Authors: Elizabeth Ann Scarborough
19
Maggie’s jaws and neck felt tight and stiff from all the unnatural nodding and smiling she was doing, listening to her uncle’s voice drone on. Without the benefit of his magical credulity he was something of an overblown, pompous bore, she decided.
Amberwine had pleaded the weariness of pregnancy to retire to the relative seclusion of the tower room for a midday nap. She had been more than a little shocked and upset to discover that instead of the sanctuary it had promised to be while she was under Fearchar’s spell, the ancient castle was her prison, and intended to be her tomb. Maggie regretted the necessity of having to upset Amberwine with the frightening truth of their situation so far in advance of their escape, but then could scarcely risk not telling her. She might insist on an explanation of their behavior at some crucial moment, and spoil the whole plan. At least she had looked legitimately pale and wan when she retired.
His Highness was also conserving his strength for their escape by giving in to the demands of his bear’s body and getting lots of sleep. He, at least, was available if she needed him. Claiming the chamber upstairs was too warm in daylight hours for his fur-bearing form, he was curled up on the cool flagstone floor of the study, beneath Fearchar’s alchemist’s bench. The wizard had not carpeted that area of his study, for safety’s sake. Molten metal accidentally spilled on the furs could set the entire interior of the castle on fire.
Her uncle placed the scroll he had been showing her on the table an cast a critical glance over her. Her mouth went dry and she wet her lips with her tongue and smiled harder than ever, trying to look innocent and trusting. Was he able to detect when someone had eaten salt?
“Maggie, dear, you are not your usual radiant self. I had hoped you would abandon those old rags and attire yourself in the pretty things I provided as more befitting a lady of your station.”
“I’m sorry, Uncle,” she replied demurely. She had worn her woolen costume today in preparation for their escape. It was sturdier and more comfortable than any of the gowns, and had pockets to conceal her medicine bundle, the remaining bottle of love potion, and the dagger Rowan lent her. “Winnie and I were going to try to plant you a little garden in the courtyard later this afternoon, and I didn’t want to get your nice things dirty. With my craft I can grow you lovely giant melons and cabbages long before anyone else has them—then you’ll have fresh food, and some to dry for winter.”
“Your craft? Oh, yes, I believe Hugo mentioned. Hearthcrafting, is that right? That’s very considerate of you, I’m sure, to try to plant me a garden. But I would like for you to stop doing vulgar things like digging in the dirt and those other menial jobs hearthcrafting implies. I hardly think hearthcrafting, other than a little needlework, perhaps, is a fitting occupation for a queen.”
Here it comes, Maggie groaned inwardly. She tried to make her shrewd brown eyes go all wide and dewy as she asked, “Queen, Uncle Fearchar?”
“Yes, dear girl. I had planned to surprise you when your bridegroom arrives, but now seems as good a time as any.”
“Whatever are you talking about, Uncle? How can a simple village witch like me become a queen?”
“How indeed, my dear! How did a simple village wizard such as myself become the man of power and influence you see before you today? With the help of the princess, when she makes the nomination in the tribunal in a few months, I shall become king of our fair Argonia. How? Because I’ve had the foresight to anticipate my opportunities, and the courage and determination to seize them. Coupled, naturally, with a deep and abiding compassion for my fellow man.
“As king I shall change the face of this country. No longer will we bow down to foreign oppressors, accepting their emissaries or making concessions to our inferiors! And that ridiculous law claiming magical personages should be prosecuted for the same dreary offenses as the non-magical rabble will be abolished. No longer, when I am king, will the vulgar hordes be able to associate with us on equal footing—and they most certainly will not be able to intermarry with us and taint our sacred blood, sullying it so that the resulting descendants of fine old families are as relatively powerless as you are. No offense, dear girl, but it’s true.
“No longer will any of their kind be allowed to call themselves noble, or be in positions of authority which they can dare to abuse by using our womenfolk as William Hood did when he betrayed your mother’s love to marry that foreign faery hussy.” He took a deep breath, for he was becoming overwrought and flushed beneath his dark complexion. His eyes had a look about them wilder than the bear’s had ever been. Gradually he calmed, and said, “You won’t have to go to all the trouble of being the resourceful crusader I am, of course, my dear, since you’re related to me. In order to be queen, all that’s required of you is to marry Davey.”
“But, Uncle,” she protested just enough for effect. “I think I should dislike being queen of the gypsies. And Xenobia is rather fierce.”
“I’ll worry about Xenobia. You are obviously not going to be Queen of the Gypsies. That is not my idea of wealth and nobility. You are to be Queen of Ablemarle.”
“Ablemarle has a queen.”
“Ablemarle has for a queen only the wife of Worthyman the Worthless. Believe me, they’ll be delighted to have the niece of Fearchar the First instead.”
“I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
“You don’t have to understand, dear girl. Just leave everything to Uncle Fearchar and don’t worry your pretty little head about it. His Highness Prince Worthyman the Bear,” he jerked a thumb at the sleeping noble, “has privately expressed to me a desire to retire permanently from court life. He fears it would disagree with him after all the fresh air he has recently enjoyed. Pegeen and I just happened to research the laws of Ablemarle quite recently, and I’ve come across a convenient writ he may sign, once he is in human form, to allow him to abdicate his rightful place as crown prince to young Davey.”
“But doesn’t he have to give the heart back to Davey first?” Maggie asked.
“That’s what the spell says.”
“How can His Highness change back, then, to sign your paper, with the gypsies miles away?”
Her uncle smiled fondly at her. “Dear, dear, so many questions. Didn’t I tell you to trust your uncle, child? The swans were dispatched early this morning to fetch Davey and Xenobia.”
So soon, then. Maggie had to get Davey’s heart so that she and the bear would have a bargaining point, in case they were overwhelmed by the sheer number of their foes after the gypsies arrived. “It seems to me,” she said, “that if I am to marry the gypsy, I ought to have his heart. He’s far too fickle for my taste as he is, and we didn’t part on exactly cordial terms. In fact, I think he quite dislikes me.”
“Impossible!” said her uncle indulgently, “What young man in his right mind could despise such a ravishing creature? He’ll be overcome with joy.”
She followed him as he went to the ladder he kept in the study for fetching scrolls from the topmost compartments. “All the same,” she said, “I would still feel better…”
He looked at her sharply. “You are unusually argumentative today, Maggie. Didn’t I tell you to trust me?” He moved the ladder to one of the high, deep-set windows above the tapestry that told of a sea serpent hunt in the middle of a map of the Sea of Smokings.
“Oh, of course I do, Uncle! Forgive me. I guess any girl is apt to be a little silly when she is first engaged.” “Ugh,” she thought, “if he believes that one…”
He cupped her chin between his thumb and forefinger and looked deeply into her eyes. Again she wondered if he could smell salt on her breath—or perhaps the fishiness of her excuse—but he said, “Naturally you would be, my child. And I can deny you nothing.” He climbed the ladder and Maggie nearly swooned with the effort it cost her to keep from pushing it out from under him.
Light danced around the stone walls, sparking bright new colors onto the worn tapestries, encrusting Maggie’s worn woolen garments with gems of luminescence, and skipping around on the bear’s closed eyes till he turned over on his other side to sleep.
From the wizard’s hand dangled a crystal prism. “If you look deeply into it, you will see his heart,” he told her. Maggie examined the prism, which seemed to be made of solid light itself. There, framed by a thousand glittering facets, was a tiny rose, the color of heart’s blood.
“
That
came out of
him?
” she asked, in spite of herself. Her uncle jerked it back abruptly and Maggie struggled to resume her docile niece pose. It was no easy task to deceive such a professional sneak as her uncle. “I mean to say,” she said, “now that I know his heart, how can I help but love him?”
Mollified, her uncle set it into one of the pigeon holes of his desk. “How indeed?” He turned to the door the ghost had passed through the night before. “Ah, Lady Amberwine, refreshed from your nap, I trust?”
Winnie, pale as the proverbial lily, inclined her head, which was about all the communication she was capable of now that she knew the wizard’s villainous nature.
“You may as well know, too. Your gypsy friend, Davey, and his charming mother, are on their way here in order for Davey to marry your sister. We have just been discussing wedding plans. Perhaps you’ll persuade him to sing that song you’re so fond of.” He hummed a few bars of the tune for which Colin had so often fashioned lyrics, though on his lips it sounded strange and gloating. Winnie went rigid. If she was pale before, Maggie thought her ashen now.
This time Maggie was unable to control the anger that pounded in her ears and she had her hand on her dagger when there was a ringing of footsteps in the corridor without. “Brown!” Hugo shouted, “Come here and see what I’ve brought you!”
They turned to the doorway. The peddler was a burly fellow when he wasn’t all bent over pretending to be humble and holding his hat in his hand. Now it was Colin he held, a shirtless and disheveled Colin with his face contorted from the pain of the grip Hugo held on his arms, which were forced up behind his back.
Uncle Fearchar crossed to them. “Hugo, old friend, you’re so uncouth! Where are your manners? Is this how you treat a friend of my niece?” He made as if to dust Colin off, after Hugo released him, but it was difficult to straighten the collar of a shirtless man. So he settled for giving him his best sincerely convincing smile. “Minstrel Songsmith, I presume? But what has become of your raiment?”
“I never wear my shirt when I go swimming,” Colin said.
It was all Maggie could do to keep from rushing over to hug him. She had been terribly afraid that whatever end they were plotting for him had already come about, and an imaginative revenge would be all she would be able to do about it.
“I think my sister and I would probably prefer to hear Colin sing at my wedding,” Maggie said. “Colin, it’s too wonderful,” she winked from behind her uncle’s back. Hugo had gone to poke up the fire that was kept burning in the drafty hall to keep out the chill. “Uncle has arranged for me to marry Gypsy Davey and be a queen and everything.”
“Oh—er—how nice,” he said, not quite sure what the wink was meant to convey.
“Mrrow?” asked Ching, sauntering through the door left open when Hugo had forced Colin into the study.
“Animals in the house. Disgusting,” said Uncle Fearchar, moving to shoo the cat.
“I beg your pardon?” said His Highness the bear, rising from his nap.
“Er—present company excepted of course, Your Highness,” amended the wizard, crossing to his desk, where he began rummaging in the papers.
Ching triumphantly leaped to Maggie’s shoulder and began to purr.
“Now that we’re all together again,” said Fearchar jovially, “I thought you might like to see the writ of abdication I found for Your Highness that you may sign to leave your throne to young Davey and Maggie.”
“There was another item involved, wasn’t there, Wizard?” asked the bear, lumbering over to the desk.
“Ah, yes, of course. Davey’s heart.” He picked up the crystal, waved it around a bit, and laid it on the desk, out of the bear’s reach. “Have it right here, so when the boy comes all you’ll have to do is hand it over to him and—poof—there you are, good as new, in all your regal splendor!”
“Let’s see,” said the bear, putting his forepaws on the desk and extending himself to where he could sniff at the crystal. “Yes, I guess that about does it. There’s the heart, the boy’s on the way, here we all are, and there’s young Colin. I think the time has come.” He rose to his full height and roared deeply. “Run along, now, children, unless you want to see me tear him to pieces,” he told Maggie and Colin. “I’ll meet you at the boat.”
“Watch out, prince!” cried Maggie as her uncle snatched a phial from the desk and flung it at the bear’s face. But it was too late, for no sooner had the white powder been released from the phial to float into the bear’s nostrils than the huge, menacing prince subsided into a sleeping roly-poly heap of fur at the sorcerer’s feet.
“Maggie, I am seriously shocked at you,” said her uncle, as he tried to fix her with his expression of sincerely, seriously, shocked injury.
“Oh, dry up, you conceited ass!” she cried, unable to control herself and maintain the charade any longer.
“What a way to talk to your only uncle! You’ll watch your nasty mouth when you address me, my girl.”