IGMS Issue 26 Read online

  III. The Third Night

  Bay slept until near dawn, then pretended to until the princesses returned, strew themselves across their beds, caught a few hours of sleep, rose, dressed, and strolled off to have breakfast with their father. For Bay it was an agony of waiting -- but essential. When all the royal family were seated and served, she strode into their dining room, and, with all the bravado she could muster, announced:

  "I uncovered a clue, your majesty."

  The chatter at the breakfast table became abrupt silence. "Oh?" said the king.

  "Yes, sir," said Bay. "I spent the night in the princess's chambers. When I woke, my own shoes were worn through." She raised her sole just high enough to show them.

  She did not miss the rustle of unease from the princesses. The king chewed slowly, watching Bay all the while. "No other investigator reported this."

  "No other investigator shared their room, sir."

  "How shrewd," said the king, but he didn't elaborate.

  "I will spend the day seeking more clues, your majesty," said Bay. "I ask only one more thing."

  "Go ahead."

  "I would be greatly obliged for someone to fix my boots."

  The princesses froze.

  "Our cobbler works from a small shop near the stables," said the king. "I'm sure you'll find him there."

  "Thank you, sir."

  Then Bay was out of the castle and away from the princesses as fast as she could go.

  The cobbler welcomed her with unexpected joy.

  "Puttin' soles on ladies' slippers day in and day out," he cried, ushering Bay into his workshop. "Fixing those same shoes over and over until I want to cry! Sit there, dear," he added, inserting Bay into a chair by the door. "Haven't had good boot leather in me hands for a month. Hand 'em over, lass."

  Bay obliged. The cobbler accepted them lovingly, running long, stained fingers across the leather. "Oh yes. I remember this design. Very long-lasting. Terrible color though." He turned one over and grimaced. He slapped the back of his fingers against the pumice-worn soles. "What was this? A shuffle-dance across a troll's back?"

  "Once or twice," said Bay, surprised into a grin. "But I may have helped those holes along."

  "That's obvious," said the cobbler. "I'd complain if I didn't welcome the change. I'll have new soles on these by tonight. Try a few of those in the meantime. One of 'em might be close enough."

  Bay tried on shoes until she found a pair that wasn't too big. "You say this has been going on for a month?"

  "Nigh on two months!" said the cobbler. "Little wonder I see dancing shoes in my sleep."

  "Dancing shoes," said Bay.

  The cobbler nodded. "Oh yes. I designed them for balls and parties and now I repair them every day. Take a look at this."

  He fitted one of Bay's boots into a vise. "See the wear on your sole? Walking mostly. The heel's as worn as the ball of the foot -- excepting that scraping you did," he added, arching an eyebrow toward her. "And look at the differences between the right and left. If I'd never laid eyes on you I'd know you were a gimpy soldier: years of marching, then walking off an old wound."

  "Amazing," said Bay.

  "This?" He grabbed a slipper from his workbench and waved it in the air. "All the wear's on the ball of her foot."

  Bay took the slipper. "What's that mean?"

  "Well, she didn't wear that off walkin', did she? See, a lady dancing is a matter of balance. She's got to be quick on her feet, go where her partner leads her. Ladies dance on the balls of their feet. I don't know how it happens overnight, mind . . . but those girls are wearing out their shoes just the way they were meant to. They're dancing."

  Bay turned the silk shoe over and over in her hand. The silk caught on the rough parts of her hands. "Does the king know this?"

  The cobbler shrugged. "He's the king. He don't have to look at the bottoms of people's shoes."

  Bay felt suddenly ridiculous for having shown the king her sole. "Then he didn't ask you to investigate?"

  "Why, not that I know, miss," said the cobbler. "Nought's come to talk to me except you. And I wouldn't put me own neck on the line to marry into that family. Besides," he laughed, "I'd make a poor king."

  "I don't know," said Bay. "You'd keep the whole kingdom well-shod. Few kings can do that."

  The cobbler laughed. "Come back this evening, miss. I'll have your boots by then. And who knows? Maybe you'll solve the mystery in the meantime. I'd be terrible sad to put all this work into boots that were only worn a single day."

  "I'm grateful," said Bay. "Really."

  A princess appeared in the doorway: one of about Bay's height and coloring, that she hadn't managed to speak to yet. Her cheeks were red with exertion. She composed herself quickly. "Silly soldier!" she said, sounding winded. "Aren't you finished bothering our dear old cobbler?"

  "I suppose I am," said Bay. The conversation had buoyed her, settled her nerves. Made her feel lucky. "And what's your name, your highness?"

  The princess curtsied. "I'm Tarmellinda."

  Bay offered her elbow. "You're right, Tarmellinda. I think I'd rather spend the day with you and your sisters. Why don't you show me what it's like to be a princess?"

  "Gladly," said Tarmellinda. She led Bay off, looking relieved; Bay followed, feeling relief of her own. At last, she had a plan.

  Bay spent the day watching the princesses -- their habits, their mannerisms. In the evening she went back to the cobbler to get her boots. Then she went on the hunt. She found Tarmellinda reading by the lamplight in a flower-heavy garden, far from the others.

  She approached with deep deference. "A word, your highness?"

  The princess Tarmellinda looked alarmed. "If you will."

  Bay sat beside her on the bench, angled in, making herself look grave and desperate. "Forgive me. I don't know who else to trust."

  "I -- er --"

  Bay forged on. "Twice now I've slept the night without meaning to. Twice I've been brought wine before bed. I suspect one of your sisters may be feeding me potions and enchanting the rest of you. I can't tell which, but I've watched you all carefully, and I think you, at least, are innocent."

  Tarmellinda's hand moved to her mouth. "Oh," she said. "Oh, how . . . what a dreadful accusation."

  "I know. Forgive me. I dare not make guesses to the king. But I think together we can solve this mystery and save you and the rest of your sisters."

  Tarmellinda's eyes remained fixed on Bay's face. "Yes, all right," she said slowly. "Will you then . . . will you not drink?"

  Bay bit her knuckle. "I can't. But I can't let on to them what I suspect. Maybe I can think of a way to pretend to drink . . ."

  "Oh, that won't do," said Tarmellinda. "My sisters are too clever for that."

  "Then what can I do?" said Bay. "I'll be dead by morning!"

  Tarmellinda was silent for a moment. Then: "What if I offered to fetch your wine tonight?"

  Bay sat straighter. "That's it! The others would be satisfied, and I'd be awake to investigate. Just one night, that's all I need. I knew I was right to trust you."

  "Oh yes," said Tarmellinda, still wide-eyed. "Yes. I'll do it."

  Bay grasped the princess's hands the way she had done with her best friend when she was a tiny girl. "Thank you. You've saved my life. I swear, I'll break your curse or die trying."

  She stood, saluted, and strode back into the castle to pass her last evening in the king's dwelling . . . and it wasn't too late that night before she heard a knock at her chamber door.

  Khloromain, who had been hunting flies on the ceiling, vanished into the closet. Bay answered the door. When she saw Tarmellinda she sagged in relief. "You did come!" She shooed the princess inside and shut the door behind her.

  "Of course I came," said Tarmellinda. She held out the tray and the single goblet of wine. "Tonight you can enjoy your wine with no worries."

  Bay hesitated. "Must I drink?"

  "They'll know if you don't," said Tarmellinda. "Griseld
a always knows everything. Oh, don't worry," she added, laughing. "It's quite safe."

  Bay took the wine and put it on the end table. "I hope not."

  In one swift motion, she caught Tarmellinda's arms behind her back. Khloromain burst forth to help, winding himself around the princess until she was immobile. Bay poured as much of the wine down Tarmellinda's throat as possible, clutching her tight as the potion took hold. In moments, Tarmellinda went limp in her arms. "They must have tripled the dose," Bay murmured. She hoisted the princess to the bed and laid her out. "I hope whatever drug they used was a strong one."

  Khloromain said, "This was the one you thought you most resembled?"

  "I chose the best I could," said Bay, tugging off the girl's stockings. "It's not my fault I don't look like a princess."

  "Bah!" said Khloromain. "I could make you the very image of her with a simple wish."

  "I'll take my chances," said Bay. "Help me strip her."

  Khloromain swirled to the ceiling and back. "Perhaps you aren't such a cruel mistress after all!"

  The nightdress felt like nothing Bay had worn for years. She sat uncomfortably as Khloromain did up her hair. "There," he said, giving her curls a final twist. "A coiffure fit for royalty."

  She stood and looked in the mirror. "Ugh." She put on the mask she had taken the night before. A slight improvement. It would have to do. She strapped Khloromain's lead vial around her waist, under the gown. "Ready?"

  "I suppose," said Khloromain.

  "Then wish me luck."

  "Wish me free."

  "Oh, never mind." Bay took up the tray with the empty cup and swept across the hall to her "sisters."

  The place was already a chaos of dresses and chatter. Bay slid to Tarmellinda's closet, trying to forget that her only disguise was a nightgown, a hairstyle, and a thin white mask. She put on a ball gown and let another princess help her button it and helped button one or two of the others. She chose silk slippers to match. The mix of risk and glamour was intoxicating. But whenever she began to enjoy it -- whenever her fingers lingered too long on the silk -- she would hear Griselda's laugh ring out over the others, and grow cold. These girls were trying to kill her. She couldn't forget that.

  They circled the floor. The magic worked despite the imposter. The stones boiled and broke into a staircase; Bay, carefully last, followed the swishing skirts down the dark stairs.

  For long moments there was no light: just the rustle of fabric, hard stone beneath her slippered feet, stone walls close to her shoulders. Then -- quicker than a lamp flaring to life -- pale pink light flooded the staircase, so dim that the girls cast no shadows. The corridor was just wide enough for their skirts, but it rose higher than the castle walls. Bay raised her masked face and saw no ceiling at all: only pink-lit walls stretching into a dark sky.

  The staircase ended at a door made of spider silk. At the front of their chain, Griselda stroked the thin veil. It parted like the curtain of mist over a waterfall. One by one they passed. As Bay passed through it closed behind her with a chime like glass bells.

  A lake dark as onyx stretched before them; then a pier, where twelve boats bobbed. A single oarsman stood alongside each. The princesses hurried to them; Bay followed as slow as she dared. She went to the last of them. Up close she could make out his face, his dead eyes. She knew that face. She'd seen it many times -- not in person, but on the papers they passed around before battles, on the coin of foreign realms. He offered his hand. It was cold. Bay, and all the others, stepped into the boats and one by one they set off across the lake.

  Bay sat on the edge of her nerves, waiting for the dead prince to speak. Across the water she heard rippling laughter from the other boats as the princesses chatted with their ferrymen. She whispered, "Are you prince of Suramanco?"

  "I was," he said.

  "How did you get here?"

  His voice was the creak of windy branches. "I failed the challenge." He stared ahead and rowed. "The king executed me, as was his right. The princesses brought me here to serve them."

  "How?" said Bay. But he would say nothing more.

  The boat docked along a sandy shore. The boatman-prince stepped to the shallows and offered his hand so that Bay could disembark. She did so, clumsily, striking her foot against the prow as she stumbled onto the sand.

  The forest beyond the shore shimmered. The stone path shifted under Bay's feet and moaned as she trod it. She made well sure to stay behind the others. She put a hand on a tree trunk with silver bark and leaves of cut diamond. She snapped off a twig and tucked it away. The tree shrieked faintly at the loss.

  As they went, the branches that so eerily resembled fingers and arms bent until they were unmistakable. The trunks of trees became trunks of men twisted in agony. Twigs became fingers. Bay stuck close to the middle of the path. She couldn't be sure of what she'd do if the fingertips of a man-tree brushed her skin.

  At the end of the path stood a pavilion. Two rows of men lined up along its edges: one for each princess. Some looked like foreign princes, but others wore the same uniform that Bay had left in the castle. She chose one of those. She put her hands around his elbow, as the others did, and let him lead her through a slow promenade around the pavilion.

  Bay whispered: "How did you come to be here?"

  "I fell at Barrowgate. I was called here to serve."

  "Barrowgate," said Bay. Her mind filled with noise and the blur of memories: some images strange and muddled, some portrait-clear. She spoke to bring herself back. "The princesses called you to service here?"

  "Not the princesses," said the infantryman.

  "Who?" whispered Bay.

  His hand was cold in hers. "Our king."

  A clash of bright, merry music broke up their conversation. A waltz. Bay couldn't see any musicians. Griselda clapped her hands gaily above her head and cried, "Why don't we have Tarmellinda start the dancing tonight?"

  The other princesses cheered. Bay's heart sank. She shook her head and clutched her dead escort's arm more tightly.

  "Go on, dear!" called Griselda.

  The soldier on her arm waited dumbly. Bay smiled weakly and tugged at him. "Come on," she murmured. "Make me look good."

  He swept her to the center of the gazebo -- or would have, if Bay hadn't stumbled at the unfamiliar tugging. Her long-wounded thigh began to ache. She did her best to match his steps -- but knew, desperately, how badly she was doing. How long, she thought, how long can I carry this on before I am found out --?

  She caught a glimpse of Griselda's laughing face. It came to her in a flash. They already knew.

  She stopped dancing.

  "Not having fun any longer, soldier?" called Griselda. "How foolish do you think I am? Do you think I don't know my own sister?"

  Quick as a flash, Bay grabbed the sword from the scabbard of the soldier beside her. He made no move to stop her. She tore aside her mask. No point in it now. "What is this place?"

  "Our haven," said Griselda, "and after we kill you it'll be where you serve forever after. Not as a dancer, obviously. But you'll make a nice shrub."

  The words of the dead soldier rang in her ears. "Does your father know?"

  "He should," said Griselda. "It was his long before we conquered it from it. And as long as he keeps sending princes to try to get it back, we'll keep finding ways to use them. Question time is over, soldier." She raised her hand; the dead guards stood ready. "Time to die."

  Bay held the sword before her. "Khloromain!"

  "What?" snapped Griselda.

  From the lead bottle at Bay's waist rose a cloud of black smoke that rose until it towered behind her, a writhing backdrop. "Yes, my lady!"

  "I wish every soul enslaved to this kingdom were set free."

  "What is this?" snarled Griselda.

  "Now!"

  "As you wish!" cried Khloromain joyfully. He clapped his hands together.

  Immediately the floor lurched. The columns rumbled and began to fall. The soldier at Bay's sid
e fell into a heap of bones and vanished. So did the stones and trees, the dancers and boats . . . The whole kingdom made of dead men crumbled around them.

  Griselda shrieked. Bay swore. "Khloromain! Get us out!"

  "Is that another wish?"

  "Do you wish to be buried with me? Get us out!"

  "It'd serve you right, you wish-miser!" he cried. "Oh well -- better one than none --" He took hold of her under the arms and hauled her to dizzy heights. Through rock . . . through space . . . through magic . . .

  They collapsed onto the princesses' bedroom floor.

  Khloromain shrank to his usual size. "I hope you're happy."

  Bay, lost amid the rumpled ball gown, let the sword fall from her hands. She saw not the room around her, but the fields of Barrowgate, thick with the dead; felt the blood of friends and enemies clog her skin until she saw red and breathed blood; heard thunder and dreadful screams. She couldn't catch her breath. She was drowning in memory.

  Khloromain said, "Mistress . . .?"

  She grabbed at his voice and hung on. "He built that place from our dead," she whispered. "Maybe the princesses stole it, but it was his first. And then he murdered fifteen princes just fighting with his daughters over who could have it." She put her hand across her eyes. "Why . . ."

  "Because kings are kings," said Khloromain. "You have your answer. Let's get your reward before he realizes what it truly cost him."

  Bay stood. She bent to take up the slain soldier's sword. "I'll go. Pack my bag. Meet me in the king's chambers. I can't stand to be in this place one more hour."

  "Finally," said Khloromain, "we agree." He burst into of smoke and vanished.

  Bay charged down the midnight-silent hall.

  She burst into the king's bedchamber, to the foot of his lavish bed.

  He roused admirably quickly. "What -- is that the soldier --?"

  "I know where your daughters go at night. And so do you."

  The king composed himself quickly. "What is this?"

  "I've been there. I've seen the shambling servants, the buildings built from the dead -- and those enemy princes raised as shadows to dance with your daughters -- and my comrades, the dead, my dead, who I thought were given at least a noble rest --" She drew her sword. The king barely flinched. "Explain to me how you would use your servants this way."