A Magical Trio

by Alex Flinn

  “The christening gown was the work of many weeks. It was made of cotton imported from Egypt, and the skirt was over three feet long. The bodice was smocked and embroidered, and the skirt was sewn with hundreds of seed pearls.

  “The day before the christening, I entered the nursery, that I might try it on the babe to make certain it fit his wee form.” The old woman’s eyes grow misty with memory. “Lady Brooke was with him, but he slept. He looked so peaceful, lying upon his stomach, thumb in mouth. Lady Brooke asked me if I might keep an eye on him while she checked on his bath. She was then quite young and stupid, and I suspected her errand might have had more to do with flirting with one of the gentlemen of court than the baby’s bath. Still, I agreed. In the nursery, I could sew undisturbed by Lady Brooke.”

  I smile at the idea of imperious Lady Brooke ever being a silly girl. Malvolia does not see me, though, so engrossed is she in her own tale.

  “Besides, I enjoyed seeing the sleeping babe,” she says. “He was beautiful. So she left me there. The babe slept on, so I engaged myself in sewing more and more seed pearls to the train of the gown. I stayed an hour, and when I sewed the last, Lady Brooke had not returned, and the babe had not yet awakened. Annoyed at this waste of my time (for I had still your mother’s gown to finish), I approached the crib to check upon the babe.”

  Tears fill her eyes, and I know what is coming, know why my brother was never spoken of by my parents.

  “I expected to see the baby sleeping peacefully. Instead, I saw an infant, blue and still. Dead.”

  The fabric slips from my lap to the floor.

  “I tried mightily to revive him, shaking him, even slapping his little cheeks. Then, failing this, I tried magic. It was then that Lady Brooke entered the nursery. Seeing the baby dead, and me standing over him reciting incantations, and perhaps fearing repercussions for leaving her post, she began to scream. She screamed so loudly that everyone came, and when they did come, she concocted a story of how I had put a spell on her to remove her from the room, the better to suffocate the baby.

  “All who came believed her, for I was a solitary being, not well liked by the others. And soon, the king heard tell of it, and in his grief, he had me removed from the castle. He wished to kill me, but I was too clever, with knowledge from my hundreds of years of existence. I outwitted him. I slipped into my realm, and later I disguised myself so that he could not find me. Still, he declared that, evermore, I should be known as a witch and not a fairy, and I was ostracized by one and all.”

  “But it was not your fault!” I say.

  “Nay. I loved the babe. It would have been my pride and joy to see a prince wearing a dress of my creation. But no one would listen to me, and I felt lucky to escape with my life. From that moment on, I was ostracized as a child killer. It was not fair. It was not fair.”

  I remember my fear at Father’s anger. I touch her black-clad shoulder. “No. It was not fair.”

  “But I will make it fair,” she says. “I was accused of killing one of King Louis’s children, when I had not done so. If I kill the other, ’twill be the perfect revenge.”

  I look away, eyes filling with tears. She will kill me. It is all over. But I cannot let that happen. I swallow my tears and turn to her. “Good fairy, I am sorry for your misfortune. My father was, indeed, wrong to accuse you in such a way. It was cruel.”

  The old woman nods. “Aye, it was. And it is for that reason that I must seek justice.”

  “But killing me for my father’s cruelty is not justice. Can you not see that?” I allow the tears to run down my cheeks and implore her. “I am not my father. To kill me would be just as great an injustice as was done to you. Please do not do this.”

  I wait for her response. She starts to speak, then stops and looks down. Finally, after a long while, she says, “You had best return to your sewing.”

  I do, wishing that I might have a quantity of seed pearls to sew on, to prolong the job. But, of course, I do not ask. It is no use. It is no use.

  Chapter 43:

  Jack

  We get into Euphrasia at high noon, with Dad wearing dress shoes and carrying a briefcase and a laptop. The hedge is a lot smaller, so it’s easier to push through. But I see Dad’s eyes get big when he sees the place. It looks even more like Colonial Williamsburg than before. Now there are a bunch of people in old-fashioned clothes doing old-fashioned things like watering horses. The plants are still dead and the paint is still faded, but the people are alive.

  “I didn’t believe you,” Dad says. “I thought I was indulging you.”

  “I know.”

  “It’s amazing. All this…for three hundred years.”

  We walk farther until we come to the castle. My dad’s trying to check his BlackBerry when I hear a voice cry, “There he is!”

  And another. “Seize him!”

  And soon, two meaty hands are clenched around my neck while another guy grabs my arms.

  “Hey!” my dad yells. “Hey! What’s going on here?”

  “This is the villain who has taken my daughter,” the king says. “Tell me where she is.”

  Here we go again. “I don’t have her. Please! I came to help you look for her.”

  “We already went to the cottage on the highest hill. She was not there.”

  “You went already? You know, it’s kind of hard to talk with this gorilla holding my neck. Any chance he could not do that?”

  The king gestures to the guard to let go of me, which he does—slowly.

  I say, “Did you go to Malvolia’s cottage yourself?”

  “Of course not. I cannot climb hills. I have henchmen to do that for me.”

  I look at the henchman. “Hey, aren’t you the same guy who was guarding the dungeon the day I escaped?”

  The guy nods sheepishly.

  “You did a great job then. Is it possible you missed something when you went to the cottage?”

  “Nay. Cuthbert here was with me, and he’ll tell you there was naught in that cottage. Right, Cuthbert?”

  They exchange a look. “Right.”

  “And you searched the whole cottage, Pleasant?” the king asks.

  Pleasant?

  “Yes, sire,” Pleasant says.

  “From top to bottom?”

  “Aye,” the smaller one, Cuthbert, says.

  “Even the cellar?” the king asks.

  “Nay, there was no cellar,” Pleasant says. “But we looked in all the closets.”

  “They looked,” the king says. “And now there are more men out, visiting every house in Euphrasia. I will leave no stone unturned in the quest for my daughter.”

  “Then let me go, too. I want to look for Talia. You could send these guys with me.”

  The two guards don’t seem too happy about the idea of going out again, but they can’t exactly say that, so they just grunt.

  The king looks at me and Travis, obviously seeing two able-bodied guys who can help look for his daughter, and says, “Very well. If there is anything you can do, I will not stop you. I only want to see Talia again. I said…” He looks away. “I said horrible things to her. I do not want to go on living if I cannot set them right. And you…” He glances at Dad. “You will stay with me, as assurance that they will return.”

  And so Travis, Cuthbert, Pleasant, and I go to look for Talia.

  Chapter 44:

  Talia

  The bodice is finished, and Malvolia’s design for the skirt is quite plain. It will be short work. My life may end tomorrow, or tonight. I gaze out the window at the night sky, at the stars which are brighter in Euphrasia than anywhere with electric lights. I try to sew slowly. A tear falls from my eye. I use the strip of silk which I have secreted in my waistband to wipe it away. It is hard to believe I once so wanted a dress like this. Now I shall have it, but at what cost?

  “Keep working,” Malvolia says.

  I sigh, then return the fabric to the waistline of my pants against future tears. I begin to sew the skirt,
using even more minuscule stitches.

  “I have decided something,” Malvolia says after a time.

  “What is that?” I say, although I dare not hope she has decided to let me go.

  “I have decided not to kill you. ’Tis not your fault that your father was unjust to me, any more than Baby George’s death was my fault. ’Twould be wrong for me to kill you.”

  “So I may go?” I almost drop my needle from joy. “Thank you!”

  “No. It will not do to let you go. But I will give you a chance at life.”

  “A chance?”

  “You almost fulfilled the terms of my curse. You slept three hundred years, and you were awakened by a kiss. But I am less certain than you that ’twas love’s first kiss. After all, the young man did not wish to marry you.”

  “People do not marry at sixteen in the twenty-first century.”

  “Ah, that is true indeed,” Malvolia says. “In this century, everyone thinks they are going to be something called a rock star. But it does make it harder to say, ‘They lived happily ever after.’ So I have decided on a test.”

  “A test?”

  “Aye. I will finish this dress, for you are the slowest seamstress I have ever encountered.”

  “I went slowly on purpose, so you would not kill me!”

  “…and after I have finished it, you shall wear it, and I shall prick your finger with a spindle.”

  “Again?” I am not pleased with this turn of events.

  “Again. You will fall asleep, and I will place an enchantment upon you that will surpass Flavia’s sickly spell. You will wake only if kissed by a young man who is truly your love, truly your destiny, one who would walk miles and face torturous tests to find you. If he does, you shall be free.”

  “But…but the castle guards were already here. You told them I was not within. How will he even find me?”

  “I said it was a difficult test. True love would look a second time. True love would not be thwarted. True love would not accept no for an answer. He would search the world and certainly look again and again in every cottage in Euphrasia until he finds you.”

  “And if he does not?”

  “Then you shall sleep forever.”

  A second tear falls upon the green skirt. I love Jack. I do. But to rely upon his diligence seems rather a tall order.

  “Stop crying on that dress,” Malvolia barks. “’Twill stain.”

  Then she takes it from me and begins to sew.

  I sit dumbly a moment, crying, looking at the tree just outside the window. It is a windy day. I go to pull the streamer of fabric from my waistband to dry my tears. I stop.

  “Excuse me,” I say.

  “What now?” the old woman mutters.

  “I wonder if I might perhaps go outside.”

  The old woman laughs. “And escape? ’Tis not likely.” She continues her sewing.

  “But I thought…” I feel the lump of fabric at my waist. “I mean, I know you are a powerful fairy. Surely, there is some spell you could perform to prevent my escaping. It is merely that I wanted to breathe the fresh Euphrasian air before you put me to sleep again. It may be my last chance.”

  Malvolia chuckles. “Not too confident in your beloved, then?”

  I shrug. “I am. But you have set a difficult task for him.”

  She thinks upon it a moment. “Very well. I suppose there is no harm in it. But if you venture beyond that stand of pines, ’twill be the last thing you do.”

  I nod, looking at the chestnut tree, which is closer. “I only wish to feel the wind in my lungs.”

  Then, before she can protest further, I stand and walk toward the door, hoping she will not see the bulge from the streamer of fabric in my waistband.

  Chapter 45:

  Jack

  I’ve been to more cottages than I ever wanted to see in my life. Weird thing about being in a place with no mass communication—where I come from, if a celebrity gets photographed getting into a car with no underwear, everyone in the world knows about it in fifteen minutes. But here, people don’t know really basic stuff like:

  1. The princess is missing;

  2. They’ve been asleep for three hundred years;

  3. It’s now the twenty-first century.

  So we have to keep explaining it to them over and over. We must have walked twenty miles. The sun is setting, and there’s no sign of Talia.

  The road sort of dead-ends into a hill.

  “We should go back,” Pleasant says. “We can look more tomorrow.”

  “We can look more today,” I say.

  “Nay,” Cuthbert says. “There are no houses near here. ’Twill take us an hour to reach one.”

  “What about that one?” Travis points to a lone cottage at the top of the hill.

  “We were already there. That was the first one we looked in,” Pleasant says.

  “That’s the cottage on the highest hill?” I say. I feel a chill wind whip across my chest.

  “Aye. We had to climb all that way on a fool’s errand.”

  I stare up at the cottage. Everything around it looks overgrown, even more overgrown than the rest of Euphrasia. My feet hurt, and I want to stop walking as much as the next guy. Maybe Talia was wrong about the cottage. After all, it was just a dream she had. Maybe she’s not even in Euphrasia. Maybe I’ll never see her again.

  “Okay.” I start to walk away, trying not to think too hard about what walking away means, that I’m giving up. No, I’m not giving up. We’ll look more tomorrow. I glance back at the cottage one last time. The trees are blowing back and forth, almost like a hurricane.

  Something catches my eye, something in the tall chestnut tree not far from the cottage door.

  I nudge Travis. “Do you see that?”

  “What?”

  “Look,” I say, “in that big tree.”

  I remember Talia’s description of the old lady with the roomful of green dresses. There was a lady, an old woman. It was she who brought the green dresses.

  The color of her eyes.

  Finally, Travis looks.

  “Do you see it?” I say.

  He nods. “But that doesn’t mean…It’s just a ratty old piece of…”

  “It means something. We have to go up there.”

  Chapter 46:

  Talia

  Malvolia sews with alarming speed. But after all, she is a fairy—or a witch, depending upon whom you ask. Within two hours, the skirt is finished and attached to the bodice.

  “Put it on,” she says.

  Must I? But I do not say it, for I know I must. I know Malvolia believes she is doing me a favor by not killing me, a favor in the name of true love, so to doubt that Jack will come for me would be to say that our love is not strong enough to warrant the chance she is giving me.

  It is strong enough. My doubt is founded merely upon Jack’s immaturity. I know Jack loves me, but he is young and not always serious, prone to mistakes. In his own words, a screwup. So while I know down to my fingertips that he loves me, I am not so confident in his ability to thwart Malvolia…or my father.

  And still, because I cannot say this, I try on the dress.

  It is beautiful. If I must sleep another three hundred years, at least I shall be a vision of loveliness.

  “Thank you,” I say, “for giving me this chance.”

  “You do not wish it, I can tell.”

  “That is not true. I am very grateful to you. If—when—my beloved wakes me, I will speak to my father about you, to persuade him to forgive you.”

  “That is kind. I know you fear your young man will not find you. But if he loves you, he will.”

  I nod.

  “And who would not love you, Princess? Even I, mad for revenge could not bring myself to kill you. You are well past the insolent brat I met three hundred years ago. You think of others besides yourself: your parents, Jack, even me.”

  I nod again.

  “And now, my dear, I must ask you to lie down.” She le
ads me to my little feather bed in the corner. I glance out the window at the chestnut tree.

  “What will you do to me?” I say. “Will it hurt?”

  “Nay.” She looks off as if to something in the distance. “It will be just like last time you slept, only this time I suspect it will not be for three hundred years. Now, we must make haste.”

  At that, she pulls a spindle from behind her back. “Make a wish.” Her voice is hypnotic. “Then touch the spindle.”

  I wish that Jack’s love will be strong enough….

  “Touch it, my dear….”

  Chapter 47:

  Jack

  We’ve been climbing the hill for an hour, and the cottage looks no closer than before. In fact, it looks farther away. The wind is pushing against us at every step, and Pleasant isn’t being very pleasant about it. Neither is Travis.

  “I want ale!” Pleasant whines. “We have already been to this cottage!”

  “I bet they’re serving dinner at the castle right now,” says Travis. “And it’s not like we can just go to a drive-thru or something if we miss it.”

  I glare at him, and he says, “I’m just saying…”

  “Don’t just say,” I tell him. But it’s getting dark, and soon we won’t be able to see to walk.

  “Hey,” Travis says. “Would you look at that?”

  “What?” I say.

  “I spit my gum out by an oak tree before. There it is.” He points at the tree.

  “What do you mean? You spit your gum out just now?”

  He shakes his head. “Like, twenty minutes ago. I spit it out, and now it’s there. It’s like we’ve been going in a circle.”

  I look. He’s right. There’s a piece of green gum.

  “It’s probably someone else’s gum.”

  “Are you kidding? They don’t even have gum in this place. That’s my gum. We’ve been here before.”

  “But that’s impossible. We can’t be going in a circle. We’ve been walking uphill.” But a lot of things do look familiar, like that funny rock over there that’s shaped like a wedge of cheese.