to the princes’ box.
Some of the girls carried parasols, and all were fanning themselves against the heat. When Caroline turned away, the girls cast sidelong glances at her.
“Wine, ma’am?” She turned around. A waiter in a white linen jacket was offering a tray with two goblets. Caroline took them and tasted one. It was chilled, sweetened wine. She gave the other one to Emily. “You know, I think I’m going to like being a princess.”
“I can see it has its points.” Emily took the goblet and settled herself into a chair, at which point everyone in the stands, including Caroline, suddenly stood up. “Why are you . . . oh.” Across the field, the King and the Queen were climbing into the royal box. The crowd stood in respectful silence until they sat down. Then the Queen leaned forward, looked around, and waved. The viewers gave her a round of applause. The King sternly stared straight ahead.
“That’s got to be Kenny,” said Caroline. The jousters were coming onto the field, riding their mounts past the royal box and saluting the King and Queen. They were inside their armor, and the only way to identify them was by the colors of their silks.
“How can you tell? Have you learned all the crests and insignia already?”
“No, but that one has the most elaborate silks. I’ll bet that’s Kenny.” Her voice held a distinct edge of disdain, quite different from the admiring tone she had used when speaking of Kenny previously. Emily wondered what had happened to change her mind about him.
The jouster in question was indeed Prince Kenny, and he acquitted himself well. A jousting match is exciting, even to the uninitiated. Caroline and Emily soon found themselves caught up in the spectacle of huge horses thundering toward each other, hooves pounding, dirt and sawdust flying, riders leaning forward in their saddles; then the crash of wood on metal, as the blunted lances found their targets, and an armored man was thrown from his mount, to hit the ground with a bone-jarring thump.
Kenny raised his helm and took a victory lap around the field, raising his lance again to salute his parents as he rode by. The crowd applauded, except for Caroline, who seemed to be studying the sky and sun. The three girls to the left were watching him with rapturous eyes, as were the six girls to the right. One of them, a girl with very black hair, leaned over. “Hello. I’m Amy. Would you like to borrow my fan?”
“I’m Caroline,” said Caroline. “Thank you. It is rather warm.”
“That’s Prince Kenny,” said Amy. “Isn’t he handsome?”
“His hair is so beautiful,” said another girl.
“And he dresses so fine,” said a third.
“He looks all right,” said Caroline. “I can’t say I really noticed him, myself.”
“But you’re in the princes’ box. Don’t you know him?”<
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“We’re with Prince Hal and Prince Jeffrey.” Caroline handed back the fan. “I believe I may have met Prince Kenneth once or twice.”
“What?” said Emily.
“I suppose you can meet him now,” said Amy. “He’s coming over.”
Prince Kenny had indeed left the field. Attendants had quickly stripped off most of his armor, and supplied him with a broad-brimmed hat with a long plume and shoes with long, pointed toes that curled back. From the approving looks that the other girls gave him, Emily gathered that this was the epitome of style. He approached the box with his helmet under his arm, tossed it in, and vaulted over the rail. “Wine,” he snapped to a waiter.
“Yes, sire.”
The prince sank into a chair and accepted a goblet. Then, seeming to notice Caroline and Emily for the first time, he raised it to them in a mocking toast. “To success on the field,” he said. “For myself, and for my brother Jeffrey.”
Caroline ignored him. “What about Hal?” said Emily.
“Two out of three isn’t bad. And it’s simply a waste of breath, not to mention good wine, to toast to Hal.
Swordfighting? What does that little twerp know about swordfighting?”
Caroline remained silent. Emily had heard her say much the same thing, several times that afternoon. Now she saw the blond girl’s fingers tighten around the railing. There was nothing she could say. Emily was in the same position. Caroline might be almost a princess, but at the moment she was still a commoner, and she could not talk back to a prince, at least not publicly, and certainly not in his own box. Emily, too, was here only as a favor from Prince Hal, and was about to start a career that depended on receiving royal favors. So she kept her voice mild. “What is it about Prince Hal that upsets you so, Your Highness?” she asked.
“I don’t like his taste in clothes,” said Kenny, not looking at her. He was watching Caroline.
Caroline turned to him and smiled sweetly. “You fought an excellent joust, Prince Kenneth.”
“Okay,” said Kenny. “You won’t be baited. Clever girls.” He tossed off his wine. “Much as I’d like to stay and see Hal get beaten like a rug, I’ve got other things to do. See you later.” He disappeared without waiting for an answer. The three noble daughters on Emily’s side and the six noble girls on Caroline’s side all looked after him with longing eyes.