“Here you go,” Seshe said, setting me down on the bed, and then laying down the dress-pins I’d asked her to bring along.
I waved, knowing she couldn’t hear me, and she departed on her own errands. I got right to work. Coming up the grand staircase from across from PJ’s doors came the scrape of violins. The Auknuges were having a formal ball. From time to time “spontaneous” cheers of admiration carried up through the open windows, and I figured either Fobo, or PJ, or both, had to be dancing. Of course they would require applause from their court just like they required those smiles on cue, and all the bowing.
I finished sticking pins in that bed just as the music played the last dance. I was yawning fiercely. It had been a long day, but it wasn’t going to end yet. Oh, no. We had to keep it going all night, if the plan was to work.
I scrambled up one of the silken bell-pulls next to the bed, climbed up (my feet tucked easily into the braid), and landed on the canopy a few minutes before PJ came stomping through.
“... and I’m hungry,” he whined. “I want something to eat before I sleep, or I’ll toss and turn all night. I don’t know why Mumsie had to end dinner so soon, just for that stupid dancing, as if that boring old geezer would actually dance with her. Does she really think he’d want to get married?”
“Couldn’t say, Your Royal Highness,” answered the valet in a very wooden voice.
They passed through to the dressing room. I heard PJ complaining on and on as he splashed about in the bath. For a kid devoted to Mumsie, he sure groaned a lot! She’d made him dance with the stupidest girls ... she never gave him enough dessert ... she was always complaining about how he ought to practice drilling the guard, when everyone knows how much he loathes getting sweaty.
He reentered his bedroom, nightshirt billowing (his nightcap with a crown stitched onto it!), “And anyway, all I have to do is command. A commander just has to say, ‘Get in there and defeat them,’ and it’s up to the underlings to do the dirty work. Everyone knows that, except Mumsie. But of course she’s just a female, so she doesn’t know the military mind like I do — -AWWWWWK!”
Aha, I thought, sitting above. He seemeth to have discovered the pins!
“WHAT’S THIS?” he shrieked. “OWWWWW! Pins! I’ll have you thrashed! I’ll have everyone thrashed! Who did that?” He leaped out of bed and ran out the door, screeching. The poor valet followed, twittering protests in a bewildered voice.
Their voices were echoing at the other end by the time I’d swung down the bellpull, landing on his big pile of down pillows. Then I got to work, grabbing all my pins and shoving them in the bellpull. Carefully I climbed up again, pulled up the silken cord (that really strained my already tired arms) and I’d just finished unloading the pins onto the canopy and dropped the bellpull again when I heard voices coming.
“... all over the bed, I tell you. The servants shall all be thrashed! Who could do that? Someone’s not showing me proper respect! They all need to be punished!”
“Now, Jonnicake, our servants do not leave pins lying about,” Fobo said. “Show me these thousands of pins.”
PJ stalked to the bed, threw back the covers, and said, in triumph, “There!”
Fobo looked down. Her face under its heavy paint puckered in perplexity, and then in ill humor. “Jonnicake, dearest, I never thought you would descend to fooling Mumsie. You know my nerves are extremely delicate, and you must take great care not to jolt them, or I might become deathly ill. You don’t want that, do you?”
I peered down through the ruffles, shaking with laughter at the expression on PJ’s face. His eyes bugged, his jaw dropped, as he stared at the bed.
Not a pin in sight. “No, Mumsie,” he whimpered.
“Go to sleep,” Fobo said a little crossly. “We have much to do tomorrow, if we are to royally entertain our guest.” Fobo looked around, now frowning. “Why is this room filled with people? Get about your business, all of you! Except you.” She pointed a fat finger with a gigantic ruby on it. “You guards. Stand outside His Royal Highness’s room this night.”
Servants had naturally crowded in, some of them probably worried about the wild threats of thrashings. Now they bowed low (I heard someone’s knees crackle and pop like cereal) and then withdrew in haste, but I distinctly saw some covert smiles exchanged. The two guards looked resigned as they clumped out and took up their station on either side of the door. The valet shut them all out.
Muttering and whining, PJ climbed — carefully — into his bed. The valet withdrew.
PJ hopped back out of bed and ran to whatever it was that Kwenz had given him, and muttered something.
For a time all I could hear was his snorting breathing, and then light flashed, air whooshed into the room (smelling briefly of mildew) and Kwenz was there. “What is it?” he asked, sounding both breathless and cross.
“Pins,” PJ said sulkily. “I think those girls did a magic spell and put invisible pins in my bed. It has to be them. No one else would do it.”
Kwenz sighed. “If those stupid children know enough magic to fashion invisible pins — something I have never heard of — then you and I are doomed.”
PJ snuffled once, but subsided as Kwenz felt over the bed. “If there are pins, they are intangible as well as invisible.”
“I felt ’em,” PJ whined. “Royal persons feel pain more than commoners, Mumsie says so. Our nerves are extremely delicate. Only commoners are clods and dolts and don’t feel anything. Pins! They almost made me bleed!”
“Go to sleep. We will talk in the morning.”
Kwenz vanished, more air whirled around the room. PJ climbed into his bed, blew out the light, tossed and sniffed and sighed for what seemed hours, and then finally buried his head in the pillows. I took a chance and climbed down the bell pull, then toiled across the miles of his room to the wardrobe, where I busied myself knotting every ribbon, bit of lace, and frill. I was tired after a while — clothes are heavy as big quilts when you are that tiny — but the result looked so spectacular it gave me energy.
A shadow moved across the floor, briefly barring the light under the wardrobe door. Stealthy feet tiptoed in — one of the girls!
Seshe spotted me. She bent down, and soon I was perched on her shoulder.
“I helped Diana and Irene in Fobo’s wardrobe,” Seshe said, laughing silently. She’d found one of the liveries of the upper servants — a frilly pink apron over gray. It actually was less offensive to look at than the nobles’ clothes. “She was downstairs haranguing the servants about entertaining Kwenz tomorr — “
A shriek tortured every ear within fifty miles!
Everyone converged on Fobo’s suite. Here I had to blink to make sense of proportion and shape because there was so much decoration it was hard to take everything in. The colors were mainly orange and pink together, with beige and yellow highlights, and everything in that room was begemmed and belaced and ribboned. I mean everything. Except all the mirrors on the walls, in corners, and especially on the gigantic doors — nothing could get in the way of Fobo admiring herself, even decorations. But all those mirrors made up for their plain flatness by being topped with huge crowns all beribboned with swoops and festoons of tassels and lace.
In the center of the huge parlor Fobo, still in her ball gown with its huge satin flounces and diamonds and emeralds, stood screeching at cowering maids as she pointed at two mirrored doors standing open. She stamped her feet, sending the thousands of silk pompons on her gown bobbling and jouncing — it looked like she was encased in thousands of electrified bees.
“Loook!” she foghorned, pointing her scarlet fingernails at the wardrobe.
Seshe couldn’t get too close for the crowd, but the glimpse I got from her shoulder showed a giant pile of silk and velvet and lace fabric of yellow and pink and orange and purple — sometimes in the same outfit — all covered by mud, with weeds tastefully planted round the top.
Irene sidled up next to us. She too was wearing one of the maids’ uniform
s. “You’d think,” she whispered, “Fobo would be delighted for the excuse to get new clothes. I mean, we picked the ugliest ones. Honest.”
“Ugliest to you,” Seshe said. She was smiling. “I’m afraid those are her favorites.”
Irene’s eyes rounded. “I didn’t think of that.”
Fobo’s voice had risen. She threatened her quaking servants (most of them were in tears) then realized she had an audience. She turned and shrieked, “Get out! Get out! You have work to do — do it!”
PJ stood in the doorway, wearing a brocade dressing gown almost as fancy as his throne room clothes. She glowered at him and shrieked, “Go to bed!”
“I think we need helllllllp,” PJ whined — and I smacked my hands, rubbing them.
Fobo wasn’t listening. She stomped to the wardrobe, snapped her fingers, and a maid nipped a lace-and-pompom nightie off a hook. Then Fobo marched across the room toward one of the sets of doors, which gave onto a bathroom. A servant scuttled ahead to open the door, and just in time. It was clear that she never, ever opened a door herself — she would have marched right into it.
However, she proved she knew how to shut one. She passed through, spun around, her train twisting around her legs, grabbed the door out of the servant’s hand, and slammed it so hard the mirror shattered.
We heard her screeching beyond.
The servants exchanged looks, and the man in gray with the gold chain said to a guard, “Has to be intruders. Make a search. Promotion and double month’s-pay for anyone who finds them.” The guards clattered out at a run, followed by the most of the rest of the servants.
Seshe whispered, “What now?”
“I have an idea,” I said, as some of the servants wearily began picking up shards of broken mirror. “But we’ve got to be fast.”
As soon as their backs were turned, Seshe slipped into the room next to the wardrobe, which was the dressing room. It was still lit, and no one was around.
I sent both girls out on errands, and got busy.
Fobo emerged from the bathroom in her nightie, and tromped out- — knocking over the servants who were busy replacing the mirror and picking the shattered glass out of the pink carpet. Would she go straight to bed, or would she do the same thing as some of the ladies on Earth who were obsessed about their youth?
Yes! She thumped straight into the dressing room. Diana and Seshe, both in the plain uniforms of cleaning servants, were helping to pick glass shards from the carpet. I was with Seshe. She stayed over by the window so we could see into the dressing room, where we’d found — as I had expected — about a million pots and jars and containers of cosmetic goo of an astounding variety, and vials of perfumes.
Fobo tried to slam the door, but a steward caught it, though his fingers obviously pinched dreadfully. But the mirror didn’t shatter, and all the servants breathed sighs of relief. I wondered how often she broke those mirrors.
Everyone got back to work. By now I was laughing so hard I nearly fell off Seshe, and had to grab onto the pale pink ruffles on her apron’s shoulder straps.
We didn’t actually see what happened, but within the space of about five breaths, once again the shrieks. I could envision what had happened. She’d started putting the gunk on her face for the night. But in the golden, pearl-studded container a maid had thoughtfully set out, I’d put careful dots of ink, with goo laid just over them. After all, she did like polka-dots!
Fobo emerged, screeching louder than ever. I was not the only one with a blue face! Diana nearly died trying not to laugh, as once again, all the servants came crowding back, some of them in night-robes with hastily pulled on cloaks or coats over them.
PJ hid at the Grand Steward’s shoulder, gawked at his mother, then he pronounced, “King Kwenz must be summoned.” And he pattered off.
We were edging near the door. A guard grabbed Diana, snarling, “Who was in here?”
“A hand-sized blue princess,” Diana retorted.
The guard scowled. “You give me lip and I’ll tell the Grand Steward.”
“Take it as you wish,” Diana said, stolid as ever.
“Lenn!” The guard turned to see who’d called him, then he clattered out, not bothering to look back.
Soon we heard Kwenz’s wheezy voice in the hallway. “... and I can perform search spells for magic traces in each room,” he said. “But I doubt that I will find anything of the sort.”
“Mumsie needs you,” PJ stated. “Her nerves are delicate!”
Fobo had retreated into her dressing room — she did not want anyone seeing that ink. I would have liked to stay for the conversation through shut doors, but if Kwenz was going to perform a magical search, it was time to be gone. Especially as it would take all night.
“Let’s find the rest of the girls,” I called.
Diana looked around. “But first I’m takin’ this.” She picked up a fancy crown.
“It’s so ugly,” Seshe commented, shaking her head. Then she bent closer, eying the enormous gemstones, which were so solid you could hardly see the gold. It looked to me like one of those fake ones you could buy at a drug store on Earth, the stones made out of plastic. Seshe bent, ticking at a stone with a fingernail, then straightened up.
I said, “Are they fake? I thought they looked fake because there are no many, and the colors don’t work together.”
Seshe flicked a lock of her hair back. “The diamonds, at least, I wouldn’t vouch for. Well.” She shook her head. “I wondered why these servants put up with such treatment. Now I wonder if they are busy bowing to Her Gracious Majesty and robbing her behind her back.”
“Let’s get out of here,” I squeaked. The place — the people — made me feel itchy.
“Don’t care if the gems are fake or not. Perfect trophy,” Diana said, and plopped the crown onto her head. It looked odd with the modest maid’s dress.
We left, and found Sherry and Faline down in the kitchens, which were deserted.
Faline was nearly purple with her effort to hold in her laughter. “Dhana and I ran through slamming doors in empty rooms,” she gasped. “And relighting candles. Then I came here. And the best ... the best ...” She wailed, groping toward Sherry.
“Oh, just wait until they cook breakfast,” Sherry proclaimed with satisfaction, looking around the kitchen. “Won’t they get a surprise.”
o0o
“... and for the nobles’ breakfast — it’s kept separate from the ordinary food the servants have to eat — I put sugar in the salt, and salt in the puddings, and vinegar in the cream, and every single spice in the pastry dough,” Sherry was saying to Clair the next day.
Clair looked tired, but content. We all sat in a cozy circle down in the Junky, which was lit by the comforting light of a fire in the fireplace, and herb-scented candles all about.
“And here’s something,” Faline added. “I was with a bunch of maids snickering in one of the pantries.”
“I didn’t see you,” Irene stated. “I looked.”
“You must not have looked very hard,” Diana said, shutting her eyes.
“But I did,” Irene countered dramatically. “I wanted to make certain we were not doing the same things, so I made sure of where everyone was.”
Faline hunched up — very unlike her.
“I’m glad you checked on everyone’s safety, Irene,” Clair said calmly. “Faline, what did you overhear?”
“Nothing much, except, wow, I don’t think they like the Auknuges, not at all.”
“Then why are they there?” Sherry asked, her bright blue eyes round.
“Besides my guess about some of them robbing her, it’s probably an easy job,” Seshe said. “I mean, for those who aren’t her personal attendants. She has far too many servants. Must think it gives her prestige. She doesn’t deny herself anything, so even though she has two standards — the noble and the common — they still must benefit.”
“I think you are right,” Clair stated. “And all the money to support that huge h
ousehold must be coming from her brother, since she couldn’t possibly raise it all from the locals. Even with terrible taxes. Now, let’s get CJ back to herself.”
She held out her hand and I climbed onto it from Seshe’s shoulder.
She set me on the desk. I squinched up my face, remembering that glob from before.
“I bet her heart is tiny,” Sherry marveled.
“Hah! How about her little toenail?” Diana added.
“She’s lucky we don’t have any grudges,” Irene gloated, rubbing her hands.
“One false step, and KRUNCH!” Faline cackled, obviously recovered from whatever had upset her before.
Sherry laughed, Seshe winced, Irene looked ready to carry on the joke, but I screeched, “Now, Clair!”
And she did. The glop felt cold and nasty, but as I got larger it got thinner, and vanished when I was my usual self. I fought dizziness for a moment, then looked down at my skin. The blue was still there, but so faded it was barely visible. It would wear off soon.
I smiled grimly, thinking of Fobo’s cosmetics. Not just the night glop, but the stuff for daytime, into which we’d added some sugar. How soon before she starts itching? Well, better itching than planning to take over Clair’s kingdom simply to have more people bowing to her.
Clair, looking at me, smiled. “I take it you’ve strained that alliance.”
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