Chimes at Midnight

Ormond followed her, seeming to move more sedately, and yet somehow crossing the floor in the same amount of time. “Before you go worrying yourself, His Lordship is right behind us, and with four dozen men besides. We were just at the head of the pack, as it were. It occurred to us there might be a mess in need of setting right, and it would have been unfair to leave it any longer than necessary.”


“Ah,” I said. “Let me introduce you to Arden. This is her knowe.” I started walking, not bothering to check whether the Hobs were following me. Because this was Arden’s knowe, they’d need her permission to start cleaning—and there’s nothing in this world or any other that Hobs love more than they love to clean. It’s their calling and their passion, and a mess like this one was their equivalent of Christmas.

Arden had heard the unfamiliar voices, and had managed to set her makeshift broom aside and at least try to dust off her hands before we reached her. “Hello,” she said, with a mildly questioning lilt.

“Melly, Ormond, may I present Her Highness Arden Windermere, Crown Princess and rightful Queen in the Mists,” I said. “Arden, meet Melly and Ormond. They’re from Shadowed Hills. They’d really appreciate being allowed to mop your floors.”

“And wipe your windows, and scrub your stonework, and polish anything that needs polishing,” said Melly, sounding dazed. Then she curtsied. “Your Highness.”

“Highness,” said Ormond, with a much more restrained nod of his head. “We’re here to set your house in order, if you’ll let us.”

“Please,” said Arden fervently. “This place is . . .”

“It may be booby-trapped,” I interjected. “Oleander was here.”

Ormond’s expression hardened. “Will that snake never stop poisoning our gardens?” he asked sourly. “Be assured, we’ll watch for signs of her.”

“Okay. If you find a trap you can’t defuse on your own, mark it with a redwood bough.” Glancing to Arden to be sure she was all right with what I was saying, I continued, “It’d be best if you could start here, get this room and the entry hall into a presentable condition. Arden, did you have a room here?”

“Yes,” said Arden, sounding puzzled.

“Melly, if you can find the Princess’ room, you might be able to find her wardrobe . . .”

Melly straightened, all but glowing in her excitement. “Oh, dresses! Yes, of course! Highness,” she bobbed another curtsy to Arden. Then she was off, moving almost too quickly for my human eyes to follow as she vanished into the remaining curtain of cobwebs.

Arden blinked. “It’s going to take me a while to get used to that.”

“Fake it.” Footsteps from the entry hall signaled the approach of a much larger force. I turned to see Sylvester stepping into the receiving hall. All his knights and men-at-arms were behind him, even Etienne. Grianne was standing at Sylvester’s right, signaling that she was, for the moment at least, his second-in-command. It made sense: without his powers, Etienne couldn’t safely move outside the knowe unescorted. It still sucked.

Sylvester paused long enough to look around, assessing our progress, before turning and murmuring something to Grianne. She nodded, and her Merry Dancers—the two globes of living light that accompanied her everywhere she went—rose to ceiling level, lighting up the receiving hall and throwing the grime into sharp relief. I didn’t say anything, but I was glad to have the extra light, no matter how nasty it made everything look. Sylvester nodded, looking pleased, and led his forces across the room to where we were waiting. No one said anything.

When he reached us, he drew his sword, placed its tip against the floor, and knelt. “Your Highness,” he said.

Arden looked flustered. “You don’t have to do that.”

“Yes, he does,” said Tybalt. She glanced to him, startled. “Accept the fealty you are offered. It is your responsibility, your privilege, and your burden.”

“. . . right.” She turned back to Sylvester. “Thank you.”