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Authors: Kate Coombs

BOOK: The Runaway Princess
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Meg flapped her shining skirt. “You think this might give me away?” She took the bag and disappeared around the tower into the edge of the Witch's Wood.
“What if somebody comes while she's not up there?” Nort asked.
“Just tell them she's in a snit and won't talk to anyone,” Dilly told him.
Nort nodded fervently. “They'll believe that.”
 
The others were leaning against the tower, all but dozing in the sunshine, when the princess came back. She looked like a castle servant now, unremarkable with her light brown hair, freckled nose, and greenish brown eyes. The dress was blue cotton and not quite anklelength. The shoes were of sturdy leather. Meg handed the bag with her gown stuffed in it to Dilly.
“Better?” Cam asked, remembering Meg's feelings about satin skirts.
Meg grinned. “Better.” She kicked out a foot. “The shoes are heavy.”
“They'll take you farther than those thin slippers,” Dilly said. “Let me fix your hair.” Dilly braided Meg's hair tidily, completing the transformation.
“What are the princes up to?” Meg asked.
“Strutting around showing off their weapons,” Cam said, disgusted.
“Bearing their arms like true heroes,” Nort corrected. Cam ignored him.
“I want to see them,” said Meg.
“You can't go inside!” Dilly exclaimed.
“Not the castle. I'll just walk between the tents.”
“The princes don't know what she looks like,” Cam pointed out.
Dilly gave her approval only after Meg had agreed to wear Dilly's scarf and carry the food basket. “You'll be hungry later, and it adds nicely to your disguise.” Dilly wanted to come along, but she had to get her work done. Cam said he'd accompany Meg.
“What about me?” Nort asked plaintively.
“You've got to stay here with the invisible princess,” Cam told him.
Nort turned woeful. “It's not much of an adventure.”
“Ah, but soon I'll be sending you and Cam out on night forays,” Meg said, lowering her voice.
Cam winced, but Nort brightened. “That's all right, then. What's the plan, anyway? You said you had a plan.”
Meg surveyed her co-conspirators. “We're going to keep those princes from winning the contest.”
MEG AND CAM WANDERED THROUGH THE ENCAMPMENT, joining a crowd of gawkers from the city and courtiers from the castle, as well as vendors hawking berry pastries, souvenir dragon figurines, and good-luck charms conveniently composed of sticks and pebbles. To Meg's relief, no one gave her a second glance.
Most of the princes had come out into the sunshine to practice sparring, flashing their swords for the benefit of an admiring populace. One prince had even set up a wooden dragon and was methodically shooting arrows at it. “I don't think a real dragon would stand still to be made into a porcupine,” Meg told Cam behind her hand.
She heard a twittering of merchant girls ahead. Beyond them, a tall, handsome prince with wavy blond hair and an arrogant mouth was looking off into the distance.
“It's him,” one of the girls said. “Prince Vantor of Rogast!”
Another girl giggled. “Have you got it?”
A third girl pulled an embroidered cloth out of her market basket. The other two helped her raise the little banner. Meg and Cam walked past to read the lettering.
Prince Vantor the Valiant!!!!!
it said in curling letters adorned with forget-me-nots.
“Prince Vantor!” one of the girls squealed hopefully. The prince turned his head, lifting a single aristocratic brow. With a curt nod, he went into the nearest tent, a dark gray one with blue and gold trim. The girls ran off in a chorus of tee-hee-hees.
Meg rolled her eyes as she slowed with Cam beside the tent to listen.
“Another gaggle of geese, my lord?” said a rasping voice.
“Let's hope this princess is more pleasing in manner, Horace,” a deep voice responded.
“They say she is seventeen and very beautiful,” the first man said.
“They also say she is forty and resembles a turnip,” the prince told his manservant. “Which would be unfortunate, but nevertheless beside the point.”
Meg's face was a study.
“If I may ask, Your Highness, what is the point?”
“Winning,” the prince replied.
Meg and Cam moved on.
A weak-chinned prince was fencing with a large, hairy one while a pleasant-looking royal with rumpled brown hair called out suggestions. A fat prince wrapped in furs despite the heat addressed his servants angrily in an odd clicking tongue. A lanky, bearded prince flipped a knife over and over, watching the others. There were even twin princes, two big smiling brothers who laughed and slapped each other on the back. Meg and Cam walked along behind them.
“Do you think she's pretty?” asked one twin.
“They're always pretty,” the other said.
“But what if she's not? What if she's the only ugly one ever? Maybe she's under a curse, and that's why they hid her in the tower.”
Meg opened her mouth to speak, but Cam jabbed her and she caught herself.
“Dorn, they're always pretty,” said the second twin.
Prince Dorn spotted Meg and Cam. “You there!”
“Yes, sir?” Cam asked. Meg stared down at the ground, trying to disguise her irritation along with her royal visage.
“Are you from town?”
“We work in the castle gardens,” Cam said quickly.
Dorn nudged his twin. “They've come out to see the spectacle, eh, Dagle?”
“Is this your girl?” Dagle asked.
“She's my sister,” Cam blurted. “She's shy.”
Prince Dagle beamed at the top of Meg's head, then
turned his attention back to Cam. “So, lad, what do you think of the contest?”
“He can tell at a glance who's going to win!” Dorn said.
Cam took the hint. “You seem likely candidates.”
“Right you are!” Dorn crowed.
“But, sir,” Cam ventured, “there are two of you.”
“Right again!” said Dagle.
“If you win …” Cam's voice trailed off.
The twins looked baffled.
“There's only one princess,” Cam told them pointedly. Meg's face turned red.
“Oh. Ha-ha!” The princes guffawed, putting their arms across each other's shoulders. “You want to know a secret?” Dagle asked, leaning closer to Cam.
“Sure.”
“When we win, we'll flip a coin!” he explained.
Meg grabbed Cam's arm so hard he winced.
“Very clever,” Cam managed to say. “If you'll excuse us …” He pulled Meg away. The twin princes were still laughing as they left. Cam pried Meg's hand loose from his arm.
“Cam!”
was all she could say, outraged.
“You wanted to see them,” he reminded her.
“Yes, I did,” Meg said through gritted teeth.
Meg and Cam walked past a black tent embroidered with silver rams, then a bright blue tent hung about with birdcages. The birds were calling in what sounded like human speech, but neither Meg nor Cam knew what
language. Meg forgot her anger in trying to decipher the words.
They slowed again to watch an earnest scribe interviewing a stocky little redheaded prince. “So I said, ‘Hey, I can do this. Just give me your fastest horse,'” the prince said dramatically.
“And what did he say?” the scribe inquired, managing to write as he talked.
The prince strutted about like a red-combed rooster. “He said, ‘My son, you are needed here.'
“And you …”
“And I said, ‘Father, I'll come home real soon with half a kingdom and a gorgeous girl.'
Meg gave Cam a sideways look.
“And he …”
“And he said, ‘Very well,'” the prince concluded.
“That's marvelous,” the scribe bubbled. “Could I get a final quote?”
The prince lifted his head still higher. “Tell the populace: I, Prince George the Fourth of Shervelhame, will bring glory to this kingdom, to my father's realm, and to myself.”
Meg and Cam smothered their snickers as they moved on. They wound between a dour, graying prince, one with an oversize powdered wig, and a cluster of aledrinking men in orange livery. Gradually they made their way out of the encampment.
Then Cam's attention was caught by two men under a tree. Like the others, they were well dressed and well
groomed. But they also seemed—Cam tried to decide what. Watchful, perhaps, unlike the rest of this lot. “Notice anything different about those two?”
“That's Prince Bain.” Meg's voice sounded peculiar, and Cam glanced over at her, surprised.
“Let's find out what they're saying,” he told her. Meg and Cam circled around and came up behind the men, edging closer and closer, wriggling through the long grass until they were at the base of the tree behind their quarry. They hunkered down to listen.
“No trouble?” one man said.
“None,” said the other.
“You look well, Prince Bain.”
“Thank you,” the prince answered, as if he were amused. “Now go see what you can find out.”
“And you?” the first man asked.
“I'll make my own inquiries.”
Meg and Cam lay flat, waiting for the men to leave. When they had, Cam sat up to stare at Meg. “You
know
that prince?”
Meg flushed. “He came around the tower the other day. On a horse.”
“That's all?”
“It was a nice horse,” Meg said defensively.
“Hmmph.” Cam stood up. “I've got to get back. My cabbages are a bit peaky.”
“You sound like a worried mother,” Meg told him.
“But they're yellowish around the edges,” Cam explained.
Meg rose and brushed off her skirt. “I'll come with you.”
Cam shook his head. “Tob will recognize you.”
“I'll walk partway,” she offered.
They strode along in silence. Finally Cam said, “So, now you've seen them. What do you think?”
They came across a stableboy, and Meg ducked her head. When they were well past him, Cam asked her again. “So?”
“They're big and old and gruff and vain.”
“That Prince Bain isn't so bad,” Cam said casually.
“He's at least eighteen! Maybe even nineteen!”
“True,” Cam replied. They stopped, having reached the rose arbor. “What are you going to do now?”
“I'll go and find the witch,” Meg told him. “Or the dragon. I've got to warn them.”
“Meg, there's no warning dragons. You know they eat princesses, don't you?”
She tossed her head. “Legend has it.”
“Your great-aunt? She was only a year older than you when the creature gobbled her up.”
“Perhaps it wasn't the dragon. It might have been a nefarious plot implicating the dragon.”
“Or,” Cam insisted, “it was the dragon.”
Meg set her jaw.
“At least wait till tomorrow to look for it,” he said. “I'll come with you.”
“What about Tob?” she snapped.
“He's off to his brother-in-law's funeral tonight.”
Meg relented. “All right. Today I'll warn the witch.”
Cam began to go through the gate, but Meg was still standing there. “What is it?” he asked.
“They talked about me like—like I don't know what,” Meg said awkwardly.
“Like you're not you,” Cam told her, and Meg nodded.
Cam examined her. “You don't look anything like a turnip.”
Meg had to smile.
 
The woods were full of sunlight and birdsong. As well as brambles, Meg discovered when she tore her skirt coming up behind the witch's cottage. Its walls were ancient and weather-beaten, its thatch sagged picturesquely, and a little hand-lettered sign read GO AWAY. Curtains hung at the windows, black ones adorned by neat rows of white skulls.
Meg crouched against the back wall, slowly raising her head until she could see in the window. The inside of the cottage was dim. She could make out the shape of a fireplace cradling what must be the witch's cauldron. She wondered what simmered in the pot. There was a sofa. An armchair. And dozens of little blobby shapes … Meg heard a croaking sound. One of the blobs leaped across the room.
Many an old woman lived in a small house cluttered with memories and twining fondly with cats. Gorba the Witch had filled her home with clutter, true enough—
dainty dishes patterned with sprigs of noxious herbs, china statuettes of monstrous pagan deities, samplers cross-stitched with sayings like
Have an apple, dearie!
But she owned not a single cat. Instead, Gorba's cottage was full of frogs.
A great bullfrog sat on a cushion near the hearth like a venerable monarch. A bevy of leopard frogs and spring peepers dripped on the sofa. Gorba had wood frogs and painted frogs, puddle frogs and reed frogs, rockets and golden-backs and squeakers, even a rare tomato frog. Tiny tree frogs clung to the curtains like jewels. An ornate bathtub full of pond water stood in one corner, and several frogs were practicing diving into a round tin laundry tub nearby. Frog songs called across the room. Flies buzzed all unsuspecting through the open window.
Meg had never seen so many frogs in one place. She watched the frogs, waiting for a sign of the witch herself. “Must be out,” Meg said to herself.
After which a creaking voice behind her inquired, “Well? Have you come to buy or to spy?”
Meg spun around. The witch was older than old, with flashing black eyes and a bulgy nose like a small potato. Her hair was a peculiar shade of violet shot with shadows.
“Neither,” Meg said, taking a step back.
“Selling something, are you?” The witch's eyes narrowed.
“Oh no, not that. It's about the king's contest.” Meg waited a moment. “Haven't you heard?”
“I don't want to enter,” the witch said. “I prefer the quiet life. What's it for, an ocean voyage? A year's supply of barley?”
Meg wasn't sure how to answer. She didn't want to tell the entire story.
Well, Madam Witch, I'm the prize
. “Half the kingdom and all that,” she explained. “They've called a bunch of princes over to complete three tasks.”
“Like a story!” The witch brightened.
“Only you see, one of the tasks …” Here Meg paused.
“Speak up, girl!”

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