The Kindness Curse

by Michelle L. Levigne

  Gilda and Aubrey married two moons later. Merrigan and Belinda and their girls had the honor of making the royal wedding garments, for them and most of the court. They barely had time to finish all the clothes, but no other seamstresses or tailors in the entire city would do. The orphan warehouse had the protection of the Crown Prince, and everyone wanted to patronize the place.

  No word had come yet of the fate of the weaver and his wife, but Merrigan had the satisfaction of receiving several letters from Warden and Miles and Quincy. Every sea captain and every port master and the coastal patrol ships had been put on alert, to ensure they didn't cross over the ocean to continue their deceptive practices. She was also pleased to hear how her friends were faring as they settled down into marriage and their chosen lives. And she wept a little, when all of them asked, with every letter, when she would return and visit them. For some odd reason, they all credited her with them finding their happiness and their true loves.

  THE DAY AFTER THE ROYAL wedding, Belinda woke up everyone with a mad dash to the garderobe, where she clung to the wooden seat and heaved and gagged for a good ten minutes before the convulsions of nausea stopped. Merrigan had Lily go to the kitchen, to verify her suspicions. Sure enough, the cooking crew had been at work for half an hour and the ingredients that had been soaking overnight were just starting to bubble in the enormous cauldrons. Breakfast that morning was peas porridge, although certainly a much higher quality peas porridge than the orphans had eaten in the past.

  "I don't understand," she sighed, once Belinda had curled up in her shelf bed again, after changing into a fresh nightgown. The one she had worn to bed was soaked with sweat. "How could you smell it from the other side of the building? And how could you have such a bad reaction? We had peas porridge for breakfast four days ago. Gretchen spilled some on you when you helped feed her, and you didn't get sick."

  "Princes," Belinda said, her voice reduced to a rasp like sand. "There are princes close enough to wake up the other half of the spell. When they get close enough to me, and I'm close to anything with peas, it sort of starts an avalanche of magic that just gets stronger as they follow it and get closer to me."

  "What can stop it?" Merrigan had the awful feeling she knew.

  "The ingredients of the triggered spell have to be separated," Bib said, his voice muffled under the covers of Merrigan's bed, which was end-to-end with Belinda's shelf bed. Their pillows were separated only by a slanting board that supported the shelving around them.

  The three of them had been up late the night before, talking quietly, remembering other royal weddings they had attended or stories of royal weddings Bib had gleaned from history books. In the two moons since Belinda had come to the orphanage, they had become quite good friends. It was amazing all the things they had in common, their opinions on certain royal traditions, their frustration with magic spells and interfering enchanters and Fae, and the dictates of fashion.

  "Separated as in ...?"

  "I have to leave." Belinda's voice crackled, but she admirably held off the tears. "Actually, it would be more accurate to say I have to run. The problem is, at this time of the morning, anywhere I run, chances are good someone is cooking peas porridge. But the longer I stay here, the closer they could get, drawn by my reaction to the peas porridge, which reacts to them getting closer, which makes me sicker, which just makes the beacon drawing them closer even brighter, which—"

  The panic blanching her face warned Merrigan in time, so she scuttled backwards and only got a heel in her chest when Belinda leaped from the bed and dashed for the garderobe again.

  "Unfortunately, she's right," Bib said.

  "How hard can it be for even a prince who celebrated too much last night to figure out that she's here?" Merrigan growled. "We should have thought of that—a royal wedding draws useless second and third and fourth sons like ..."

  She scrambled for a fitting simile. Flies to honey did not suit. Flies to a corpse, however, did. Yet, hearing Belinda give one last loud, dry heave, she didn't want to say it. She liked Belinda more than any other princess she had ever met. The girl had gumption and a lot of common sense and a dry, sharp wit. The stories she had to tell about playing tricks on her younger sisters were hilarious. Especially the rather messy, embarrassing tricks.

  This time, Belinda didn't have to change her nightgown when she stopped heaving. The girls were awake by this time and they surrounded her with sympathy and helped to bundle her back into bed. One offered to let Belinda sleep with her doll, another offered to run to the nearest bake shop—a long trip, even though she was one of the swiftest runners among all the orphans—to find her something for breakfast. By now, everyone knew peas made Belinda ill.

  Everyone knew ...

  "Oh!" Merrigan could barely keep back a stream of curses that wanted to fall from her lips. She didn't know whether to be grateful for the time on the ocean with Quincy's sailors, or not.

  "I don't know," Belinda said, when the girls had gone off to breakfast and the three of them were alone again. Merrigan had just explained what had occurred to her. "How could we have kept something like this secret? Children are curious, and they talk, and everyone thinks I'm a child too, so they have to wonder why I don't have to eat the same things they do. But I don't think we're in that much trouble. To find out that someone who is allergic to peas porridge is here, those dolts chasing me would have to ask lots of questions. Those princes have to win a kingdom through marriage because they don't have the ambition or cleverness to earn a kingdom the old-fashioned way. Killing ogres and dragons. Performing twenty hard labors for a Fae queen. Digging a kingdom out of the bottom of the sea or something else that requires some guts and brains and sweat." She sighed.

  "How long have they been chasing you, Princess?" Bib asked.

  "Oh, let's see, I ran away when I was ... Oh." She lost a little of the color she had regained. "You're right. If they're still holding on in the chase after five years, they might have learned to do some hard work. Or at the very least, they're desperate enough to listen to gossip, or even talk to people. Anyone they meet on the street."

  "How likely do they think you are to hide among orphans?" Merrigan asked.

  "How many fables are there of groups of children under enchantments?" She shrugged. "I've hidden anywhere I could, disguised as any number of things. I was a goose girl, a miller's apprentice, a milkmaid, a gardener. I even took shelter among some friendly trolls for almost an entire year. You would think the smell would make me invulnerable to the scent of peas cooking. Those wretched princes found me when someone planted an entire field of peas over the trolls' underground lair. At harvest time, someone cooked freshly harvested peas and there was enough magic to make me ill. So ill, even the trolls didn't want me around." She let out a sigh that seemed to make her deflate among her blankets. "They won't stop until they find me. How many princesses can there be in this city?"

  "The day after a royal wedding?" Bib chuckled. "You were in the palace, finishing up Gilda's dress. Didn't you glimpse the guest book?"

  "I did." Merrigan shook her head. "It's pitiful, all the women who hold tight to the title of princess even though they're so many generations removed from the throne, a plague would have to wipe out half a city for them to have a chance to wear a crown."

  "Look on the bright side, then. Those princes could be drawn off on a dozen wild goose chases, following all those paper-thin princesses as they head home."

  "Many of them will be horribly disappointed because yet another royal wedding passed, and some prince didn't snatch them up. Although that's a thought. Some of them might have come here to find a royal bride, any royal bride, no matter how far from the throne. Five years is a long wait. They aren't getting any younger."

  "Neither am I," Belinda said with a sigh. "You'd think Father would have the sense to give up on me and make one of my younger sisters the heir, more likely to attract a prince with the strength to take care of the kingdom. Bythia and Barbarina ..." Sh
e shuddered. "Even with all the magic those two learned, Father would never be persuaded to make one of them his heir. It's sad, really. A wicked enchantress in charge might just make our tiny little backwater kingdom a popular place to visit."

  "Excuse me?"

  "Oh, it makes perfect sense," Bib said. "The presence of evil magic tends to draw the darker sorts of magical beasts. Even if they don't immediately start to feast on farm animals and kidnap children to enslave, their presence would in turn draw adventurers and heroes. Along with them would come all the hangers-on, the support teams, the armorers and healers and minstrels looking for another heroic ballad to write to launch them into fame and a comfortable retirement. After them would come the admirers and hopeful dreamers and the boys who want to apprentice with heroes. It's somewhat of a trade guild all in itself, and profitable."

  "Nonsense," Merrigan said with a sniff.

  Still, she couldn't shake the thought, and the speculations that followed. Leffisand, she had to admit, had done some despicable things in his quest to consolidate his power and secure his throne. If he had continued in his course of evil deeds and schemes, would Carlion have eventually attracted magical monsters that attracted heroes to fight them? And in the wake of the heroes, bring in people who had to pay for inns to stay in and food to eat and new clothes and all that went with travelers and armor and battles?

  The three talked for another hour, weighing options. The possibilities of the princes following a departing wedding guest. The chances they would realize their runaway princess stayed in Alliburton. And just how long until peas were again served in the orphanage. The effects on Belinda faded as soon as the children ate their breakfast. The question was if enough damage had been done to bring the hunter princes into this quarter of the city.

  "We can't rely on your disguise to stay stable," Merrigan said, when Belinda had recovered enough to get washed up and dressed. "I don't think you should leave the orphanage for the next few days. Just in case."

  "That's it," Bib said. His pages riffled back and forth, loudly enough to make Merrigan and Belinda flinch. "A disguise—no, not a disguise, but a decoy! We'll need to borrow one of Gilda's tiaras."

  "What?" both princesses said in perfect, shocked unison.

  "It's utterly brilliant," the book continued, ignoring the stunned looks the two exchanged over his pages.

  For all his wisdom and the access to written knowledge, the book couldn't possibly understand. Tiaras and crowns were enchanted. They were stolen and recovered. They were inherited. They were not borrowed. It simply wasn't done.

  "The spell is set to find a princess, am I correct?" Bib continued, oblivious to their reaction. "It's not tuned specifically to you, correct?"

  "I don't think so. It's been so long since it latched onto me, but ..." Belinda's eyes got wide and a slow smile wiped away the disgusted twist that had held her mouth.

  "What am I missing?" Merrigan demanded.

  "We let those idiots find a princess. A real princess. Just not the one they're looking for. If I'm right, and the spell specifies a princess tangled in a spell, and not specifically Belinda," Bib continued, "then won't they simply ignore the spell when it keeps insisting that a princess is here, and they find one, right here at this sewing table, and she isn't Belinda?"

  "Me?" Her voice squeaked alarmingly. A totally ridiculous wave of fear swept over her. "But I don't look like—I'm not—this isn't my face anymore. I'm—well, let's be honest, I'm a wrinkled, shriveled, white-haired, crooked old hag! With warts. What?" she snapped, when Belinda frowned thoughtfully.

  "But Merrigan, you're not white-haired or crooked," Belinda protested. "You stand quite straight. And you have no warts. Isn't that odd? Bib, have you noticed ... well, maybe I was just distraught when I first arrived, but I could swear Merrigan isn't so ... so wrinkled anymore. And her hair is a lovely dark silver, streaked with sable. It's really hard to see under that cap she keeps it tucked up in all the time, but—"

  "Stop talking about me as if I'm a dressmaker's mannequin."

  "We need a mirror."

  "We need a crown," Bib said. "That cap will come in handy. The moment that tracking spell brings one of those dunderheads stumbling in here, you stand up and give them some royal scorn. Whip your cap off, and show them your tiara. That spell will verify you speak the truth when you announce you're a princess. But since you're not their princess, well, they'll have to go away. The princess they want will be right there in the room with them, and they'll never notice."

  "Announce I'm a princess." Merrigan's voice cracked. She shuddered. Maybe now she was getting sick. Was it possible for the tracking spell to have transferred from Belinda, or just widened its influence to affect her? "Do I have to tell them ... who I am?"

  "Oh, Merrigan." Belinda wrapped her arms around her. The warmth and sympathy felt incredibly good. "Of course not. They don't deserve to know your name, and I understand completely. It's rather embarrassing, being under a curse. I can't understand why someone as wonderful as you would ever be put under a curse."

  The laughter bubbling in Merrigan's throat had an acid taint. Just when she thought Belinda wasn't a featherhead, she had to say something idiotic. Her, Merrigan of Avylyn, the royal brat, the terror of the court? The princess who drove away increasingly desperate or masochistic suitors before she duped herself into believing Leffisand rescued her? Wonderful?

  "No, of course not." Bib's glee faded, his tone turned thoughtful. "No, don't embarrass yourself, Mi'Lady. It should be enough for the deception to announce you're a princess. Slap them down with all the royal elegance you've been denied for so long. But first, we need a tiara. The simpler the better. What princess in exile, living in impecunious circumstances, would have more than just a circlet indicating her royal blood?"

  "Hard to keep clean," Merrigan offered. Funny how hard it had been to breathe for a few moments. "Very difficult to keep on your head when you're fleeing ogres and bandits."

  "That's the spirit." Belinda chuckled and squeezed Merrigan close.

  Gilda and Aubrey had left on their wedding trip, but King Auberg was in the palace and more than delighted to help Merrigan. He had become something of a grandfather to the orphanage. He took such mischievous delight in coming to the warehouse in disguise, loaded down with treats for the children. Books for the studious ones. Tools for those headed for a trade. Wooden practice swords, bows and arrows for the boys who wanted to join the city guard or the army. Ribbons and trinkets for the girls who were old enough to sigh over such things.

  "Merrigan of ... of Avylyn?" Auberg repeated, when she finished detailing her request. She had brought Bib with her to the palace for their private meeting. A talking magical book was always a guarantee that her story would be taken as truth. "Oh, my dear princess, I have indeed heard what has been happening with Carlion and Jardien and your father's kingdom, but ... the tales are that you ... well, there are several mad women wandering the mountains, claiming to be you. Rather vicious, foul-tempered women."

  "Far too easy for people to believe those women are me, you mean." Her face felt warm enough, she imagined she glowed redder than the coals in the fireplace on the other side of the room. Merrigan was grateful for this private audience. She didn't want word to get back to anyone who knew her, even if it took years for the gossip to trickle across the continent.

  "Mi'Lady," Bib said, his tones subdued, "if I may be so bold, you are no longer you. It takes a heavy grindstone to turn wheat into fine flour, but the results are admired by everyone. I imagine if flour could think, it would be delighted at ... well, perhaps that metaphor isn't quite working, but—"

  "I know what you mean. Thank you, Bib. You have always been my truest friend." Merrigan shared a smile with King Auberg. "I'm not here for my benefit, Majesty, but for Princess Belinda. If we could verify the princes hunting her were indeed here for the wedding, and determine how many remain on the hunt, that would help us ever so much."

  "Determine who is stil
l here in Alliburton, to know how much threat remains." He nodded, a decisive movement that belied his thinning white hair and sagging jowls.

  In the two moons since the curse broke, a general sense of haziness and distraction had lifted from the entire city. Merrigan had learned that the king hadn't really been distracted by the hunt to find and free his missing son. Rather, King Auberg had discerned early that the spell was thickest around the palace, and had prudently removed the heart of the government to another city. Whoever set the curse had wanted to cripple the kingdom, not just make the royal family suffer. The curse was flexible, set to discern where the most government activity was, and then settle around that physical location. King Auberg's ministers and officers and secretaries had to pick up everything and move to another city every ten moons or so. The rumors that the king was useless and letting others run the kingdom for him were partly to satisfy the enemy, and keep him from checking the progress of the curse. Now, the seat of the government was back in the palace. King Auberg was a man reborn, alert and decisive and fixing all that had unfortunately been allowed to lie neglected for years.

  "Come with me, Princess." He stood and offered her his bent elbow, then shook his head. "Forgive me. How rude. If you don't mind, Sir Bib?" He scooped up the book from the stool next to Merrigan, and cradled it against his chest with one arm.

  "You honor me, Majesty," Bib responded, as Auberg offered his elbow again to Merrigan.