by Wendy Mass
“What are you talking about, brother? I can see myself perfectly well. And Mother and Father, too.”
I feel a tug on my hand and jump, nearly smacking my head on a low branch. I am not quite as tall as a giraffe, thankfully. Perhaps a baby one.
“It is only me,” Alexander says, taking my hand again. This time I do not pull away. He places something round and hard into my palm, which I close around it. My hands might be larger, and the skin thicker, but I recognize the feel of Alexander’s gold ring with our family’s crest upon it. He never takes it off.
“So we are invisible to everyone but ourselves?” Mother asks, fuming. “That is your solution to this problem?”
The girl shrugs. “You were concerned what others would think when they saw you with such a creature. Now they will not see you at all. I could turn you all into beasts if you would prefer.”
Only silence comes from Mother’s direction now.
“Prince Riley, you have three months,” the girl says, beginning to walk along the stream. The buffalo follows, his head so low his horns nearly drag on the ground. “If you fail, which, of course, you will, your family shall remain invisible. When your time is nearly up, you shall be drawn to me, and I shall add you to my collection.”
The buffalo yelps and the girl smacks him with the back of her hand. The sudden realization hits me that the buffalo may not always have been a buffalo! My family must have come to the same conclusion, because no one utters a sound until they are both lost from view. Then my family surrounds me in a long, tight hug that I can feel, even if I cannot see it.
“We cannot go to the Harvest Ball like this,” Mother moans, sounding more defeated than I have ever heard her. “I cannot bear to think of all the worry when we do not show. And Riley was the ceremonial symbol of the harvest!”
“Riley was the what?” Alexander asks, loosening his grip in the family embrace.
“Never mind that,” I reply hurriedly.
Mother continues to wail. “And how will we get home? Riley would never fit atop a horse!”
“I have a theory,” Alexander says. “Perhaps we shall wake at any moment to find this all a dream!”
“Yes!” Father agrees. “Mayhap we are all back in the carriage, dreaming still! Let us lie down in this tall grass and close our eyes.”
It takes a moment to find a way to lie down where some part of my enormous body does not crush a leg or head of one of my family members in the process. When we have figured it out, Mother says fervently, “Good night, and may we all wake as good as new.”
“Or better,” Alexander declares.
I have scarcely finished telling Clarissa of recent events, when Veronica bursts through the apothecary door, just as she did an hour earlier. Only this time she is wearing a smile that shows her small white teeth. I should probably add teeth brushing to my list of grooming habits that I need to work on.
She runs up to me and grabs my hand. “I am so pleased you are coming!”
I glance questioningly at the apothecary, who shrugs and returns to grinding a pearl into fine powder. “I have not yet asked my father,” I reply, pulling my hand back. “So I cannot say for certain.”
“And as her older sister,” Clarissa says, “I am not certain I am comfortable with this arrangement.”
She turns toward Clarissa. “You are quite beautiful,” she says.
“Thank you for noticing,” Clarissa replies. My sister is never one for simply saying thank you.
“But there are things you do not understand in the world,” Veronica says, sounding older than her years. “Forces are at work.”
“Forces?” Clarissa repeats, sounding doubtful. “What kind of forces?”
Although no one else is in the store, Veronica looks left, then right, then leans close before replying. “You have read the old fairy tales? If you can read, of course.”
“I can read,” Clarissa snaps. “And yes, I know of the tales. But that is all they are, just stories.”
Veronica shakes her head. “That is what I used to think as well. But the stories are true. At least some of them.”
“Like the one about the girl who slept a hundred years?” I ask. “I do not see how that could be true.”
She nods. “But it is.”
I can tell by the way her eyes are darkening that Clarissa is getting annoyed. She may be a romantic when it comes to love, but she has little patience for make-believe. “Is that so?” she asks. “How about the one where the girl’s hair grew so long you could climb up it? I have been growing my hair since I was six, and it does not even reach my waist.”
Veronica shakes her head sadly, like she cannot believe she has to deal with such a silly question. “When magic is at play, the impossible can happen.”
“Like witches and fairies?” Clarissa asks. “Goblins and ghosts and trolls?”
“All real.”
“Pish-posh,” Clarissa says, stomping off.
Veronica opens her mouth to reply but then straightens up and says, “I must go now and prepare. We shall leave three days hence. Let us gather in the courtyard of the monastery, where first we met.”
“If I go, which I still have not agreed to, what would I bring with me?”
“I shall bring you a list tomorrow,” she says.
“I should warn you, I have very few possessions.”
“Whatever you do not have shall be provided for you,” Veronica says. She leans close again, so close I can smell her flowery scent. I cannot help thinking of what the apothecary said about how he makes the perfumes. I wonder if Veronica knows that, and if she did, if she would still wear it.
“Be prepared, Beauty,” she says in a low voice. “For a quest changes a person.” And with that cryptic message, she slips out the door.
“And you say I am dramatic!” Clarissa exclaims.
I stand in the doorway and watch Veronica run down the street. Her legs move swiftly, almost as fast as mine. I suspect she was holding back when we first ran to check on her grandfather. Master Werlin would never have kept up. But I can keep up with her.
I understand now why her grandfather wanted me to accompany her. Someone who believes in fairy tales and mysterious forces might forget her own basic needs. He needs me to make sure she is fed, clothed properly, and given a safe place to sleep. I protect Veronica, and Handsome protects us both.
Master Werlin sets down his tools. “It does not surprise me that she wishes to believe in the old stories. Her own is a sad one.”
Clarissa looks up from the glass jar she is rinsing. She is never one to miss any gossip.
“Her father caught a terrible fever right after she was born,” Master Werlin says. “He only lasted another month. Then a few years later, her mother left on what was supposed to be a short trip. Her empty pack was later found in the woods, along with her shoes. Search parties were formed, but no sign of her has ever turned up. Everyone believes her dead, of course, either at the hands of bandits or wolves, but the girl holds out hope. Now we know why her mother left. At least Bartholomew’s version of events.”
“Is that what the quest is, then?” I ask. “She wants to find her mother?”
He shrugs. “Likely so.”
Clarissa and I exchange a look. I am certain we are both thinking about the lengths we would go to if a chance existed that our own mother was still alive. I resolve to do my best to help the girl. Not that I believe her mother still lives, but perhaps I can help her accept her loss and move on. Living in the past is not living.
Clarissa appears beside me. She lays her hand gently on my arm. Her expression is both loving and serious. I turn toward her, anticipating some older-sister wisdom and encouragement. Instead, she says, “Please tell me you are bringing a comb on your journey. How do you expect Handsome to fall in love with you and break his engagement if you look like that? And would it kill you to powder your nose every once in a while? You shine brighter than the full moon on a clear night.”
I groa
n and put my head down on the counter. The apothecary laughs. “Oh, yes,” he says, “this is going to be fun.”
I stare at the back of my eyelids, trying to force myself to slumber. Or continue slumbering, whatever the case may be. Dreaming is the only explanation for what has just happened to us. As Freddy said this morning (which feels a lifetime ago), fairies and witches simply do not exist.
A moment later, I hear the unmistakable voices of the guards calling our names. My heart sinks. “There are the horses!” Parker shouts. I reluctantly open my eyes and hear rustling in the grass beside me. The others must be sitting up, too. Someone, I cannot tell who, grips my arm.
“You must hide,” Mother whispers, the panic plain in her voice.
I turn my head in all directions but see nowhere I could go. I am wider than any of the trees, and taller than any of the bushes that line the riverbank. Besides, it is too late. Parker and the two guards at his side have spotted me. Shouts fill the air. “Who are you? What are you? Where is the royal family? What have you done with them?”
I shrink down, not daring to show them my full height. Do I truly look so unrecognizable? Parker has been guarding my family since I was born.
“Do not tell them who you are,” Father whispers.
“Tell them not to fear,” Alexander adds. “We do not want you to be attacked.”
I clear my throat, but the mere sound makes the guards jump back. “Do not be frightened,” I tell them, holding up my arms. They gasp. I quickly lower them. “I mean you no harm. I have not seen the royal family of which you speak.” This is both a fib, and not a fib. Invisibility is tricky that way.
“We have searched for hours,” Parker says. “King Rubin’s men have searched, too. There has been no sign of them, and you have their horses! You must have seen them.”
His words surprise me greatly. Hours have passed since we went ahead of the caravan? “I have not seen them,” I repeat. And then I add, “The horses came alone.”
“The beast is lying!” one of the younger guards points at me. “He has Prince Alexander’s ring on his finger!”
I look down at my hand. I had slipped the ring over the first knuckle on my pinky, the only place it would fit. That was foolish of me.
“Seize him!” Parker orders. “We shall bring him to the castle dungeon until we learn the truth. King Rubin’s men will continue to scour the area.”
“Do as they say,” Mother whispers as the guards approach from all sides. “This is our chance to get home.”
So I stand up. This has the effect of stopping the guards in their tracks, which gives my family time to step away before the guards approach. Even though I could easily knock them aside with my ox-like strength, I allow them to grab my wrists and tie them behind my back.
They lead me to the road where the other members of the caravan are gathered, waiting to go. Upon seeing me, shouts and gasps again fill the air. Clea screams and faints dead away. One of the coachmen tries to catch her, but he cannot take his eyes from me and she hits the ground. The bump on her head shall hurt for a few days, I am sure.
Parker tells everyone not to panic and to ready themselves to leave upon his command. The guards herd me toward our coach, although there is no chance of me fitting through the door. They argue amongst themselves before deciding I shall have to be strapped to the top of the carriage. Then they argue about how they are going to get me up there, until finally I offer to climb. Although being tied to the top of a carriage was not how I intended to return home, it is better than being bumped around inside it.
The coachman must add a horse from one of the other coaches in order to pull my extra weight. While they are doing this, I take a moment to look around for any signs of my family. Out of the corner of my eye, I spot the door of one of the coaches opening. Then the carriage lowers a few inches and the door closes. They have made it inside! I think it is the one carrying the passed-out Clea. I hope for her sake she does not awaken before we reach the castle. She will no doubt believe she is traveling with three ghosts and faint dead away again.
The best part of the ride is getting to see the stars as they dot the sky. The worst part is not being able to push the tangled hair out of my face. Why could not Mother have joked about me having hair like a tiger rather than a lion? Then it would be nice and short, and the wind would not blow it into my mouth.
It is fully nightfall by the time we return to the castle. The guards are already leading me up to the main gate when the sound of our arrival reaches the occupants inside. A steady stream gathers to greet the caravan. Upon seeing what is before them, the maids, footmen, cooks, falconer, squires, pages, knights, jester, groomsmen, and others who the darkness hides from view work themselves into such a frenzy that I fear for their safety. It only takes a moment for word to spread that the royal family is missing, that the beast (me!) was found with the elder prince’s gold ring, and that I likely ate the entire family.
Honestly! The tales people come up with! “I did not eat them!” I shout in my new, deeper voice. My words echo off the stones, making them sound even louder than I had intended. The crowd shrinks back, their faces masks of horror. I realize I have stepped into view of the torches that line the castle entrance. At once, the crowd streams past me, running away from the castle at top speed. I would have expected more from our loyal subjects. Certainly I look odd. A bit larger than the average man, and perhaps I have more hair, and my clothes and boots are in tatters, but this extreme reaction seems quite uncalled for.
“Wait!” Parker calls out. “We have the beast restrained! You are not in danger!”
But they do not wait. Nor do they look back. The coachmen, having unhinged the horses, now hop upon their backs and take off as well.
“Sorry,” the three other guards tell Parker, before they, too, hurry down the path to the road.
Parker scowls. “Cowards!” His hold tightens on my arm. “I shall deal with you myself!”
I am so very weary. “Parker, it is I, Prince Riley.”
Parker whirls around to see what kind of trick this is. Finding nothing, his face darkens. “How dare you jest with me! You shall rot in the dungeons for what you have done to the young prince and his family. If it were up to me, you would meet the hangman tomorrow!”
I open my mouth to argue, but a hard pinch on my bottom makes me yelp instead. “Do not tell him who you are!” Alexander whispers up at me. He shall pay for that pinch.
Parker grabs a torch from the wall and pushes me roughly through the now-unguarded gate, and down the long flights of stairs to the dungeons. I shiver, even though my newly furry skin provides ample protection from the dank and drafty hallways. I usually avoid the dungeons at all cost, even though no one has been imprisoned here since my grandfather was king.
Finally, we wind up at the farthermost cell, where Parker orders me to sit down against the wall. I barely fit on the narrow bench. “I am innocent, I tell you.”
He must be too angry to be fearful, because he puts his face right up to mine. His hot, angry breath fills the space between us. “Then tell me exactly where the royal family is.”
Probably right behind you, I want to tell him. Instead, I grit my teeth. “I cannot.”
“As I expected,” he says, slamming the door behind him and leaving me in utter darkness. I hear the wooden bars crisscross into place before he storms off down the hall. Even if my family were not invisible, I would not be able to see them now.
“I am assuming,” I whisper into the inky blackness, “that you spent the ride devising a most excellent plan, because I do not intend to spend the night in this scary, wet, dark place while my comfortable bed lies empty.”
A warm hand begins to stroke my tangled mane. “We have a plan, dear Riley,” Mother says. “Fear not.”
I cross my arms, careful not to scratch myself, or her, in the process. “Plus,” I add, “I am very, very hungry. My new stomach must be the size of an elephant’s.”
“Please do not
eat us,” Alexander begs, barely concealing his mirth.
“Hush, Alexander,” Mother scolds. “This is no time to tease your brother.” She abruptly pulls her hand away from my hair and jumps from the bench. “Did someone just tickle me?”
Father laughs. “So sorry, my dearest. The dark is so total. I could not resist.”
I sigh. Being invisible is a practical joker’s greatest wish. I fear for the tricks he shall come up with now. Leave it to Father to find something positive about this nightmare. “Mother,” I call out into the blackness. “Why would you not allow me to tell Parker of our situation? He has always been most loyal to the kingdom.”
Father sits down beside me. I can tell because he says, “I am sitting down beside you now.” Then he says, “I know it is frustrating, but we do have a plan. Neither Parker, nor anyone else in the kingdom, can know what has befallen us. If everyone in the town thought their leaders invisible and their prince turned into a beast, fear and mistrust would take over. Our castle and lands would be overrun. We must let them believe you are a fearsome creature from lands far away, one who has terrified nations, laid waste to civilizations, plundered villages, ravaged —”
“I get it. I am an evil, horrendous beast! But are you certain this is the answer?”
“This is the best plan we have for now,” he says in the same firm, kingly voice he uses on his subjects when he wants them to believe and trust him. “Once the plan is in place we must figure out a way to change you back, and in doing so, to restore ourselves as well.”
“But how can we do that from the dungeon?”
“You shall be free by dawn,” Mother promises, sitting down on my other side and carefully — ever so carefully — taking my hand (paw?) in hers. “On the trip home, your father wrote a letter to Parker.” She presses a folded sheet of parchment into my palm. I cannot help wishing for light in the room so that I could see the letter appear as if out of nowhere.
“When he returns,” she says, “give him the letter. He knows well your father’s handwriting, so he shall not doubt it. It informs him to alert everyone that the royal family is safe, and instructs him to give you free reign of the castle, to question you not, and to guard against any intruders who may do you harm. He is to clear the castle of all inhabitants, and to ensure they have places to stay elsewhere. Judging from how many people already ran away, this should not be a difficult task. He must make certain that large meals are delivered fresh every day, and that the fires are kept burning throughout the castle. He is to send all the knights to their outposts in the surrounding villages to make sure everything runs smoothly in our absence. The letter promises that if he obeys these rules, he shall be handsomely rewarded, and that you shall return the royal family unharmed in three months’ time.”