Thrice Upon a Marigold (13 page)

Sebastian could hear her rummaging through her knapsack, so he did the same. After quite a bit more rummaging, a lot of trial and error, and a couple of bad words, they managed to locate the flint and steel, get a spark, and set the map afire. It is amazing what something as simple and as magical as light can do to improve one's spirits. Phoebe and Sebastian danced around the merry little blaze as if they were the first to invent fire.

“Quick now,” Sebastian said. “We have to find more to burn so we can keep our fire going. And then we have to go through all this”—he flung out his arms, indicating the heaps of junk strewn around the room—“to see what we can find that will help us.”

They soon accumulated enough scraps of wood and paper, as well as a few oily rags, to assure themselves illumination for quite a while.

“I wish I knew how long we were asleep,” Phoebe said as she picked through debris. “Is it still night, so maybe the Terrible Twos are sleeping? Or is it daytime again and they're waiting out there to do something worse to us? Or does it not matter at all, because they're just going to abandon us here to molder away?”

“Thank you,” Sebastian said grimly. “I needed cheering up.”

“Oh. Sorry,” she said, abashed. “I was just thinking out loud.” To make up for her thoughtlessness, she asked, “Did you know that nine out of ten people struck by lightning are hit in the afternoon?”

He couldn't help smiling. “No. I didn't know that. We must stay inside every rainy afternoon.
If
we ever get out of here.”

“Look!” she said, lifting something from a pile. “A key!”

He took it from her and examined it. “Don't get your hopes up. Chances are it won't fit this lock.”

Sebastian was right. He worked at it for many long minutes, but no matter how he twisted and turned it, the key wouldn't open the door. Frustrated, he threw it back into the heap of trash, then sank to the floor, his head in his hands. King Arthur would never have felt such despair. Phoebe was right. They probably would molder away in here.

She had come to stand over him, wringing her hands. “Did you know that most people have one foot bigger than the other?” she asked uncertainly. “And that it's usually the left? Are you all right?”

He shook his head. “It's looking like we will never escape. And I think my right foot is bigger. That's what the boot maker says.”

“Oh, well, there are always exceptions, of course. Don't be so hard on yourself. We're not finished yet.”

She was right. Surely King Arthur wouldn't give up so quickly. Certainly not. Sebastian got to his feet. “Do you want to look for another key while I try to find something else that might help us?”

“Sure,” Phoebe said, relieved to see him up and at it again, though not so excited at the prospect of digging through the debris in the storeroom again. She went back to the pile and began sorting, glad that mostly she had no idea what the rubble had been used for.

Sebastian chose his own pile to explore, tossing things aside as he made his way to the bottom. “Hey!” he said, holding something up. “I've found a rasp. I'm not even going to speculate about how Boris used it, but I might be able to do something with it.”

Phoebe was sorting through a bunch of tattered shirts when she felt something in one of the pockets. “Look!” she exclaimed. “Here's another key!”

It didn't open the door, either, but Sebastian said, “Let me tackle it for a while. Maybe I can modify it with this rasp and get it to work.”

It was a pleasure for Phoebe to watch Sebastian's intent face as he scraped away on the prongs of the key. Watching the play of the firelight on the muscles in his forearm wasn't so bad, either.

“Well, let's try it,” he finally said, inserting the key into the lock. He twiddled with it for a few minutes and then withdrew it. “I can feel I've almost got it. It needs just a little bit of adjustment.”

After a few more passes with the rasp, he again put the key into the lock and very delicately manipulated it until there was a solid click.

“Did you do it?” Phoebe whispered, her hands clenched on her chest.

“I think so. But now we
really
have to be quiet.” Gingerly he removed the key, stuck it in his pocket, and tried the door handle. It moved. It turned. The door came open a crack.

“Ooh,” Phoebe breathed, and Sebastian put a finger against her lips to hush her. She didn't mind at all.

Sebastian opened the door wider, inch by inch, until he could look out. “It's still night,” he whispered right into Phoebe's ear. “And it's very quiet out there. Maybe they're asleep.”

They put on their knapsacks and he took her hand, leading her into a dark hallway. They tiptoed along the hall toward a faint glow, carefully avoiding unidentified strewn objects. The hallway opened into the large room they'd had only a glimpse of earlier, before they'd been knocked out. Boris lay sprawled on a long table, snoring away, a candle burning on a bench beside him.

In a far dark corner, sitting upright, was Vlad. They would have missed seeing him if they hadn't been searching for him. And at his feet was the laundry basket.

Phoebe and Sebastian stood paralyzed, barely breathing, their hearts sinking. After several immobile moments, Sebastian put his lips to Phoebe's ear and whispered, “He hasn't moved. I think he's asleep.”

“Sitting straight up like that?”

“I've seen him do it lots of times. I've been watching for a gleam from his eyes, but I haven't seen one. So they must be closed. I'll get the baby. You get the door open so we can run. He can wake up and be fully alert in an instant. I've seen that lots of times, too.”

Phoebe felt faint and dizzy, but knew she had to force herself to get silently across the room and get the door open somehow. She
had
to. She took a breath so deep it made her see stars for a moment, and then ventured out, pausing to catch her breath after every step, her eyes never leaving Vlad's sleeping figure.

Sebastian crept closer and closer to Vlad. He had always been afraid of his father, but never so much as now. The fact that Sebastian was his very own son would make no difference at all to Vlad when it came to exacting vengeance for disloyalty.

A floorboard creaked beneath Sebastian's foot. Fortunately it coincided with one of Boris's snores, which disguised the sound.

Sweat had beaded on Sebastian's forehead and begun to run into his eyes by the time he reached Vlad's chair. He stood for a moment, assuring himself that Vlad's eyes were indeed closed. He had his hands on the laundry basket, ready to lift, when he noticed a string fastened to it. He followed the string until he saw that it was tied around Vlad's ankle. Sebastian wiped the sweat from his eyes with his sleeve and worked at unknotting the string on the laundry basket. Once it was undone, he checked all around for more booby traps, then looked back at Phoebe and nodded.

Phoebe took hold of the cold handle and pulled— and nothing happened. Desperate, she yanked on it again, but it still didn't budge. She could see Sebastian coming toward her, his eyes wide, the laundry basket in his arms. Her mind was blank. Finally she thought,
Lock. There must be a lock.

She fumbled around the handle until she found a little knob. It made a small
snick
sound as she turned it, and then the door edged open. All the blood seemed to leave her head, and she was afraid she would faint. She had time for only a couple of deep breaths before Sebastian was right there. He pushed the door farther open with his foot and they were out.

“Run!” he whispered hoarsely.

P
HOEBE AND
S
EBASTIAN HURRIED
down the filthy steps, pushed through the tangled growth around the house, and took off through the trees. They could see the beginnings of dawn in the sky above the trees, and the birds were starting their sunrise songs.

Strong as Sebastian was, he couldn't run forever carrying a basket full of baby. “I have to stop for a minute,” he gasped. “Besides, we should take a look at the princess. See if she's all right.”

Phoebe wasn't happy about stopping—she wanted to be much farther from Boris and Vlad—but she, too, needed to catch her breath.

Sebastian set the basket down and pulled the towel off. Inside lay a pale and limp baby, barely breathing.

“Oh, my,” Phoebe said. “Do you suppose Vlad used the sleeping powder on her?”

“I'm sure of it,” Sebastian said, jiggling the basket gently to try to wake Poppy up. “I'm just not sure if he knew the right dose for somebody so little. She's awfully still. And she hasn't had any milk for a long time.”

“Then we have to get her back to the castle fast!”

But before they could make a move, crashing noises came through the forest. The way sound bounced through the trees, they couldn't tell if the commotion was behind them or ahead of them.

“The Terrible Twos?” Phoebe whispered. “We have to hide!”

Desperately they looked around, but there were no convenient caves, or hollow logs, or piles of rocks to hide behind. Then through the trees came Christian, Rollo, and a troop of castle guards, all on horseback and leading two riderless horses.

Once again Phoebe thought she might faint, but she was getting pretty good at taking deep breaths and remaining on her feet. “Oh, Your Highness, are we glad to see you!” she called.

“Likewise,” Chris said, leaping off his horse and rushing toward the laundry basket. He snatched up the baby and clutched her to his chest, suppressing a sob. Poppy drooped limply in his arms. “She's breathing,” he said with relief. “I brought the court doctor with me, just in case.” He turned and called to the doctor, then put Poppy back into the basket and handed it to him. “Do whatever it takes, but keep her alive!”

“Of course, Your Majesty.” The doctor bent over the basket, thinking about what ex-queen Olympia and the Terrible Twos would have done to him if he had been unsuccessful at something they had requested. He was pretty sure King Christian was more enlightened, but he didn't want to take any chances. He was going to take
very
good care of this little patient.

Christian turned his attention to Phoebe and Sebastian. “We'd have gotten here sooner but it took longer for us to get back to the castle in the darkness than I thought it would. And then we had to get organized, and . . .”

“It's okay,” Sebastian said. “We only just got here.”

“Where are they?” The king's eyes were narrow and his jaw was set.

“If you hurry, you might be able to catch them still asleep. We left them back that way, at Boris's place.”

Chris sprang onto his horse. “Wait here. We'll be back for you.” He raised his arm, cried, “Follow me!” to Rollo and his troops, and they all charged off into the forest.

Phoebe sank onto the ground and leaned against a tree. She had finally run out of gas. Sebastian joined her. They didn't have to say a word. They each knew what the other was thinking:
Thank goodness Chris, Rollo, and the guards had shown up when they did!

After a moment, Phoebe said, “We left the fire burning in the storeroom.”

“Don't worry,” Sebastian assured her. “It'll burn itself out on that stone floor without more fuel. It won't burn Boris's house down, though that probably would be the most efficient way to clean up that mess.”

“But without the mess, we wouldn't have gotten out of there. So sometimes even a mess is a good thing.”

Sebastian smiled fondly at her.
Seeing the rosy side of any situation is quite a nice quality to have,
he thought. He reached out and took her hand, and together they watched the court physician work over Poppy.

Quite a while passed before they heard horses approaching once again. They got to their feet as Chris and the castle guards rode through the trees, flanking two horses carrying Vlad and Boris, whose hands were tied behind their backs.

“Phoebe!” Boris yelled. “Phoebe, is that you? Help me, Phoebe. I'm innocent. I had nothing to do with any kidnapping. I was just minding my own business in my own house. I'm harmless. You know that. Tell them. Tell them!”

Phoebe turned her back on him. “You've never, ever been harmless,” she said. “That's all I have to say.”

Boris's pitiful imploring was over. “You ungrateful brat!” he yelled. “Who devoted himself to you after your mother abandoned you? Who sacrificed to make sure you had everything you needed? Who made you your own little guillotine for your birthday? It's your duty to help me now!”

Phoebe kept her back turned and pressed her lips tightly together to keep from sobbing. What little girl wants a guillotine for her birthday? He didn't even build it for her, anyway. It was a scale model for a full-sized one he was constructing. What he gave her was essentially a leftover. He had never sacrificed a single thing for her.

She felt a warm hand take hers. Sebastian gave her hand a gentle squeeze but said nothing. He didn't have to. She tried to think if anything had ever felt as good to her as that warm hand on hers. Aside from one or two vague memories of her mother's hugs, the answer was
no.

She squeezed his hand back. She knew his own father was just as mean and twice as smart as Boris.

Boris continued yelling invective at Phoebe until Rollo poked him in the stomach with his lance. But that wasn't enough to shut him up entirely.

“Vlad! Vlad!” Boris hollered. “Tell them this is all a big mistake. Tell them, Vlad!”

But Vlad maintained a haughty silence, as if he couldn't lower himself far enough to communicate with such rabble. Sebastian knew that meant his mind was working a mile a minute, which was a scary thing to contemplate. It was a big mistake to ever assume that Vlad was under anybody's control.