Frogged (14 page)

Luella, who had appeared so pasty and drawn such a short while ago, flushed and smiled shyly and said, “Why, yes. I suppose he is.”

“I thought you'd given up on men,” Imogene reminded her. “Men like, for example, Bertie?”

“I
have,
” Luella assured her. But she fluffed her hair as she said it. “I need to go back in now to check the kettle I left on the fire.”

Imogene tried to console herself. How much trouble could Luella get into in one day?

But the following morning, Luella announced that the woman was feeling even stiffer than before, and that she'd asked Luella to stay on for a bit.

It was pretty boring for Imogene for one day.

Very boring for two days.

Mind-numbingly boring for three.

Especially with the suspicion that the woman wasn't the main reason Luella wanted to extend her stay—suspicion strengthened by the fact that Luella made fewer and fewer trips to the rain barrel, and shorter ones, and always seemed in a rush to get back into the house. The house from which Imogene seemed to be hearing a lot of laughter and good cheer.

Imogene started to wonder if there was any time limit to the froggifying spell beyond which she would no longer be able to turn back to human but would be bound into frog shape forever. There was no real reason to believe so. However, neither was there a strong reason to believe not. Did it mean anything that the old witch responsible for this whole mess hadn't said anything about a need to either rush or be doomed?

Imogene thought back. And decided that, with the old witch, one couldn't assume anything.

I could,
she thought,
kiss someone, anyone, for just a bit. Trade places for maybe a few hours.

A day at the most.

Only until I get back home.

Then I'd change him back.

Really.

Really I would.

But that was dangerous thinking.

And unworthy of a princess.

Finally the old woman was able to get along on her own.

At last!

Luella told Imogene, “The son has invited me to stay.”

Oh no!
Imogene wanted to yell at her. Maybe shake her for good measure.
Oh no! Oh no! Oh no!

Instead, she spoke very calmly through her frog lips. “I need to get home. Please, Luella, I have no other way of getting there except through your goodwill. Truly, I am Princess Imogene, King Wellington's daughter, regardless of what Bertie said. If you take me to my parents, they will give you whatever you want. They can easily have you brought back here afterward. Please, Luella, don't leave me to try to get home on my own.”

Luella picked up Imogene's bucket. “I wouldn't,” she said. “I told him no. I know my parents will lecture me until I'm gray and toothless for running off with Bertie, but the fact is I miss them. And my wretched little brother, too. And our farm. So I'm thinking: Why should I always be the one expected to leave my family and friends and go off with
him?
Surely there's got to be a
him
who's willing to come to me.”

And that was how Princess Imogene Eustacia Wellington and Luella the farm girl once more took to the road—this time heading west, well and truly traveling toward home.

 

It took days, as Imogene had known it would, until finally, finally, she saw the very tip of the turret at the northeast corner of the castle, the turret that—through some miscalculation of her great-grandfather's master builder—had somehow ended up just a bit taller than the rest, so that it was always the first anybody saw, no matter from which direction they approached.

Imogene counted up the days since all of this had started. Fourteen. She'd been away fourteen days.

Which meant that, by purest happenstance, she'd come home on her birthday.

She remembered her mother handing her that book,
The Art of Being a Princess
, and telling her that there was just enough time to read it—a chapter a day—before her birthday. Wryly Imogene thought,
And I haven't read a single chapter—just the foreword.

Still, all in all, she doubted that even her mother could find fault with that now—not under the circumstances.

That was what she was thinking about when a familiar voice said, in ringing, slightly over-enunciated tones so that even the back rows could hear: “Hello, Luella. Hello, Princess Imogene. The troupe wasn't the same without you.”

Chapter 12:

(Blah blah blah blah blah)

 

 

Ned sat on the large rock by the side of the road that led to the town and the castle beyond. The rock had been left there by those who had built the road, a place for travelers to rest while getting a drink of water from the stream that was the runoff from the mill pond, or to catch their breath before climbing the final hill.

Imogene found
she
needed to catch her breath, even though she had been riding on Luella's shoulder.

Luella took a step back and glanced around as though gauging which was her best option: to turn and run into the woods and hide; or to throw the pail of water at Ned, then hope she could dart past.

But Ned made no threatening move toward them, nor did he rant and complain that they had abused his hospitality and broken trust with him and cost him money and reputation—as Imogene had imagined these past several days that he might.

He didn't even bother to stand or attempt to appear intimidating. In fact, Imogene thought he looked diminished: both he and his clothing were travel-worn and the worse for the weather since the last time she had seen him. True,
then
he had been wearing the crown and robes of King Rexford the Bold. Of course, he'd also been dodging airborne produce. Still, even with that going on, he'd had his customary bearing of self-importance and confidence. Now he looked mostly weary.

He said, “I told the others that all we had to do was wait. I knew you'd be back.”

Imogene didn't say what she thought of the kind of person who couldn't resist an
I told you so
—even to people who were not there. She went directly to “Of course we came back. This is our home. Despite your leading Luella on and kidnapping me.”

“Well, of course, obviously you'd eventually
head
toward home,” Ned clarified for her. “I meant: I knew you'd make it.”

Before Imogene could point out that by acknowledging this as her home, he also acknowledged what and who she was, Ned added, “The troupe has disbanded, which may or may not be all for the best, but however that works out, I found I could not move on until I learned how the story ended.”

“Story?” Imogene repeated. “Story? This is my life we're talking about.”

Ned shook his head. “Only from your point of view. From mine, you're the lead character in a story that's a better adventure than the ones I've managed to write.”

Once again, Imogene refrained from saying the first thing that came to her head: that, in her point of view—in
her
story—he was an irksome, interfering character who kept standing in her way. “In that case,” Imogene said, “I'm hoping for a good ending.”

“Truly,” Ned acknowledged, “I've seen mediocre plays pull things together and thus leave a satisfying impression by a strong ending, and I've seen better plays sunk by a weak ending.”

Imogene sighed. “What I was talking about,” she clarified, “is a
happy
ending.”

“A comedy, then.” Ned shrugged, apparently not a fan of comedies. “Tragedies have more staying power than comedies.”

“All the same . . .” Imogene said.

“All the same,” Ned echoed.

Luella looked from one to the other of them, then declared, “I have no idea what either of you is talking about.”

Ned let the subject drop. “As for your getting back home, you're both strong. And capable. Probably more than either of you realizes. And I never kidnapped you, Princess Imogene Eustacia Wellington. I . . .
may
have held on to you longer than I should have. But I never removed you from here.” He considered a moment before admitting, “Though I did, perhaps, lead Luella on a bit.”

“Perhaps?” Luella sputtered. “A bit?”

“But only after Bert brought you to us. What was I to do? You were glowing with happiness and anticipation that night when you arrived. Was I to inform you then that Bert had deceived you? Tell you that he had exaggerated his importance to the troupe and your importance to him, and that—whatever he'd promised you—he was only using you?” Ned shrugged. Then, despite Imogene's wariness and Luella's obvious distrust of him, he was suddenly on his feet, and he caught hold of Luella's hand.

Imogene's back legs tensed to leap from Luella's shoulder.
I can hide in the woods much more easily alone,
she thought. It wasn't as though she'd be abandoning Luella, for surely Ned was more interested in reclaiming his talking-frog act than in holding on to a farm girl who wanted to be an actor.

But before Imogene could launch herself into the air, all Ned did was bring Luella's hand to his lips. “You can do much better than Bert,” he told her.

Luella snatched her hand away. But then she appeared uncertain what to do with it. Her face flushed prettily.

Ned said, “And I
did
try to warn you.”

Imogene recalled that he had made a comment to the effect that an actor's word was not to be trusted. Still, she told Ned, “You didn't try very hard.”

“I did not,” he acknowledged. “But neither did I ever mean Luella harm. And I certainly never meant to permanently hold on to you, Princess Imogene. Just long enough to make . . .” It was his turn to sigh. “ . . . a little bit of a sensation. So that people might remember me, and maybe say”—he extended his hands theatrically—“‘Now
there
was a showman.'”

“Yes, well,” Imogene countered, “you might have held out for: ‘Now
there
was someone who rescued a princess in need.'”

Ned nodded. Then pointed out, “Not the same.”

“Not the same,”
Imogene repeated. She studied him. “Please don't tell me, now that I've made it back despite your best efforts to prevent me from doing so, that you plan to tell my parents you held me in safekeeping and so you deserve a reward?”

“I would absolutely know better than to ever tell you that,” Ned agreed. “Still, I have to admit: Neither would I duck if someone threw reward money at me. So it's probably best to just switch to a different conversation.” He smiled charmingly. “Happy birthday, Princess.” He had the grace not to try to kiss her hand.

Not that, strictly speaking, she had a hand.

“How did you know about my birthday?”

“Overheard it. Everyone's frantic about the princess who disappeared practically on the threshold of her thirteenth birthday. No sign of her running off, but no sign of her being carried off, either. And no especial reason to believe in disappearance through mischance. Everyone is stymied. Well”—Ned corrected himself midthought—“I'm guessing not, strictly speaking,
everyone
. I surmise someone must know how you became . . .” He paused to find the proper word. “Frogged? But such a someone no doubt has good enough reason to choose not to come forward.”

“Hmm,” Imogene said, thinking of the treacherous Harry and the careless witch.

“A world of tantalizing hints in that
hmm
.” Ned waited, then continued, “Search parties have looked in every room, in every cupboard, beneath every bed, and behind every dresser, desk, chair, or box in the castle. They've dredged the mill pond—twice—and are even as we speak scouring the woods yet again. Everyone is looking for both of you.”

“Both of us?” Luella and Imogene both asked at the same time.

“It didn't escape notice that two girls disappeared the same afternoon. People aren't sure what the connection is, or even if there
is
a connection. But, for the moment, yes: They are looking for both of you.”

Luella said, “So my parents don't know I ran away with Bertie . . .”

As always, Ned chose his words carefully. “There are rumors. My perception is that your family is, to a certain extent, hoping that you
did
run off with someone, rather than that something more dire has happened to you. But nobody can figure how the princess fits into that scenario.”

Imogene asked, “And the rumors about what happened to me?”

Ned shook his head. “No one thing. Abduction by an evil foreign power, or by magical beings, or by a love-crazed suitor . . .”

“That's just . . . ridiculous,” Imogene said.

“Any more ridiculous than being a frog?” Ned asked. “How did that come to pass, anyway?”

Imogene saw no reason to hide what had happened, either from him or from Luella. “A frog told me he was a prince under an enchantment, and that I could return him to his true form by kissing him. What he didn't say was that the spell would switch over to me and make
me
a frog.”

Ned said, “There are a couple of princes running around at the moment: your brother, Will, and someone named . . . Malcolm?”

“The son of some friends of my parents.” Imogene had forgotten that King Calum and his family had been invited to participate in her birthday festivities.

Ned told her, “My impression was that both seemed genuinely worried about you. They passed by here early this morning, among the groups of people looking for you in the woods.”

Imogene realized why Ned was sounding confused. “The frog wasn't either one of them. He wasn't a prince at all. Just a village boy.” She turned to Luella. “Actually, a friend of your brother Tolf's: Harry.”