The Runaway Princess (12 page)

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Authors: Kate Coombs

BOOK: The Runaway Princess
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“Wizard?” Nort swallowed.
“You said you wanted an adventure,” Dilly reminded him.
Nort squared his skinny shoulders. “Right. We're off to see the wizard.”
“They'll be looking for you, too,” Dilly told Meg.
“They'll be looking for a princess. I'm not a princess at the moment.”
“How will I find you again?” Dilly asked.
“Meet us in the morning—” Meg stopped to think. “Not here. There will be princes in the woods. It'll have to be by the frog pond.”
“What about those bandits?” Nort said. “Aren't we going to capture them anymore?”
“Cam comes first,” Meg said sternly.
“Besides,” Dilly told Nort, “Meg's already completed two of the three tasks. She's practically won the contest.”
“She hasn't actually
destroyed
anything,” Nort began, but he trailed off at the sight of Meg's expression.
 
The torchlit royal courtyard was in a state of uproar. Fewer than a dozen princes were left, but they seemed to make as much noise as the original number, arguing about how to rescue the princess from the witch.
“I'll have my hounds after the evil crone,” said a watery-eyed prince with an eastern accent.
“And if she flew away on her broom?” Vantor inquired sardonically.
“Perhaps it was the bandits,” Prince Bain interjected.
Vantor frowned at him. “Bandits? This has witch written all over it!”
“Unless the witch is working hand in hand with the bandits.”
Vantor pointedly turned his back on Bain.
Inside the castle, the king was saying to his queen, “Our daughter's been abducted. Are you going to speak to me now?”
“I told you not to put her up there,” Queen Istilda retorted. Then she turned and swept away down the corridor.
The king glared at the prime minister. “These are
not
the kind of results I meant,” he rumbled.
Anyone watching the queen might have noticed that her pace was a bit less sedate than usual as she returned to her quarters. “Find my daughter's maid,” she told Maude. Her lady-in-waiting scurried away.
 
Unaware of the hullabaloo at the castle, Dorn and Dagle stepped back to admire their handiwork.
“It's a beautiful hole,” said Dagle.
“Pit, you mean. A trap is much more than a mere hole.”
“You're right, brother.” Dagle squatted to peer into the gaping mouth of the pit. “Do you think it's large enough to hold a dragon?”
“Wings fully spread, or furled?”
“They'll have to be furled.”
“Let's make it just a little wider,” his twin told him.
The two princes wielded their shovels with renewed
determination. Dirt flew out of the hole like upsidedown, discolored rain.
Over by the wind-twisted pines, the cow chewed on a pile of straw, dreaming of lost green pastures as the sun slowly set.
DILLY BUSTLED ALONG A PASSAGEWAY WITH her arms full of towels. When she reached Prince Bain's room, she rapped smartly on the door. She wasn't surprised when no one answered: Prince Bain was in the courtyard with everyone else. Dilly pushed the door open and slipped into the empty room, closing the door behind her.
Some of the princes left clutter about, cloaks thrown over chairs, scabbards on the beds. Not Prince Bain. The only sign of his presence was a single silk shirt hung neatly inside his wardrobe. Dilly's heart sank. “Cam isn't here,” she said to the silence.
Still, she searched the room, lifting the pillows and the mattress, peering inside the wooden chest at the foot of the bed. Nowhere could she find the little box Meg had described.
When she finished, Dilly tidied up and left with her towels. She was nearly to the stairs when someone called
her name, and she glanced back to see Maude, one of the queen's ladies, coming toward her.
Maude hurried her away to the queen's chambers. Dilly's heart pounded, though she tried to calm it. Meg's mother wants to know if I have any ideas about what happened, she told herself. That's all.
The lady-in-waiting followed Dilly inside. Dilly had been within the queen's chambers only once before, when the queen was at a state dinner and a senior maid had wanted to impress Dilly with the beauty of the place. The queen's chambers were hung with hundreds of fluting lengths of pink and gold glass that chimed delicately when a breeze was allowed to drift through the windows and shimmered when the light struck them. That day Dilly had liked coming into the queen's own rooms, but not now—especially after the queen dismissed all three of her ladies. They looked appalled to be sent out.
The door clicked shut. “Sit down,” the queen said, indicating a little chair with one graceful hand. Dilly bobbed a curtsy and took her seat.
“Dilly,” the queen said firmly, “where is my daughter?”
Dilly's mouth opened, but nothing came out. She snapped it shut.
“Young lady, I saw you with Margaret and her friends at the foot of the tower this very morning.”
Dilly froze, panic-stricken. Nort was right! And she was going to be the first one thrown into the dungeons.
The queen's expression softened. “I'm not going to punish you,” she said. “But I want to know: is my daughter safe?”
Dilly nodded cautiously.
“Has she been abducted?”
Dilly shook her head.
The queen allowed herself a smile. “Tell me, then: is Margaret responsible for the current state of the tower?”
Dilly's own lips quirked as she nodded.
The queen grew serious again. “I trust that you will put my child's safety first, even before your loyalty to her wishes.”
Dilly thought this over. She nodded once more.
“It's been lovely talking with you,” the queen said dryly. “You may go now.”
Dilly escaped past the queen's curious ladies into the halls of the castle, hoping with all her heart that Meg was truly safe as she prowled the city, trying to find a wizard. The fact that Nort was with her seemed small comfort.
 
Meg had been in Crown at night before, if riding along the main boulevard in a lantern-lit carriage surrounded by armed guards counted. Her mother had also taken her to the marketplace by day, but Hanak's men had made sure Meg never came close to any grubby sort of contact with the city folk. The castle grounds had been her world.
Of course, since then she'd shared tea with a witch, escaped a dragon's cave, and entered an actual farmhouse,
Meg thought. Fine preparation for this night's adventures. Unfortunately, she was having to rely on Nort for directions, and he was as nervous and high-strung as one of Vantor's horses.
“Where do the wizards live?” Meg asked patiently.
“It's not like that,” Nort told her. “They're secretive.”
Whereupon Meg tried offering a gold coin to a passing beggar to get directions. The beggar mumbled incomprehensibly, but within moments of that encounter, a small group of boys began following Meg and Nort from street to darkened street. “I can take one of them, but that's all,” Nort whispered.
Meg stopped abruptly. The nearest boy bumped into her and fell down. “Watch where you're going!” he snarled. The other boys closed in.
They reminded Meg of that pack of princes, except for the raggedy clothes. “Which one of you's the leader?” she demanded.
The boys hesitated, then the biggest one thumbed his chest. “I'm Dock. What's it to you?”
“I'm looking for a wizard.”
“And who might you be?” Dock said.
Meg improvised. “I'm a witch. The wizard is my uncle.”
“Where're your warts?” one boy jeered.
Meg stood her ground. “Help me or clear off.”
“She's telling us to clear off,” someone called. “You hear that, Dock?”
The tall boy stared at Meg. “What kind of help?”
“Gonna cost you,” said another one. He spat on the cobblestones.
“You're no witch,” Dock said.
“Apprentice witch,” Nort suggested.
“Do some magic!” yelled a skinny blond boy.
The circle of faces was eager and hostile in the dimly lit street. “I can make something invisible,” she told them.
Dock picked up a rock and held it out.
“If I do, will you help me?” Meg asked.
“First the magic.”
Nort touched Meg's arm. “Don't make any deals!”
Meg ignored him. She took out Gorba's vial and poured a minuscule drop onto the rock. It flashed and disappeared.
The boys' eyes widened. Dock hefted the invisible rock with a slow smile. Then he passed it around to the others. When it was back in his hand, he pursed his lips thoughtfully. Finally he said, “We'll help you—in return for that little bottle.”
“All right,” Meg said. “Take us to the best wizard in Crown.”
“Right to his doorstep,” Dock agreed.
Strangely, Meg felt better with the escort of hoodlums as they made their way through the winding streets and alleys of the night.
“You're not really a witch, are you?” asked Dock when they had stopped in a street where tall dark houses elbowed each other, snatching at starlight.
Meg only smiled.
“What do you want a wizard for, anyway?” he added.
“My best friend's been enchanted,” she told him. “I need a counterspell.”
Dock nodded approvingly. “Got to stand by your mates.”
Meg handed him the invisibility vial, hoping the boys wouldn't make too much trouble with it. “You should know,” she warned him, “there's been a bit of invisibility up at the castle. Best keep this a secret.”
“Thanks,” Dock said. “It's that door.” Meg could have guessed at this point. The wizard's house glowed slightly. It was a strange shade of green, with shingles layered down from the roof over onto the walls like the scales of a snake, and a door like a red tongue.
Dock turned to go. Most of the boys followed him, but the smallest one dashed at Meg, his hand making a quick grab at her pocket. Instead of a gold coin, he caught the end of Gorba's scarf.
The scarf shook itself free, diving back into Meg's pocket. The boy ran off as the others laughed. “Maybe you are a witch,” Dock said as he led his gang away. Meg marched up the steps and knocked on the wizard's door.
 
“Honored guests,” King Stromgard announced to the gathered princes, “my men are organizing to search the woods.” The princes stopped arguing to listen. “I need
to know: are your hearts and hands pledged to the rescue of the Princess Margaret?”
The princes cheered, lifting their fists.
“My guard captain will give you your assignments,” the king told them.
To one side of the courtyard, Hanak began distributing lanterns and dividing the men into teams for scouring the Witch's Wood. Soon the princes were striding out, tugging their sword belts straight and talking about the hunt before them. At the king's request, the prime minister accompanied them, looking more anxious than usual.
Bain watched the proceedings with interest.
“Do you think she's still there?” Feg asked, sidling up next to him.
“The witch? No.”
Vantor was swinging his sword menacingly. When he caught sight of Bain watching him, he stroked one finger along the blade, narrowing his eyes. Bain smiled. “Come on,” he said to his man. “I plan to decide what I'm going to do before I do it.” He tipped his head in Vantor's direction. “Unlike our ever-so-obvious friend.”
Vantor watched Bain depart. “That coward isn't even going to join the search,” he said.
“No, Your Highness,” his new manservant agreed with a snuffle of his prominent nose.
“Get a group of four or five men to search for her as conspicuously as possible, then meet me down on the road with the others.”
“Where are we going?”
Vantor stared at him as if he were stupider than a centipede. “To find the bandits.”
 
No one answered the wizard's door for a long time. Meg and Nort took turns knocking and nursing their sore knuckles. For all the door looked like a tongue, it wasn't soft like a tongue. “Those boys tricked us,” Nort grumbled. “It's just an empty house.” He rapped once more —and the door swung open with an irate creak. A brownish half-eaten apple floated just in front of them. When they stepped inside, it moved away. “We follow it,” Meg concluded.
“Yuck,” said Nort.
The entire entry hall seemed as if rust-colored wax had been stopped in the middle of melting. A mirror hung on one blobby wall. When Meg looked in it, she saw herself flickering in and out of sight—as a toddler, a young lady, an eight-year-old, a silver-haired woman. But the apple core was moving, and she pulled herself away.
Their guide led them upstairs and down, through a maze of passageways and doorways until their feet ached. They went into a long hall with varicolored fish swishing past them like birds. Nort touched the air around him, half expecting it to be wet.
Three rooms later they found themselves walking backward through the year—summer into spring into winter into fall. Meg tried not to think about stories
she'd heard of widdershins magic. Then the two of them had to crawl down a dark, narrow passageway while the horrible sound of hundreds of tiny feet scritch-scratched around them. Eventually they stood before a door carved with smug-looking mythical beasts. Meg turned the handle and pushed the door open.
By the faint light of a streetlamp she and Nort could see down a grubby flight of steps into a back alley. A strong gust of pepper-scented wind tried to blow them out the door, but Meg grabbed the jamb, sneezing, and Nort caught her hand as he stumbled by, sneezing too. Meg pulled him inside. She fought the wind to slam the door shut, trembling with rage. Nort was still sneezing. Meg sneezed one last time and caught her breath. “We're not going!” she shouted.
They wandered the halls for a while, ignoring the apple core until it gave up and went away. “I've got a blister,” Nort said, breaking the discouraged silence.
“Let's rest here.” They sat down right where they were, halfway up a flight of ornate jade stairs.
“If he won't see us, there's nothing we can do about it,” Nort said.
“We could try making him mad.”
“You're mad. And I mean the other kind of mad.”
“I know what you mean,” Meg said haughtily. She pulled out Gorba's scarf and began toying with it. “I don't suppose you're any good at wizard-finding?” she asked it.
The scarf danced into the air.
Meg jumped up. “You are?”
The scarf waved and pointed.
“Why not?” Meg said, following the scarf.
Nort came after her. “Wait for me!”
The scarf led them through what appeared to be the very same endless passageways. “I've seen that painting before,” Nort said accusingly, pointing at a portrait of a well-dressed skeleton. “Maybe it's playing a joke on us.”
“Maybe,” Meg said. But the scarf fluttered on, and she kept walking.
At last the scarf stopped, gesturing frantically at a wooden door half-hidden in the shadows. Meg raised her hand to knock, but the door resolved itself into a long wooden face and spoke irritably. “The wizard already gave to the Widows and Orphans Fund, and you are obviously too poor to be actual customers.”

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