If the Magic Fits Page 8

Lindy took a step for the door. “Darlin’, I see you didn’t finish this morning.”

  I held my breath. This was it. Lindy was going to yell at me.

  “I see you were being extra careful. That’s good. But be sure and get all that done this afternoon.”

  I blinked, too stunned to speak. Lindy’s eyebrow went up. I nodded vigorously.

  “All right, then,” she said. And the two of them went off to have their tea.

  The breath went out of me in a slow whistle. I collapsed into a heap on the floor. My job was safe. I hadn’t gotten caught being Teresa. No one knew the dress was missing. I was safe.

  Safe.

  Safer than that butterfly Prince Baltazar had pinned to that box.

  This reminded me of what Cherice had said about Prince Baltazar winning his way into the Princess’s heart with a butterfly. I scratched my side. It hadn’t seemed that way to me. She’d liked the butterfly, but had it won her heart? Princess Mariposa didn’t strike me as the sort to be won so easily. It was a pretty butterfly, but it was also a dead butterfly. I chewed my lower lip. And Baltazar, he was tall and good-looking, but something about him nagged me. He didn’t seem fine enough for my Princess.

  I tried to conjure up the sort of prince who would be fine enough…and failed. I got up and fed the stove under my irons. It wasn’t any of my business who the Princess fell in love with. But if I were her, I’d find someone really wonderful. Someone exciting…like her grandfather King Richard, who could chain dragons to the roof.

  That night when I slid my hand between my bedsheets to scoop out the sand, there wasn’t any there. I felt all over inside my covers. No sand. I checked under my pillow. Nothing. I peeked under my bed. The dim shape of my box stamped ARTICHOKES sat in the corner. I ran my hand over the floor and felt nothing, not even a dust bunny. I checked again, searching for anything unpleasant: snakes, spiders, dead bugs, frogs…and found only my bedclothes, slightly rumpled, but empty.

  I crawled into bed, tugging the covers up to my chin. I should have been happy to find my bed empty, but like the thought of dragons on the roof, it made me uneasy. Had Francesca gotten bored with the sand trick? Or had she thought of something worse? The first glimmer of moonlight trickled in the window; I eyed the lump that was Francesca. Maybe she’d gotten over her sister being dismissed; after all, it wasn’t my fault. I decided I’d wait and see…and keep an eye out for anything wiggly or sticky or nasty that might take up residence in my bed.

  As the moonlight poured across the floor, I studied each girl. That one was snoring. That one lay like a rock. That one tossed and turned. I gnawed on my knuckle, eager for them to settle into a deep sleep.

  Butterflies wrestled in my stomach. I would need a good story to tell if I got caught wandering around in the middle of the night. I yawned. My covers felt warm and heavy. I snuggled in a little deeper.

  Jane was in peril…one of the dragons stood over her, eyes glistening, fangs dripping, smoke writhing out of its nostrils. Jane held her hands out, warding off what she couldn’t see.

  “Give me your treasure,” the dragon rumbled.

  “I don’t have anything,” Jane sobbed.

  “Nothing?” the dragon said, eyeing me hiding behind Jane. “What about her? She looks nice and juicy.” The dragon raised a foot lined with sharp talons.

  “Watch out!” I screamed.

  I bolted upright in the dark, heart pounding, sweat trickling down my back. I kicked free of my tangled covers. For a moment, I’d thought the dragon had us, but I’d fallen asleep; it was only a nightmare. I peered around the pitch-black room. The moon had set. It was late; how late I couldn’t tell. But I had to get going before dawn struck and the servants started rising.

  I slipped out of bed. I would wake my mouse, run over to the west wing, grab Eighteen, and hightail it back here. And that would be that. No more adventures for me. I’d tell them that first thing tomorrow.

  A furry feeling tickled the back of my hand. I jumped. A soft squeak sounded. I looked down. My mouse stood on my pillow, wringing his paws.

  I knelt down on the floor so that I was eye level with him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t see you. Are you all right?” I whispered.

  The mouse nodded. Then he glanced anxiously at the floor.

  “I didn’t find any sand tonight,” I told him. “But I saved you part of my bread and a slice of cheese.”

  He blinked and rubbed his tiny chin with his paw.

  “Don’t worry. It’s okay if there isn’t any sand to sweep. We can still be friends.”

  He drew himself up, placed his paw over his heart, and bowed low.

  “Good. But tonight I need your help,” I said.

  He stood at attention, nose twitching.

  “I left something in the west wing. Something important that I have to get back. I left it in a room near the place where five mice…are…missing from the wainscoting?”

  His ears twitched. His tail twitched. He rubbed one paw over the other.

  “That’s where you’re from, isn’t it?”

  His tiny black eyes shifted from side to side.

  “It’s okay,” I said quickly. “I won’t tell anyone. We’re friends, remember. I just need help finding that corridor.”

  He stood as still as the bedpost.

  “Please,” I said.

  He shook himself all over. Then he nodded, almost to himself, and crept over to my hand. I turned it palm side up and he crawled in. He settled in my palm and put his paw to his forehead as if he were seeking something.

  “You’ll show me?”

  He nodded. Then he streaked up my arm and nestled on my shoulder. I felt a tiny paw catch my hair. “Hold on,” I said. He gripped my nightgown with his other paws, which tickled like a batch of beetles.

  “I hope you can see in the dark,” I whispered, feeling my way to the door.

  Francesca kept the candles; I didn’t dare use one to go walking through the castle. She’d be sure to notice if one burned down. I stumbled once, over someone’s boot, biting my tongue to keep from squealing, but I made it to the door without waking anyone up. With a sigh of relief, I tiptoed out to rescue Eighteen.

  I crept through the halls and wound down the stairs, keeping a sharp eye out for Guards. A curtain swayed in an archway waving tassels at me. Dark shapes loomed overhead. I kept low to the floor, darting from cover to cover. Chairs and sofas crouched at my side. I heard a faint call in the distance. I kept going. Fearless, accompanied by my faithful companion…I wrinkled my nose, skirting around another corner as I headed toward the west wing. I had no name for my mouse. I stopped short. Ahead lay the large oval landing above the main hall. I sank to my hands and knees.

  Until now, I could have explained my wandering by some excuse like sleepwalking or a stomachache. But there was no excuse for leaving the east wing in the dead of night. I crawled over to the railing around the wide marble stairs leading to the main hall.

  “Since we’re friends now, I should introduce myself,” I whispered to the mouse. “My name is Darling, and yours…?”

  He squeaked next to my ear, something that sounded a little like eekahcho. Not speaking Mouse, I wasn’t certain I’d heard right.

  “That’s a good name,” I said slowly, not wanting to hurt his feelings. “But I’m not sure I can pronounce it. How about I call you Iago?” Iago was as close a name to the sound I’d heard as I could think of.

  He patted my shoulder, which I took to mean that we had a deal. Just then heavy footsteps rang across the hall below me. I peered over the banister and saw Guards in pools of lantern light patrolling the gauzy twilight below. On the other side of the landing lay the entrance to the west wing.

  “Almost there, Iago,” I murmured, as much to myself as to him.

  I held my breath, waiting until the sound of footsteps faded, and then crawled across the landing to the other side. Safe in the shadows, I stood up, rubbing my sweaty hands on my nightgown.

  “Here’s where I ne
ed help,” I said. “I know I go down this corridor and turn left, and after that, I’m not sure where to go.”

  Iago released my hair, jumped off my shoulder, and rappelled down my nightgown like a mountain climber. He swung from my hem for a moment, and then dropped to the floor with a quiet thump. He twitched his tail, dropped to all four paws, and skittered off into the darkness.

  “Hey!” I called in a loud whisper. “Not so fast.”

  He scampered on, unheeding. I ran after him, down halls and around corners, like someone had set a tiger after me. “Hey!” I called a little louder. He bounded down a stair without looking back.

  I barreled after him. What if he got too far ahead of me? What if I lost him? I’d spend the rest of the night in a maze of corridors, never finding my way out until morning. I ran faster and slipped on a carpet, twisting my ankle and skinning my knee. A white streak blazed away from me in the dark.

  After that, I limped along, hoping to catch sight of him. I would have to have a little chat with Iago if I ever came out of the west wing without getting caught. I stopped to catch my breath, leaning against a wall. I wiped my face and spotted him, hunched at the intersection of two corridors, trembling like a rabbit. I hobbled over to him, looking to see what frightened him. Ahead I saw a dim corridor lined with wainscoting. I walked over to it and brushed my fingers over it. Dancing mice. I turned around.

  “Is this it?” I asked.

  He squeaked back, but made no move to follow.

  “Well? Are you coming?”

  He rolled into a little ball of fur with two beady bright eyes pleading out at me.

  “You’re afraid of the corridor?”

  He shook his head.

  “Then what?”

  His eyes darted toward the wainscoting.

  “That?” I asked, pointing.

  He shut his eyes and trembled. I waited, but it was clear he’d said all he had to say.

  “Wait here,” I said, and turned back to the corridor. Walls that had been peach were now a dingy gray lightened by the ghostly white of the wainscoting. I walked along, feeling for missing mice. Once I found them, I began to count doors. At the sixth, I stopped. As I put my hand on the doorknob, I took a deep breath. Please. Please. If there’s someone sleeping in here, don’t let them wake up.

  The knob turned in my hand. The door swung open. I inched a toe across the threshold and onto the carpet. I strained to hear breathing. Silence. I slipped inside, easing the door shut behind me, only exhaling when I heard the quiet snick of the catch.

  I’d made it. I was in the room. I glanced around. Pale light filtered through the crack in the curtains. It was almost dawn. I took in the shape of the bed and the wardrobe. I tiptoed toward the bed, but I couldn’t see if anyone lay there in the shadows. I paused, swaying on my toes; it didn’t matter if someone was in there. I had to get the dress, and get it now, before I lost my nerve. I swerved to the wardrobe, creeping along inch by inch. I froze as a floorboard creaked beneath me. Nothing happened. I continued my epic trek across the carpet. Had any explorer ever been so intrepid or so brave?

  Had any Princess’s Girl ever looked so silly tiptoeing around in the dark to fetch a magic dress? I grunted softly. No one would ever believe me about this. I found the wardrobe handle in the dark and pulled. The wood squawked in protest. A grumbling rose from the bed. My fingers turned to stone on the handle. My heart became a rock in my chest. The massive bed creaked and groaned as someone rolled over.

  “Mercedes,” a sleepy voice said.

  I, Darling Dimple, Statue, stood unblinking and unmoving, mind blank except for the image of the rabbit-sized rats that would be my new friends in the dungeon.

  The someone in the bed settled into a snore.

  I blinked. My hand snaked into the wardrobe, slithering between linens, probing for the satiny feel of the dress. A fingertip grazed a cold spot in the pile. I knuckled my hand in deeper. Eighteen, silky, cold, and hidden, lay waiting for me. I grasped it and began tugging. It rolled into my hands, unfolding itself. I wadded it in my arms and turned to sneak away, not daring to risk closing the wardrobe door and causing another squawk.

  The someone sat up in the bed. And yawned, stretching.

  “Mercedes, fetch my tea,” the voice whined.

  There I was, Darling Dimple, Thief, red-handed with Queen Candace’s dress in some stranger’s bedroom as dawn broke through the curtains. My feet refused to help me by running. My tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth, unable to speak and talk me out of this. My brain refused to form an escape plan.

  The someone flopped back on the bed. “Now, please,” the voice slurred. And another snore erupted from the shadows.

  I bolted then. I ran for it like that tiger really was after me. Across the room, out the door, down the corridor I raced. I didn’t stop to see if Iago was waiting for me. I didn’t stop to listen for Guards. I didn’t stop for anything. My feet flew across the castle as if they could see a distant beacon that was invisible to me. And I didn’t stop to argue with them.

  I didn’t stop until I was in the east wing, barreling up the stairs, clutching the trailing fabric of Eighteen, when I heard a sound that brought me to a halt. Afterward, it surprised me that I heard it because it was a small sound, an ordinary sound. It was the sound of someone whispering.

  Whispering. You heard it all time, usually when you most wanted to hear what was being said but couldn’t. This whispering was different, pointed and sharp. It cut through the quiet of the still-sleeping castle like one of Jane’s knives.

  “Don’t let it go to your head,” the whisperer said.

  I sank against the wall of the stairwell and listened.

  “She’ll be like a purring kitten after this,” a man’s voice answered.

  Who? Who would purr like a kitten? That was the problem with eavesdropping; you couldn’t ask questions.

  “Quiet,” the whisperer hissed. It was a woman speaking, I could tell. “The walls have ears. If anyone overhears—”

  I started, caught on the stairs like Princess Mariposa’s Lycaena alciphron on a pin. If the whisperers came around the corner above, they’d see me. There was nowhere to hide. If I started back down the stairs they’d hear me. And catch me, Darling Dimple, sweaty, tired, and holding, oh, yes, that stolen dress—stolen from a dead Queen’s closet, no less. I melted into the wall, hoping they’d go away.

  “One butterfly does not seal a romance,” the woman whispered.

  Butterfly! I clamped a hand over my mouth to seal in the gasp waiting to explode out of it. They were talking about Princess Mariposa!

  “She’ll be mine before you know it,” the man answered, sure of himself. “My charm is hard to resist.”

  I knew that voice; that was Prince Baltazar! He’d droned on all through the Ruby Luncheon.

  “Indeed,” the woman whispered drily. “Don’t congratulate yourself yet. Stick to the plan.”

  “It’s a beautiful plan,” Prince Baltazar said. “A few butterflies for a kingdom.”

  Kingdom! He wanted Princess Mariposa’s kingdom. He wanted her castle. He didn’t love Princess Mariposa at all. I knew he wasn’t fine enough for my Princess. My nails sank into my clenched palms; my blood boiled. She’d see through him! He’d never fool Princess Mariposa.

  “Don’t count your caterpillars before they hatch. Keep Mariposa too busy and too happy to think. Once a girl’s head is turned, it’s best to keep it turned.”

  “Not a problem, I assure you.”

  The woman went on as if she hadn’t heard. “Once you are King, the regalia will be ours. And then we’ll control the dragons.”

  “Yes, the dragons,” Prince Baltazar hissed in an all-too-threatening tone.

  My knees turned to water and I sank to the stairstep. These two meant to use the talisman from the King’s regalia that controlled the dragons. And they were going to use the Princess to get it. Someone had to warn her!

  Someone had to stop them.

 
I looked around, but there wasn’t anyone there but me, Darling Dimple, Under-presser, squeezing Eighteen to her chest.

  The ring of Prince Baltazar’s boots sounded in the passage above—he was coming my way. I couldn’t go up the stairs and it was too far down to escape before being seen. I had nowhere to go. I threw Eighteen over my head, melted into the white wall, and peeked out from under a flounce. Breath bated. Heart pounding. Fingers crossed. Wishing with all my might to turn invisible just then. Prince Baltazar appeared at the top of the stairs and walked on past, too absorbed in his evil scheme to notice a pile of creamy flounces trembling on the stairs.

  Once his steps died away, I vaulted up the stairs. I’d find out who that woman was and then I’d do something to stop her! Throw Eighteen over her and trip her, maybe, or jump on her and scream for the Guards. Something.

  At the top, I lunged around the corner. A flash of long dark cloak swirled around a distant arch as a tall, slim figure disappeared through it. She was getting away! I bounded after her, tripping over Eighteen and rolling into a wad of ruffles on the carpet. By the time I untangled myself, she was gone. Vanished. I looked up and down the corridor and around both corners, but there was no cloak in sight. I’d lost her.

  How could I stop her if I didn’t know who she was? In a castle full of people, she could be anybody.

  By the time I got back, it was daylight. I raced to Queen Candace’s closet, tossed Eighteen in, slammed the door, and bolted for the girls’ dormitory. The sound of girls getting ready for the day filtered through the closed door. I dithered, shifting from one foot to the other. It was too late to sneak back to bed. They knew I was gone, but did they know how long I’d been gone? I yanked the door open.

  Sunlight played around the room, dappling everything with the sweet kiss of morning. Girls pulled on stockings, brushed hair, and tied aprons. Nobody seemed to be looking for me. I yawned, a jaw-cracking, arm-flinging yawn, and sauntered in, scratching my side like a bear that’d hibernated through the winter. The sort of bear that couldn’t possibly have been running around the castle with Queen Candace’s dress or overhearing would-be criminals. The kind of bear that had gotten up only minutes before.