A Tale of Two Castles

I returned to my deducing. Princess Renn must have been behind Cellarer Bwat, my accuser. She had probably hinted to him that I might be to blame, hinted so subtly he thought the suspicion his own.

As I mulled it over, I saw she had reason to fear me. I’d witnessed her dismay when His Highness revealed her new future husband. She had directed me to search the stable when she knew Nesspa was elsewhere. I had dis-

covered the mauled ox. And I was the assistant to a dragon skilled at unraveling mysteries. Thorough again, she thought imprisoning me not enough. She had to poison me, too.

I wondered if His Lordship had seen her set the cats on him. Poor count. If he loved the princess, what a blow that would have been.

Had she poisoned him as well as signaled the cats? I remembered his face had been mottled red and white when the minstrel sang, and he’d swayed when he tried to address everyone after the king announced the betrothal. Also he’d hugged himself as if he were cold just before he shifted into the lion.

Poison might have made him less able to resist the cats.

Again I climbed to the window. Below me a hooded figure rounded the tower, walking slowly, hugging the wall. Even from above I recognized Princess Renn’s thin shoulders and awkward gait. She was seeking the remnants of my meal.

A moment ago I’d wanted my masteress instantly. Now IT mustn’t come!

With trembling hands, I pulled in the trailing cap laces, untied the knots, and took in the cap.

Then I waited, waited, waited.

Surely she must be gone by now. I peeped out.

She was kneeling on the wet ground, her shoulders shaking. As I watched, she raised her head. I retreated, but not before seeing her red eyes, her tragic expression.

The next time I looked, she was gone. I tied the wet cap back in place. A form, grayed by the weather, flew toward me from Two Castles. Soon IT would pass over the outer curtain. I waved. IT would find a way to save the king.

IT wheeled back and forth as IT had last night, but at a greater distance from me. Why?

Abruptly IT flew straight up.

“Come back!”

IT rose higher, then twisted in the air. While frantically beating ITs wings, IT fell and disappeared behind the outer curtain.





Chapter Thirty-Six

I gripped the bars. IT must have taken an arrow in ITs belly. I heard myself sobbing as if from far away. Could IT survive the arrow or the fall? I squeezed my eyes tight, making colors swirl behind my eyelids—rather than images of ITs death.

Oh, my masteress, I thought again and again.

I untied my cap and climbed shakily down from the window. Then I sat with my head down on the tabletop, but after a minute I stood, refusing to cry anymore. I would hope IT lived, so why cry?

IT couldn’t save the king now. I would have to attempt the deed myself.

But His Majesty wasn’t worth saving compared with my masteress. How could I save IT?

Master Dess might be able to heal IT if I could get to him.

I hadn’t tried to escape while I was relying on my Great, my Unfathomable, my Brilliant Masteress Meenore.

I circled the room, looking at everything. The fire poker. Stand on the table, yell for the guards, and smite them on the head as they entered.

No. The first guard would catch my arm before I could strike. I would only anger them.

Might I mansion myself out of here?

I continued to circle.

When would the princess come to see how sick I was?

Had she already poisoned her father again?

I circled the other way. An idea began to form. I thought it out, although I had no time for all this thinking.

I would say this. If a guard said that, I would say the other. They wouldn’t be surprised to see me healthy. Her Highness could hardly have told them to expect me to be ill.

Three more circuits, and I was ready. I wrung out my soaked cap and put it back on, although the dampness was unpleasant. Then I eased the key out of the keyhole and tucked it into the heel of my shoe where I could get at it quickly.

I swallowed over a lump in my throat. Masteress Meenore would want to hear about this, if I did well.

The bottom of the bed draperies had a two-inch hem. I found a dropped stitch and pulled, widening the opening.

I knocked on the door. In a gay tone, I cried, “Hail! Open, if you please!” I leaned my ear against the door but heard nothing. If they ignored me, I was lost. His Majesty and my masteress as well. I called again.

A minute or more passed before I heard the bolt pulled free. I backed farther into the room and clasped my hands pleadingly.

The door opened. The guards had changed since Her Highness had come. Luck was with me—half with me, at least. I recognized one of the guards, a young man who had been posted at a fireplace in the great hall and had watched my performance. I remembered seeing him laugh. The other guard was older, with lines of discontent around his mouth.

“Thank you, masters. Time passes slowly in here.” I bit my lip. “And I’m frightened.” I truly was. My legs could hardly support me. “So I’ve been practicing my mansioning.”

The older guard folded his arms across his chest.

I smiled up at them both. “But I need help with a mansioner’s tale that has four characters. A princess.” I ran to the table for my spoon. “Here is my scepter.” I flourished it. “A beautiful princess.” I batted my eyelashes. The younger guard grinned. The older one settled back on his heels.

“The second character is a witch, who has the princess in her keeping.” I pulled a blanket off my bed and threw it around me, making a hooded cape. Rounding my shoulders as a hump, I pulled my cap laces forward to suggest a few strands of chin hair. In a crackly voice I said, “I am the witch.”

I wished I could do this quicker, but I had to persuade the guards to forget themselves.

Straightening, in my own voice, I said, “I need two princes. I can’t portray them.”

The younger guard grinned and said, “I’ve always . . .”

The older guard sent him a reproving look. My heart sank.