The Rat Prince (19 page)

I wasn't going to correct him in front of everyone, but compassion was not exactly one of the qualities rats look for in their potential prince or princess. A successful candidate for the rat throne must win all the fights and hand down the wisest judgments on legal disputes, and must also vanquish the others in a test of how much wine he or she can drink at one sitting and still keep a clear head. And then, there is the sausage-eating contest.

King Tumtry went on, “As soon as my royal councillors and I heard this intriguing idea, we knew it was the answer to our prayers for securing the succession of Angland. Lord Hamp, Lord Brimfield, and I arranged a test of our own tonight to determine who would rule this land when I am gone. We asked Prince Charming to attempt to master a situation crucial to the kingdom.”

Hmmm.

“My loyal subjects, what you have just witnessed was the outcome of that test. Prince Charming prevailed with courage, wisdom, and calm. And he vanquished my son in a duel with great honor as well as skill, though Geoffrey's prowess with a sword has never before been bested. Prince Charming, ruler of the Northern Realm and now the next king of Angland, come forward!”

Me?

The king bent a warm, hopeful gaze my way. “If you will agree, tonight I shall lay aside my burden of rulership, and I will crown you king here before my assembled nobles, so that all may witness our kingdom is safe in your valiant hands.”

The ballroom exploded into deafening acclaim.

“Huzzah, huzzah! Long live the future King Charming!”

King Tumtry boomed out, “And from now on, the heir to the rulership shall always be required to pass a test devised by the royal councillors before ascending the throne!”

I sent an incredulous glance toward Lord Hamp, then to Lord Brimfield, and finally to King Tumtry himself. There was confirmation in their grave smiles. I had not misheard.

“Char?” Rose said in a tremulous voice. Then, stronger, louder, “Char!”

I opened my mouth to speak—then it began.

The chimes of the clock in the tower outside, reverberating through the walls of the palace.

Striking twelve.

Bong.

I took both my lady's hands. “Go to Jessamyn and your father,” I said. “Stand by them. I would not humiliate you when my transformation takes place. The people will mock you afterward for falling in love with a rat.”

She held my hands tighter and straightened her spine. “I shall remain with you. The last sight you will see as a man is me, loving you. And I am proud to love the Rat Prince who won the throne of Angland as well as my heart.”

She had the truest, bravest heart I'd ever known.

“Lady Rose, my Cinderella,” I softly said, “if I had become a man forever, and this night were the beginning of many nights for the rest of our lives, would you have become my bride?”

“Yes,” she said without hesitation.

Still the pitiless clock kept on striking.

My love, my love, my Rose
. I counted seven … eight … nine …

 

C
INDERELLA

Seven … eight … nine …

Every candle in the room went out at once. Before anyone could scream or run, a noise like a rushing waterfall cascaded over the ballroom. The air around us swirled with pale blue light. A crescendo of majestic, wild music blew past us, and suddenly …

“Tumtry of the house of Wendyn, King of Angland, you have chosen well. You have saved your domain.”

The words echoed from wall to wall before the blue light took shape and approximated the form of a woman over ten feet tall, her hair a floating blue flame, her robe flowing water. Ashiira! She hovered in front of King Tumtry, who tottered and collapsed back onto his silver throne. His advisers bravely stepped up, Lord Hamp clutching the king's shoulder, the withered Lord Brimfield steadying himself against Lord Hamp.

I looked at Char. My love was still a man! Hope warred with disbelief within my breast. A quick glance about showed me that Swiss, too, remained in human form.

Had the clock struck twelve? I hadn't heard it.

Char put his arm around me and hugged me close. “Just see how Ashiira has put on an impressive form to frighten everyone,” he murmured. “The minx.”

“Did you just call the Lancastyr goddess a minx?”

He smiled. I noticed a dimple in one of his cheeks.

Ashiira spoke. “Come stand before me, Geoffrey of the house of Wendyn, sometime Prince of Angland.” As she gave the summons, Geoffrey was propelled toward her. The bonds fell magically from his wrists and mouth before he came to a terrified stop.

How amazing that he could stand upright in her presence! Whatever else he was, Geoffrey was not a coward. I quickly looked to his father. The pain I saw there was too great; I had to shift my gaze away.

“Geoffrey, though your father believes you mad, it is not so. You have been given many chances to choose well, and you have chosen badly,” Ashiira said, still in that powerful echoing voice so unlike the dulcet trill she used at Lancastyr Manor. “Your life ought to be forfeit for the good of the realm. However, out of consideration for your royal parent, I will not carry out that sentence. Another choice lies before you. Spend your days doing good works to atone for the misdeeds you have committed and the noble deeds you have never done—or be punished as I see fit.”

“I am prince of this land,” he shrieked, “whether my traitorous father acknowledges me or not. You cannot make and unmake a king, whoever you are!”

Ashiira's glowing lips formed a quarter-moon of a smile. “I am a divinity. I make and unmake kings.” She pointed a burning blue finger at the clock above the musician's gallery. “I have taken us out of the normal passage of time to craft this moment from infinity. Now we shall return to the ebb and flow of your world, where the clock has tolled nine of the twelve strokes until midnight. Geoffrey de Wendyn, you have up to the last stroke to make your decision.”

A shock rocked everyone slightly backward, as if the earth quaked. I saw it ripple through the gathering. Then in a panic, I heard the clock tower resume:

Bong.

Bong.

“Goodbye, my love,” Char whispered. He dropped a kiss on my forehead. We clung to each other.

Bong
 … twelve.

Thousands of candles sprang back to life at once, and the room was flooded with light. Screams ripped the air. Shocked yells came from the crowd: “A rat! Did you see—he turned into a rat!”

“Char!” I gasped.

Joy—unutterable, unquenchable joy! For my love still stood within my embrace, whole and human, his eyes wide and bright, his slender frame vibrating with wonder.

“Rose, my heart!” He hugged me tight, then spun me around and pointed at the floor several paces away. “Behold!”

There, amid a heap of princely clothing, within a royal circlet of twisted gold, sat a golden-haired rat, hunched over, sniffing the air.

Ashiira declared sonorously, “Justice has been done. Balance is restored. Under the guidance of a noble and loyal breed of local rats, the former prince shall learn once more how to be human.”

Suddenly Swiss appeared, in his rat form again, nipping at Geoffrey's new rat hindquarters and driving him toward the courtyard. I took this to mean that Swiss would be the one delivering Geoffrey's humanity lessons. Before disappearing into the night, he stopped and saluted in our direction.

Char and I waved back.

Then our attention was pulled to Ashiira, who was far from finished. “Justice shall also be done upon you, Wilhemina Draper, enemy of the house of Lancastyr,” she proclaimed with flashing eyes to my stepmother, who'd been languishing in the grip of the palace guards.

“Good heavens, Char!” I exclaimed. “I forgot about Wilhemina!”

“So did I,” he said. “If you'd told me earlier today that I could actually drop the blasted woman from my thoughts, even for a minute, I wouldn't have believed you.”

“Would you have believed it if I told you King Tumtry would make you his heir?” I asked.

“I still don't believe that,” he replied.

“Wilhemina Draper, you are a murderess,” Ashiira proclaimed. Flames leapt about her forbidding, glorious countenance. “You wedded Barnaby de Lancastyr under false pretenses. You are not, and have never been, a Lancastyr.”

Wilhemina's skin drained of color; her lips went gray.

“Mercy, great goddess!” a little voice quavered. It belonged to Jessamyn. “Mercy upon my mother, I beg!”

Oh, Jessamyn! My conscience smote me. Throughout this fearsome scene of judgment, the brave child had been alone, with only my father to lean upon.

Char and I both hurried toward her. Then we saw that Sir Tompkin and Lord Bluehart had gotten there first. Sir Tompkin was holding her hand, and Lord Bluehart stood staunchly by my father.

I thanked our dear friends as Char scooped Jessamyn up and held her, big as she was, upon his hip. Then he turned toward the goddess. “Ashiira,” he said. “This child is a courageous and kind soul, a true sister to Lady Rose. Her wishes should be considered.”

The goddess inclined her head.

“Rose,” Jessamyn whispered as I kissed her brow. “Your handsome prince came after all. Do you think he will help Mamma?”

Sir Tompkin pulled out his big handkerchief.

My heart ached for Jessamyn, who I could see did not fully understand the accusations against her mother. Someday when she was older and strong enough to bear the burden, she would learn the truth of how Wilhemina had ordered Cook to kill her father. But not now.

“Goddess Ashiira,” I said. “You have rightly declared that justice must be done upon Wilhemina. On behalf of the Lancastyrs, I request that you allow me to mete out her sentence myself.”

The flames around Ashiira faded away. She turned to us, seeming now more like the fairy creature from the stable yard at Lancastyr Manor than an awesome bringer of divine judgment. “So be it, Lady Rose. This woman's life is in your hands.”

It seemed everyone's gaze now turned to me, except Wilhemina's. Her eyes were squeezed shut; her bloodless lips moved restlessly, but no sound came out.

I hesitated a moment. “If it please Your Majesty King Tumtry,” I said, “she will be confined in Castle Wendyn until we can arrange her transport to the Convent of the Order of the Silent Nuns. There, she will make up for her crimes by helping the poor, tilling the fields, weaving shrouds, and doing other good works, as Geoffrey might have done had he accepted the offer of the goddess. There is much more to be said for atonement than for punishment. And by the way, Wilhemina,” I said loudly and distinctly, “the Silent Nuns wear only hemp sandals and homespun brown robes.”

Her eyes flew open. “Brown is not my color!” she shrieked.

Without further ado, the king said to his guards, “Lock her up in the dungeons.”

Wilhemina protested. “But the dungeons are filthy. And there are
rats
!”

Char winked at me over the top of Jessamyn's curls. I concluded that he would take it upon himself to make sure Wilhemina's time in the dungeons with the rats would be most instructive, before she made it to the convent.

Then he cuddled my stepsister as Wilhemina was marched away. “Do you see? You saved your mamma's life, Jessamyn,” he soothed. “All will be well.”

For the first time since my own mother's death, I felt deep down inside that this was actually true.

Now Ashiira called, “Lady Rose and Prince Charming, please come forward.”

Char let Jessamyn slide down to stand on her own again, and Sir Tompkin took charge of her. Then we walked together toward Ashiira, who still hovered over King Tumtry and his councillors. The king seemed strained and limp, but his councillors wore eager expressions, as if they could hardly believe the good fortune of this unexpected resolution to their worries.

Then the goddess looked kindly upon us.

“Prince Charming, you must choose. Do you wish to become ruler of this kingdom, or remain prince of the Northern Realm, which you have led so well for so long?”

His voice strong and sure, Char replied, “In my princedom there are good candidates and true for the throne. I have no qualms about relinquishing my duties.”

She gave a gesture of understanding and approval, tracing a shimmering arc in the air with both hands and bringing them together again. “Then do you now accept the bounty and the charge of King Tumtry to become king of the Realm of the Angles, the Southern Hills, the Vales and Islands, and the Border Marches, as long as you shall yet live?”

Char said, “If I may share the rulership with my love, Rose de Lancastyr, as my queen.”

I felt a shock of pure bliss. Char would be my husband, and I his wife.

“Are there any objections from King Tumtry or his people?” Ashiira asked.

A roar of approval rose from the packed ballroom as King Tumtry declared, “I am gratified and honored to accept your condition, Prince Charming.”

“Then let it be!” Ashiira said. “Lady Rose and Prince Charming, you have both fought strong forces arrayed against you, and you have proven yourselves the stronger by far. My next words will give you to each other in marriage, and give your family—the Lancastyrs—unto the land of Angland in perpetuity as its sacred sovereigns, as long as you are fit to rule and your heirs pass the tests of worthiness. Do you accept?”

Char, irrepressible to the end, whispered to me, “Is this a trick question?”

“We accept!” I hastily responded.

King Tumtry beckoned Lord Brimfield to him. With utmost dignity, Lord Brimfield came up behind the king and lifted the big golden crown from his head. The jewels in it sparkled Lancastyr blue in the light Ashiira cast as he held it high. I marveled at this, for the stones had been red before, the color of the house of Wendyn.