Tuesdays at the Castle (15 page)

Rolf had two theories about some of the secret passages of the Castle: They had either been made for Fair Folk, who were much smaller than mortals, or people were growing larger and larger as the generations progressed. Celie didn’t much like to think about that first theory. If the Castle had been meant for magical creatures, what had happened to them? Something terrible? What if they were just gone on holiday? Would they be angry when they returned to find mortals in their Castle? Whatever the case, the oldest parts of the Castle, the secret passages, tunnels, and some of the doorways, were narrower and shorter than normal-sized people were entirely comfortable with.

Celie snaked along the passage with her sister and Lord Sefton, until finally her outstretched hands ran across the wooden door that led into the royal bedchamber. She slid her fingers along the left side until she found the little latch, and then clicked it open. She opened the door only a crack, peering out to make sure they hadn’t surprised Khelsh in the act of jumping on her parents’ bed or something, and then stumbled out into the room. The dim light in the royal bedchamber was so much brighter than the secret passage that they all stood and blinked for a while.

Once their eyes had adjusted, they went to the fireplace, and Celie took hold of the unlit torch from the sconce by the mantel and turned it around twice. One of the large stones that made up the hearth dropped down with a grating sound, revealing the dark mouth of the tunnel.

Lord Sefton looked down the tunnel, his face going pale. “It’s certainly … narrow,” he offered.

“And dark,” Lilah said grimly. “And there’s no way to carry a light. Also, the far end is submerged, because of the moat, so we’ll have to swim the last bit.”

“I—I see.”

“Just go,” Celie said. “Somebody go.”

Someone, probably Rolf, had put her father’s crown back on the pedestal near the fireplace. She could not stop staring at it. What if she took it? It would be one more slap in the face for Khelsh, if—or really
when
—he decided to declare himself king. She and Lilah really should take the crown now, when they had the chance.

“Celie, come on!” Lilah was doing her best to hiss at Celie over her shoulder despite the cramped space. Lord Sefton was ahead of her and hopefully hadn’t gotten stuck.

Reluctantly, Celie crawled into the tunnel, kicking back at the rock that hid the entrance so that it slid into place. She instantly fought the urge to scream as the dank walls closed in on her. She was small enough to have plenty of room to maneuver, but she guessed that Lord Sefton’s shoulders were brushing the walls on either side.

She started forward, bumping her head into Lilah’s bum, which was why Lilah had made Lord Sefton go first. Lilah grunted, and called to Lord Sefton to move, please.

They crawled with interminable slowness, and all the while, Celie could not get the image of the crown sitting there, abandoned, out of her head. The trickle of water could be heard ahead, and even a faint lightening of the gloom, which made Lord Sefton cry out in relief and move faster.

Soon he was moving so quickly that he tumbled headlong into the little stream that fed the moat as their tunnel met the larger one. Celie and Rolf had tried to swim up the stream once, to see where it went, but it soon filled the entire tunnel, and they could not hold their breath long enough to find its end. Lord Sefton squawked and splashed around a bit, before realizing that he could stand, if hunched over, and that the water was only hip deep for him.

Lilah and Celie slithered out of the smaller tunnel and into the water with considerably more grace. They splashed over to the grating, and showed Sefton how the tunnel dropped away, leaving a space between the stone floor and the grating that was about a foot and a half high.

“So we have to try to swim under that?” In the pale, greenish light, his lordship’s face was decidedly sick.

“Rolf and I have done it a couple of times,” Celie said in an offhand way. She was still thinking about the crown.

“And you as well, Princess Delilah?” Sefton turned anxiously to Lilah, who grimaced.

“I’ve been down the tunnel before, but never under the grate,” Lilah said.

She didn’t add that it was because she didn’t like getting her hair wet, unless it was being washed, and Celie didn’t embarrass her, either. She was too busy making up her mind.

“Just take a deep breath, and use the grate to pull yourself down,” Celie instructed.

“I’ll go first,” Lilah offered. “I just want to get it over with.”

“That’s good,” Celie said. “Then you, Lord Sefton.”

“I’ll go last,” he said weakly.

“You’d better not,” Celie said. “I want you to help Lilah get to the army.”

“Ce-lie.” Lilah dragged out the name. “What are you planning?”

“I have to get the crown,” Celie said. “I can’t leave it back there. I don’t want Khelsh touching it.”

“You should have gotten it before we got into the tunnel,” Lilah scolded. “It’s too late now!”

“It’s not too late,” Celie argued. “I’m small; I can be there and back in no time. Probably before you’ve even made it across the moat. Just go. I’ll catch up.”

“All right,” Lilah agreed, and gave her a swift hug.

“You’re going to let your little sister go back?” Lord Sefton stared at them.

“If anyone can get the crown and get back out, it’s Celie,” Lilah said simply. “Come along, my lord.”

She sucked in air, then sat down in the water, grabbing the grate and using it to pull herself down and forward. Celie and Lord Sefton watched, holding their breath as well, until Lilah’s skirts swirled under the edge of the grate and she began to kick toward the surface on the other side.

“Your turn,” Celie said.

She still didn’t entirely trust Lord Sefton, and so she watched while he took in several breaths, letting them out in great loud
ha’
s before he took one last breath, ducked into the water, and pulled himself under the grate. He kicked and thrashed so much that he splashed Celie from head to foot, and for a moment she thought he was caught and almost dove down to help him. But he finally passed beneath the grate, and then upward on the other side.

With a sigh of relief, Celie crawled back into the tunnel. She went quickly, feeling very light now that she had no responsibilities to anyone other than herself. All the staff were gone, her brother and sister were out, and the Castle might be brought back to life one day. She eagerly slid open the stone door at the end of the tunnel, and burst into her parents’ bedchamber.

Where Prince Khelsh was not, in fact, jumping on the bed.

He was placing the crown on his head, while the Emissary watched.

Chapter

24

P
ut that down!”

Celie grabbed the cold torch from the sconce by her head and threw it at Prince Khelsh, who dropped the crown in surprise. It clanged on the stone floor and rolled toward her.

Celie tripped trying to leap out of the tunnel and snatch it, and landed hard at the Emissary’s feet. She managed to get the crown anyway, and wriggled across the floor with it clutched to her chest.

The Emissary fell over her, bruising her ribs, but she could only let her breath out in an “oof!” and then she had to move. She scrambled to her feet and out the door of the bedchamber, with Khelsh right behind her. There was a single guard waiting outside, but he was too startled to follow for a moment. Soon enough, though, Celie could hear him pounding after her, and the Emissary, too, making three heavy sets of footsteps she had to escape.

She ran straight into the main hall without thinking, and saw that there was no guard on the front doors. They probably didn’t think that anyone would try to walk out the front doors of the Castle, under the eyes of anyone coming or going from the throne room.

Of course, there was also the enormous bar, carved from a two-hundred-year-old oak, that had been lowered into its brackets to keep the doors securely closed.

But Celie knew the Castle better than anyone.

As she passed the bust of King Glower the First, she slapped the back of His Majesty’s head with one hand. The bust and the pedestal it stood on rocked forward and then stopped in midfall, revealing a mechanism beneath the edge of the pedestal. The mechanism triggered machinery in the floor that raised the bar across the doors.

Tucking the crown under one arm, Celie hit the right-side door with her shoulder, and it swung open on well-greased hinges, hardly checking her flight as she raced out into the sunlight of the courtyard. There were more Vhervhish soldiers there, and the portcullis was down, the drawbridge up.

If she could make it to the stables, she could take one of the tunnels under the moat … or the barracks. She’d gotten so many maids and laundresses out safely, she couldn’t believe that she would have any difficulty getting away.

“Seize her!” the Emissary screamed, and the men in the courtyard all drew their weapons.

All at once there were too many armed men between her and the stables, which were next to the barracks. She changed direction and ran for the nearest stairs. They only led to the guard tower, and the walkway along the top of the wall, but it would buy her time. She could hear Khelsh’s labored breathing behind her, and knew that the stairs would slow him down.

She took them two at a time, thanking her good fortune that her gown had narrow skirts and was a good inch too short. She tucked the crown into the front of her sash and hiked her skirts up high all the same. When she reached the top of the stairs, a guard was peering out of the nearest tower, so she whipped around and ran along the top of the wall in the direction of the Balcony.

The Balcony was really the flat roof of the Sergeant’s Tower, which protruded over the moat, and was large enough that she would be able to move around a bit. When she reached it, she flung herself against one of the tall stone crenellations to catch her breath. Khelsh was coming, but none of the soldiers were near enough to cause a problem yet.

Then she heard a roar of voices, several of them calling her name, coming from outside the Castle. She looked down at the army camped on the other side of the moat. She was directly across from the largest tent, the one bearing the flag of Sleyne. There was a knot of people standing in front of the tent, staring up at her with white faces. She recognized the wet black gown and long, dripping hair of her sister.

She decided that the crown took precedence. “Lilah!” She pulled it out of her sash. “I’ve got the crown!”

“Celie!”

Celie froze.

“Daddy?” She leaned farther over the stones to see her parents standing there, hands pressed to their mouths in fear. “Mummy!”

“Celie,
jump
!”

That came from Pogue Parry, standing beside a tall figure who could only be her brother Bran, all grown up and wearing blue wizard’s robes. Pogue waved his arms to get her attention.

“Jump into the moat! It’s deepest right there!” He pointed just past the balcony.

Celie had no time to decide whether or not she should jump, because Khelsh and the Emissary had reached the balcony.

“Give us the crown, girl,” the Emissary said. “Give it to us now.”

“No!” Celie held it out over the moat. “I’ll drop it if you come any closer! But it doesn’t matter anyway: you’re surrounded by three armies!”

The Emissary opened his mouth to retort, but Khelsh lunged for her. Celie flung the crown as far and as hard as she could. His huge body knocked the breath out of her and sent her crashing against the wall as he tried to snatch the crown from the air. As Celie slid to the ground, she heard a distant splash as the crown hit the water.

“No!” Khelsh pounded his fists on the stones.

“Ha,” Celie said. Then she tried to crawl away from him.

He didn’t seem to notice, but the Emissary did. “I don’t think so,” the traitorous Councilor said. He reached down and grabbed Celie’s arm, pulling her to her feet. “You’ve caused far too many problems with your little secret doors and your childish pranks. For once you’re going to do something useful.”

He dragged her over to the edge of the balcony and wrapped one arm around her, pinning her arms to her sides. He lifted her up so that she was standing on the parapet, and there was a roar from the army below.

Khelsh was no fool: he caught on to his coconspirator’s plan at once.

“Leave now, or princess dies,” he shouted.

“No!” Celie struggled against the Emissary, but the sight of the moat so far below was making her queasy. “He won’t do it!” she shouted.

“Oh, I will,” the Emissary said quietly. “Just try me.”

“Surrender!” Khelsh spat over the side into the moat. “I kill your Castle, I kill the princess. Surrender to me. I am king!”

“The Castle isn’t dead!” Celie could just touch the fingers of her right hand to the top of the nearest crenellation. She gripped it now as best she could with her fingertips. The stone was so cold. “You’re still alive,” she whispered to the Castle. “I know it.”

There … what was that? Was that warmth beneath her hand? Was it just because she was touching the stone, or was the Castle trying to wake up?

She drew a deep breath. “Long live King Glower the Seventy-ninth! Long live Castle Glower!” she shouted as loudly as she could, then she snapped her head back and felt the Emissary’s nose crunch from the blow.

“Aaargh!” The Emissary dropped her to clutch at his face, nose streaming blood, and Celie landed hard on her knees on the edge of the wall.

She put her hands out to each side to steady herself. Again she thought she felt a tremor pass through the stone, but it might have just been from the way she was shaking. Then she jumped backward onto safer footing and ran, but Khelsh was ready for her. He caught her just as she reached the side of the Balcony that overlooked the courtyard. He spun her around, and it was then that she saw the knife in his other hand. Celie brought her knee straight up, as hard as she could.

“That’s for me, and Lilah, and Ro—” But her triumphant shout ended in a shriek as the prince, despite being doubled over in pain, lashed out with the knife.

They both looked in surprise at the blood that was spreading across her sleeve.

Clutching the wound, Celie spun around and ran down the walkway. The Vhervhish guards were no longer milling about uncertainly: one had come up to block the staircase. There were two more in the tower beyond.

Celie was trapped. She rested her wounded arm on the parapet, and felt the stone grow warm beneath her hand. Her heart gave a little flutter.

“A good fight,” Khelsh conceded, though his voice still sounded strained. He did manage to come toward her without limping. “But now is over. No more silliness.” With the knife, he beckoned for her to come toward him.

Celie didn’t think she could run anymore. Or hide. She had nowhere else to go, and she didn’t want to be the reason why her family lost the Castle. Her legs were shaking, and a single drop of blood fell onto the gray stones of the Castle.

She turned and stepped into the nearest crenellation. She swayed a little, and put out both hands to brace herself. Across the moat she saw her family, and her friends. Lulath was there, and Pogue. She even saw Cook, armed with a large cleaver.

“Jump!” Bran waved his arms to get her attention. “Jump into the moat!”

Celie nodded, not sure if he could tell. Her throat was so dry, she didn’t think she could shout anymore. She didn’t have the strength to jump, either. Inside her bodice, Rufus was making her uncomfortably hot and sweaty. She pulled him out and tucked him under her arm.

“Oh! Your doll, baby?” Khelsh made horrible fake baby crying noises, coming forward a few more paces.

Celie turned away from him, getting ready to jump, and Rufus fell to the ground. She bent down to pick him up, but before she could, the stones under her feet rippled, and Rufus
changed
.

A lion, a winged lion—a griffin, like the one on the flag—stood between her and Khelsh now. Khelsh dropped his knife in terror. Celie stepped backward toward the courtyard stairs as the griffin lunged at Khelsh. She stepped back farther, and suddenly there was nothing beneath her feet. One of Khelsh’s guards snatched at her, snagging the skirt of her gown, but he was too late.

Princess Celie plummeted to the courtyard below.