Goose Chase (12 page)

Smeatt rolled his eyes like a startled horse and then looked hopefully around at his fellow soldiers for guidance. They all avoided his gaze and began looking up into the sky, or whistling a tune, or examining the cut of their fingernails.

"O sir, I can't tell yer that. Indeed, I can't. I'd get into 'orrible, 'orrible trouble iffen I did that."

'And why is that, pray tell, Smeatt?" the Prince demanded, lifting an eyebrow in inquiry, his voice as authoritative as a lifetime of giving orders could make it.

Smeatt looked desperately at the other soldiers, but they went on disassociating themselves as much as possible from this little drama.

"Well, Smeatt? Why may you not tell me what I ask?"

"O, because it might get around to the Prince of Dorloo, that's why, sir."

"And why would that be a problem, Smeatt?" said the Prince in a terrible voice.

"O, sir, because."

"Because
why
?"

"Because we be takin' over his country while he's off chasin' after some girl," finished Smeatt in a rush. "That's why, sir."

T
HE MOON IS MADE OF A GREEN CHEESE
.

—J
OHN
H
EYWOOD,
P
ROVERBS

"By my troth, I really fail to comprehend why I should feel the slightest pang of guilt that the King of Gilboa has chosen to invade Dorloo. In what way was it my fault, pray? Had I put the idea into the King's head? Had I asked the Prince to come chasing off after me into the wilds of Gilboa? No indeed, I had not.

Nonetheless, I found it difficult to meet the Prince's eye after this blow had been delivered. Innocent though I be, I was yet the reason why my own country might fall into the hands of that dreadful and bloodthirsty tyrant, the King, as well as being the likely instrument of the Prince's death.

After we had stumbled along in silence for a time, I muttered in a barely audible voice, "I—I am more grieved than I can say, s—"I stopped myself just in time before I said "sire."

The Prince looked up, his eyes dazed with horror. "My
father—he is ill and wandering in his wits. I do not know what to do, Goose Girl. There is no one to defend the country, no one to lead—" His eyes flicked around at the soldiers on each side, and I saw him realize the inadvisability of revealing our identities. 'Twould not be for long, but yet we must do all we could to delay their learning who we were.

The Prince straightened his spine and looked straight ahead. "Tis best we do not speak of it."

'Aye," I agreed. "Tis best." We walked henceforward in silence.

Soon the donjon of a castle showed above the trees and a turn in the path revealed the whole. I noticed with apprehension that this was no civilized palace, but an armed fortress on the banks of a wide river. Steep-sided walls, unrelieved by any windows save a line of mean-looking arrow slits, reared up over us, and a great iron portcullis slammed down behind us with a tremendous crash when once we were admitted to the premises. No doubt, being located in this wilderness, 'twas necessary to be ready for trouble, but 'twas not in any way a welcoming place to visitors such as ourselves.

The Major had joined us, no doubt in order to take credit for our capture, though he had as yet no idea what a prize he had to offer. He walked at the head of our procession, looking well content with himself.

The Great Hall of the Baroness's citadel was a bleak enough place. I found myself looking about rather critically
as we were marched through the enormous, drafty place. 'Twas like a great black cave. There was little light and less furniture or decoration. No tapestries or hangings softened the stark stone walls. A mob of rats scampered away, squealing mightily, as we approached over the greasy, filth-bestrewn floor rushes. The lady of the house was evidently unworried by a trifling degree of dirt and disorder.

The Baroness was to be found, not in her Great Hall, but in a small room behind it, which was furnished with a chair, a table, and a bench with a broken leg. She sat at the table, writing.

As we entered she looked up briefly.

"Sit," she barked, gesturing at the bench with the broken leg.

Since our party was too numerous to fit on the bench, the Major sent his six soldiers outside to guard the door, while he himself chose to stand. We two were left eyeing the broken bench dubiously.

I caught the Prince's eye. "Both together," I suggested, and smiled cheerfully at him, an "Is-not-this-an-adventure?" sort of smile. For some reason, I did not think I could bear to see him looking so tragic.

The Prince nodded gloomily and we simultaneously lowered our backsides onto the bench.

The Baroness went on, scribbling on a large piece of parchment. For a while there was silence while she wrote and we examined her. She was built on similar lines to her castle, large-boned and solid. She looked as though her only
recreation was crushing boulders with her bare hands. She sported a small, black mustache on her upper lip and thick, heavy black braids wound round and round her head.

"How do you spell 'massacre'?" she demanded suddenly.

The Major appeared to feel that this query was directed at us and not at him. He smiled vacantly and studied the ceiling.

"You there. The yellow-haired girl. How do you you spell 'massacre'?"

"I regret to say that I cannot be of service to you, Madam Baroness."

"Can't read, eh?"

"That is correct, Your Ladyship," I said, flushing with annoyance.

'And you, boy? Do you know?"

"Certainly, madam." The Prince sprang to his feet and bowed deeply, incidentally precipitating me onto the floor in a heap as the bench overbalanced.

When once I had been picked up, dusted off, apologized to, and replaced on the bench, the Prince cautiously reseated himself as well and said precisely, "The correct spelling of 'massacre' is m-a-s-s-a-c-r-e, madam."

"Hmmm ... as you know so much, tell me then: should I write 'hanged' or 'hung'?"

"That, madam, would depend on whether you wish to hang men or pictures."

"O, let it be men, by all means. Or"—she glanced slyly at me—"maids, if you prefer."

"No, indeed," he said, turning rather paler. "One says that a man is hanged and a picture is hung."

"It is of little significance," she said, nevertheless altering her manuscript. "I don't suppose the King of Gilboa cares one way or another." She looked up suddenly and fixed him with her eye. "What is your opinion?"

I held my breath.

"I could not say," said the Prince coldly, and I breathed again. The Prince could not be trusted to lie, but at least he had not fallen into the trap and admitted to knowing the King.

She signed her name and title with a great slashing flourish, folded the document, and was about to close it up with sealing wax when she paused.

"Nay, I suppose I had best leave this open until I fathom what you pair are about, wandering through my demesne pretending to be overdressed, overeducated cowherds."

"Geese, not cows," I could not help interrupting.

"Geese," she said, shooting me a look in which there was little friendliness. "And so, Goldilocks, you claim to be a humble Goose Girl, do you, taking the air with your learned colleague here, the Goose Boy?"

I gave the Prince a meaningful look to warn him both to agree with the story I was about to tell and also that I meant to stand up. The bench rocked dangerously as I rose, but did not quite overturn.

"Your Ladyship," I said and curtsied so low I felt my knee bones crack. "Tis true enough that I am a Goose Girl, but
my companion is not, as you in your wisdom have seen. Nay, my sweetheart and I"— here I sensed rather than saw the Prince start so violently that he nearly capsized the bench—"are instead privileged citizens of the Golden Isles, that happy, blessed land on the western rim of the world, where the rivers run with wine, rubies and emeralds grow on golden trees, and the pigs fly about on silvery wings all day, singing like larks in a meadow."

The Baroness's eyes narrowed upon hearing this last piece of invention. I went on quickly.

"Judging by our dress you think that we are of noble birth. We are not.
All
the inhabitants of the Golden Isles dress in satins and velvets and golden crowns. He is but a lowly tutor to the Princess Gloribelle Graciella while I am her Goose Girl."

"O, aye? And what, prithee, are you doing on my lands? It cannot have escaped your notice that you are no longer in the Golden Isles."

"No, Your Ladyship." I curtsied again. "We are run away from our homes in order to wed. My dearest"—and here I searched my mind frantically for a man's name—"Osbert," I continued triumphantly, "has been expressly forbidden by his parents to wed me as I am but a poor orphan. Without parental permission we should never have been allowed to join our fates. So we have run far, far away in hopes of finding someone to marry us, after which we plan to return home and present his parents with an established fact."

The Baroness studied us in silence for a moment.

"I do believe," she said at last, "that that is the veriest load of hogslop I have ever heard in the whole compass of my days."

Now was the moment for me to give my best performance. I had never thought that the Baroness would believe my first tale: she was not the sort. I sank to my knees and pressed my forehead to the stone floor, my bound wrists extended before me.

"Tis true! I swear it!"

When the Baroness continued to look skeptically at me, I cried out in terror—'twas not difficult for me to pretend to this emotion.

"O my lady, I do beseech you! 'Tis true, or at least, 'tis nearly all true."

"Oho, now we are coming to it. Do you wish to retract the flying pigs, perchance?"

"Yes, yes. I ought not to have tried to fool a woman of your sagacity, I see that now.

"Tis true enough that my Osbert is a tutor and I a Goose Girl, but we hail from the court of the Princess Chlotilde of Broome, not from the Golden Isles, if Golden Isles there be. We did indeed wish to wed but were forbidden, for his parents think him far too good for me. As indeed he is." I bowed my head remorsefully and nearly squeezed out a tear until I remembered that 'twould be a diamond, which was the last item required in the circumstances.

"We made a scheme, as I told, to steal away to be wed in
another country, and I—I am deeply ashamed to admit—" I dropped my head into my hands and groaned aloud.

"Well, get on with it. What did you do?"

"Without Osbert's knowledge I took—I abstracted—"

"O, a thief, is it?" asked the Baroness with an ironic smile.

"Aye, 'tis true enough. These things"—I gestured at my crown and my dress—"belong to the Princess Chlotilde. Osbert's suit of clothes belongs to the King, her father. 'Twas none of Osbert's doing, lady. He had no guilty knowledge, even. I told him the things belonged to my aunt, now dead. He is a good man, my Bertie, but not overly sharp in his wits. Clever enough at his books," I admitted handsomely, "but unworldly. I beg you, let him go to make his way home, a sadder but wiser man."

The Prince leapt to his feet with a clatter as the bench overturned once again. "Tis a lie!" he roared. "Every word is false. I swear upon my honor as Prince Edmund Percival Augustus Bernardus Blenheim, Crown Prince of Dorloo, that there is not an atom of truth to the Goose Girl's statement."

The Baroness shifted in her chair to regard him with interest.

"Nay!" I cried. "I pray you, do not listen. Osbert is—he is wandering in his mind. We suffered greatly, wandering in the forest, and he is half mad from want. We have supped on naught but a handful of acorns and berries this day," I said quite truthfully and turned to glare threateningly at His Highness.

"She lies," the Prince said, quite calm now. He folded his arms over his chest and took up an aggressive stance before the Baroness. "Most nobly, but she lies."

The Baroness spoke. "Whether
she
lies or
he
lies, 'tis clear enough that I may let neither of you go at present. I am sure that you understand that well enough, Goose Girl." She smiled sardonically at me. "You are an intelligent child."

I bowed my head. There had only been a very small chance of freeing the Prince, in any case. Still, he need not have made the Baroness a present of every name he possessed, need he?

The Baroness's gaze suddenly sharpened.

"A Goose Girl in the company of the Prince of Dorloo!" She stared at me, and her eyes grew hard as little pebbles. "So! Perhaps you might be the Goose Girl in whom my fiancé has been expressing such an interest, this past half year."

"Your fiancé?" I said, puzzled by the introduction of this new character.

"Aye. Mayhap you were unaware that the King of Gilboa is my most dearly beloved affianced husband. Since earliest childhood."

"Indeed?" I said feebly. "How—how charming. I do congratulate you both."

The Prince looked confused. "But Goose Girl, I thought that the King of Gilboa wanted to marry—"

"I cannot say how pleased I am to hear it," I said, very loudly. "He seems to need a wife, somehow, and I am sure
you will fill the role to a perfection." My foot sought the Prince's booted one and pressed it. He opened his mouth to protest.

"Goose Girl," he complained, but then seemed to understand and remained silent.

"You call her 'Goose Girl,'" said the Baroness, a bitter smile playing on her lips, "yet if gossip speaks true, you wished to marry the young woman. I understand she possesses certain ... talents, besides her pretty face." She looked at me in silence for a moment, eyeing my golden curls and perfect profile with obvious distaste, then turned back to the Prince. "What is her name? Or do you not know it? It may not have mattered to you, but I always like to know the names of my guests. We know yours in full; what is hers?"

The Prince turned red as fire. "I—I do not know," he admitted. "I have always called her 'Goose Girl.' Or 'my lady,' back when—" He looked wretched. Back when he was still attempting to woo me, is what he had been about to say.