A Tale of Two Castles

Master Sulow laughed. “You’ll have it anyway.”


Why could Master Thiel have an apple and not I? I wanted to wrest it from his hand and gobble it up.

Controlling myself, I said, “May I do Thisbe’s last scene?” This was the most powerful moment, when she grieves over Pyramus’s body.

“By all means. I will establish the mood.” He threw back his head and roared, a lion’s roar, convincingly enough to make my heart race.

Oh, excellent! I clapped, which made a wet sound.

Then I kept my hands together and lowered my head, to concentrate and become my role, but the apples filled my mind. Albin said inspiration could come from any source. I wanted an apple as much as Thisbe ever wanted Pyramus.

Master Sulow coughed.

An apple would be my Pyramus. I whispered, “‘O Pyramus? Is that you?’” I heard the genuine longing in my tones. I imagined an apple withering to an inedible core and wailed, “‘O, O my love.’” I dropped my voice to a murmur. “‘My heart, my darling.’” Tears ran down my cheeks, real tears. “‘O Pyramus . . .’” O Apple. “‘. . . do

you yet breathe?’” Do you yet have pulp and juice? I crouched. “‘What do I see? O!’” O! My apple core! “‘My bloodied shawl! My love, O my love, my love, O my love, have you . . . died . . .’” Have you shriveled? “‘. . . for love of me?’”

I dared say no more. I could hardly speak for sadness. I stood and curtsied.

Master Sulow shook his head, as if shaking off a vision. Master Thiel applauded. Masteress Meenore said, “Mmm. Hmm. Mmm.” Had I managed to surprise IT?

Master Sulow picked up an apple, which he pressed into my hand. I bit into it. No fruit had ever tasted so sweet. Thisbe’s tears still flowed as I chewed. He’d said he’d give me an apple if I was to be his apprentice. I would be a mansioner. I had performed better than ever before. Master Thiel had clapped. They’d all liked it. I swallowed. “Thank you, master. I’ll toil and—”

“You earned your apple, but three paying apprentices began their service yesterday.”

I paused, the apple at my mouth. Had I heard right? He’d promised.

“You should take her,” IT said. “You won’t easily find her like.”

“Meenore, do I tell you how to deduce or induce or whatever? The three I have are trainable. They’ll do.” He took my elbow and walked me to the door. “I have no need of a fourth.”





Chapter Eight

The door squeaked shut behind us.

“He never wanted an apprentice,” I said, my elation seeping away. “He knew all along. Did you know?” I finished the apple except for the stem and seeds. I was still hungry.

“How could I?”

IT was the masteress of knowing everything.

“I do know Sulow likes his silver.”

Liked money more than an apprentice who could turn herself into Thisbe. Some of my happiness came back. “Masteress Meenore, I was a fine Thisbe, wasn’t I?”

“More than fine. I did not expect it.”

Another realization struck. “He didn’t expect it, either. He wanted to laugh at me.” Oh. I turned on IT. “And so did you!”

IT exhaled blue smoke.

I stamped away and started back toward Two Castles. I had no idea what I would do when I got there or how I would keep myself alive. Fear as well as hunger stabbed my belly. I could be a tragedy, not merely portray one.

The rain had lightened, but twilight was falling, and the air had turned winter cold.

Masteress Meenore landed at my side, radiating heat. I supposed IT had a home with food and a bed, if dragons slept in beds. Why didn’t IT go there?

“Masteress Meenore, where may I find the nearest other company of mansioners?”

“In Pree. A month’s march, and the road is unsafe.”

Perhaps a caravan was going there, and I could travel along as someone’s servant.

“The master in Pree isn’t as welcoming as Sulow.” Enh enh enh. “I don’t see why you want to be a mansioner, Lodie—”

“Elo—”

“Lodie. Do not correct your elders. I prefer Lodie.”

“Elodie is prettier.”

“That may be. Why would you prefer to be a mansioner when you might be a dragon’s assistant?”

“I’ve always hoped . . .” ITs words penetrated. “Your assistant? Or a different dragon’s?” What would a dragon’s assistant do?

“I will not pay you much. I am stingy.”

The evening bells began to chime. Pay pay pay pay.

I liked the sound, but I grew frightened. Would I go to ITs lair? Would chunks of me be on ITs skewers tomorrow?

IT sniffed. “I will withdraw my offer, if you think that of me.”

Could IT read my mind? “I didn’t say anything!”

“Precisely.”

I had hesitated, so IT knew. IT waddled several yards away. I missed ITs warmth.

“What will my duties be?”

IT reared onto ITs back legs and spread ITs wings without flying. “Back away.”

I did, and quickly.

IT spewed a jet of flame, burnishing the yellow meadow and rusting the charcoal sky. “You will proclaim my powers of deduction, induction, and common sense.” IT came down heavily on ITs front legs. “And you will thread my skewers, carry my baskets, assist me with my many responsibilities.”

Proclaiming sounded well. A mansioner might proclaim.

“We will try each other out to see if we suit.”

I nodded.

“If I find you wanting, I will not keep you.”

If I found IT wanting, I wouldn’t stay.

But where would I go?

“Twenty tins for the month. I will feed you, and you may live with me. That is my offer.”

I hardly heard the sum. As soon as IT finished speaking, I demonstrated my proclaiming ability loud enough for the moon to hear. “I will serve you, Masteress Meenore, with dedication, with enthusiasm, and with whatever art nature has bestowed on me.”

IT smiled, showing every pointy yellow tooth in ITs mouth.

“Is there food at your house?”