The Rat Prince (9 page)

“That is not the nobility of spirit with which my queen and I tried to raise our son,” the king said. “Yet if what he told you is indeed so, there is hope, Brimfield!”

“I beg your pardon—what does Your Majesty mean?”

“If memory serves—if my old age is not playing tricks upon me,” King Tumtry wheezed, “we may very well bring Geoffrey what he requires. Did you send an invitation to Lancastyr Manor? Lord Lancastyr has a daughter…”

“We did, Your Majesty.” Lord Hamp inclined his head and fingered a jeweled orb that hung from his neck on a long gold chain. “As you commanded, we invited all Glassevale families with eligible daughters to this event. Even the Lancastyrs, though poor Lord Lancastyr has become weak in his mind and has married a woman of doubtful moral character.”

“What a pity,” said Lord Brimfield, “to see the Lancastyr line, so important in the history of our great country and so loyal to the throne, deteriorate into madness and possibly even ruin.”

I felt anger at this characterization of our special humans.

The fact that it was true only made it worse.

“But, you fools,” thundered King Tumtry, “have you never seen the Lancastyr daughter?”

You may be sure I was all attention at this juncture.

Lord Hamp seemed taken aback. “Sire, she is a most ill-favored, frownsome wench. Not at all to the purpose. She has never been to the palace, of course, but her mother thrusts her forward at every social gathering to which she may gain entrance, so I have seen her quite recently—though Barnaby de Lancastyr does not accompany her. What is the name … Eulalia? Anastasia?”

“Eustacia,” supplied Lord Brimfield, with a faint sneer.

“Eustacia, Eustacia! Don't you ‘Eustacia' me like a couple of old roosting hens!” the king shouted. “That's the stepdaughter, no doubt! I'm talking about the daughter of the late Lady Jane, the first wife of Lord Lancastyr—she who was Jane de Fribourg before marrying.”

“Oh, Lady Jane the Lovely! Of course,” Lord Hamp said.

Then Lord Brimfield exclaimed, “What a lackwit I am! I have indeed heard of the Lancastyr girl. Her name is Rose, and since a special dispensation was granted to the Lancastyrs centuries ago to bestow a courtesy title to their heir, she is known as Lady Rose. She made her debut at fifteen and caused quite a stir, but no one has seen her since her father remarried.”

There was silence for a moment. Then Lord Brimfield spoke again. “Now that I think upon it, I realize there was some talk about the girl's nature being so delicate, she became disordered after the death of Lady Jane—which is why she no longer goes about in society.”

“Ha!” The king dismissed this idea with a curt sideways swipe of his hand. “What nonsense. It's clear that Rose de Lancastyr has fallen under the thumb of a stepmother who is jealous of her. Lancastyr Manor is evidently not a happy home. Perhaps Lady Rose would be glad to escape it … and that is an ideal situation for our purposes, is it not?”

Swiss whispered, “Things are looking good for the rat-candidate.”

It did sound as though Prince Geoffrey would do as I'd hoped, and choose Rose because of her fine looks. But I felt stirrings of uneasiness in my chest. I did not quite understand what the king meant by “an ideal situation for our purposes.”

So I paid close attention when Lord Hamp spoke once again. “Very well,” he said, “since it appears the young lady may meet our needs, let us hope Rose de Lancastyr will be in attendance at the ball tonight.”

I still was not enlightened. What exactly were the needs to which Hamp referred?

Suddenly, the giant double oaken doors facing the throne were flung open to admit the tall figure of a young man wearing a crown, trailed by several people who were probably a mixture of courtiers and servants. “Father! Father!” he called in a rich, musical voice—the sort of voice I thought human girls would find compelling.

King Tumtry sat upright and hastily dropped his own crown upon his head. It slid a little to one side.

Meanwhile, I took stock of the famous Prince Geoffrey.

“Ooooh, he's so haaaaandsome,” Swiss cooed.

Swiss was teasing, of course, but according to what I knew of humans, I believed the shining Geoffrey should please Rose greatly, at least in the matter of looks.

So why was I not pleased?

“Yes, my son?” King Tumtry asked, blinking a little as Geoffrey rapidly advanced toward the throne.

“Father, this knavish fool has endangered the success of tonight's ball before it has even begun!” The prince flung an accusing finger toward a bowing, scraping man who, with his thick lips and balding head, seemed quite as harmless as he was frightened. The prince's eyes were fierce, and his golden hair moved as he did, dramatically.

“Come now, Son,” King Tumtry said. “Let the man explain. What is your name, my good fellow?”

“Quintilius Porter, Your Majesty,” he said, and exhaled heavily as he got down upon one knee before the throne. “I was charged with delivering and installing the great artist Fieresci's marble statue of your son, His Royal Highness, in time for tonight's ball. I was to install it in the center of the Fountain of Love in the courtyard, to bring good fortune to the prince as he chooses his bride.”

“And instead, what do you think he has done?” Geoffrey bellowed. “The clumsy oaf has allowed one of the arms to break off!”

“That certainly sounds unfortunate,” the king said carefully. “Yet perhaps all is not lost. What think you, my lord councillors?”

“Master Porter,” said Lord Hamp, “can the statue be mended by tonight?”

“Oh yes, yes, Lord Hamp, we can reattach the arm with a strong bolt, and then—if I may be so bold as to make the suggestion—I should drape a velvet cloak across the shoulders of the statue to hide the break. After the ball, the sculptor will be able to do a more thorough job of repairing his work.” Quintilius Porter did not raise his eyes. “I exceedingly regret the carelessness of my assistants. I humbly beg your pardon, Your Majesty. I will remain at the ball tonight if you wish, out of sight, with the sole object of watching over the statue.”

Lord Hamp gave a guarded smile. “Your Majesty, so long as Master Porter makes good on his promise, His Highness the prince need have no fear. He shall laugh and dance the night away with many a beautiful woman, secure in the knowledge that he has been blessed with good fortune by the statue in the fountain.”

“I will do so, Lord Hamp,” said Geoffrey, drawing his sword and turning to Quintilius Porter. “But this lout shall not be in attendance.”

He raised the blade high in both hands. Then he swung it down hard, striking off the unsuspecting Master Porter's head.

*   *   *

For an instant, the world seemed suspended. I could not think or even breathe.

“Your Highness!”
Swiss's cry sounded like a gurgle.

I did not reply. My attention was still riveted upon the disembodied head of Quintilius Porter, as were the gazes of all the humans in the ballroom below. The people stood frozen.

“Prince Geoffrey is evil—or mad!” Swiss cried, more coherently now, but quite unnecessarily.

I glanced across the chandelier at him. When I looked at his twirling whiskers and swiftly rotating ears, all I could see instead was Rose's kind, innocent face. Slowly, as if in the midst of a fever dream from which I could not awaken, I said: “What have I done? By the great Prince Feast, what have I done?”

Everything made sense now. Why else would a handsome crown prince like Geoffrey require such unusual measures to obtain a bride? I had assumed the issue to be that Geoffrey was difficult to please. How wrong I'd been. Doubtless, good King Tumtry had not matched his son with a foreign princess or a highborn lady of his own kingdom because such a girl could not be expected to remain married to Geoffrey once she learned he was dangerous. No, the king needed a bride for his son who was attractive yet utterly powerless, without a strong family behind her to provide refuge and support. Someone who would stay with Geoffrey because she had nowhere else to go.

Someone like Rose.

This was the “purpose” of which the king and his councillors had spoken.

What a lackwit I had been.

Swiss's hold on his perch looked unstable. “You were right, my prince! We have much to worry us in the human succession. If this vicious fellow inherits the throne, no one in Angland will be safe.”

Least of all, the lady unlucky enough to become Geoffrey's wife.

“Lady Rose!”
I turned tail and jumped from tier to tier of the chandelier, uncaring that I might be seen, heedless of my own safety or that of Swiss. For our dear Rose would soon be leaving Lancastyr Manor to come meet Geoffrey.

She must be stopped.

“Look!” someone shouted below us. “The spirit of the dead man rises to the ceiling! The crystals of the chandelier shake!”

This seemed to jerk the humans from their frozen positions, and pandemonium ensued.

Lord Hamp's bass voice sounded above the panic: “Bar the doors! No one departs this room until there is calm and silence! And word of this man's death must go no further!”

Swiss and I ran back to where my rat-warriors were standing guard with our guide. They had pulled off their jerked-meat collars and were sharing them around, chewing with a dull air.

“My warriors!” I yelled. “Make haste!”

They blinked at me in astonishment and dropped the jerky. They had never seen me lose my composure thus, not even for an instant.

Uncaring, I shouted even louder. “Return to Lancastyr Manor! Lady Rose's life is in danger. Away, away!”

Fur spiked, whiskers flattened, they slipped through the rafters as fast as poached eggs sliding across a polished counter.

Our gray southern guide trickled off in the opposite direction, no doubt to spread the word that Geoffrey was not the only prince who had run mad.

After we galloped for a few minutes, Swiss demanded between panting breaths, “But, Your Highness … is it not more important than ever … that Lady Rose marry the prince, to protect the kingdom from him? It is the very scenario you feared might come to pass—a bad king despoiling the land of the Food.”

“When I made that suggestion, I was referring to a rat-enemy, not a lunatic,” I snarled at my friend. “This Geoffrey fellow would kill our Rose within the first month! She must not go to the ball tonight!”

 

C
INDERELLA

The evening had come at last.

Exhausted from my long list of chores, I had just finished helping Jessamyn into her blue party frock when my stepmother, clad in scarlet velvet and wearing a ruby tiara, entered the dressing chamber.

“Mamma!” Jessamyn cried, startled, for her mother seldom visited her chambers. “Whatever brings you here?”

Wilhemina ignored her. “Cinderella,” she said with a wide, insincere smile as she opened a large ivory fan and fluttered it at me. Then she snapped it shut. “We must be going now. Lord Lancastyr is already waiting in the coach. What a shame you were so lazy about your tasks today; there hardly remains any time in which to ready yourself.”

Biting back an angry reply, I placed a hand over my bodice, underneath which the Lancastyr ring was hidden. Strength and pride seemed to flow from it, and I squared my shoulders.

Jessamyn did not dare to speak, but she nudged herself closer to me.

Wilhemina waved her fan at my rags. “Perhaps you would like to go to your room and dress quickly, before it is too late?” she asked. “Since one cannot attend a ball wearing, shall we say, such informal attire.”

I could feel her evil glee as she waited for me to tell her I had nothing to wear. Her eagerness to take joy in my misery repulsed me so much that I decided, just this once, to indulge in a wicked game of my own.

“Oh, Lady Wilhemina,” I said in a trembly little voice. “Thank you for this chance. I have tried to assemble a garment from things I've found around the house … yet I fear to shame you and my father. I do not know what you will think of it.”

A grin oozed across her face. Clearly she was pondering how entertaining it would be to make me model an embarrassing homemade gown in front of her. “Very well—go put it on, silly creature. Then you may meet me and my daughters at the grand staircase. If your garb is appropriate for a royal event, I shall allow you to attend. If not, perhaps another time.”

Wicked, wicked stepmother.

Jessamyn stepped forward and implored, “
Beloved
Mamma, perhaps Cinderella ought to simply remain here and take a much-needed rest tonight.”

My dear sister was no doubt thinking she'd save me from humiliation this way.

“No, no.” Lady Wilhemina's red lips stretched open to reveal her teeth. “A promise is a promise. If Cinderella is clad correctly, she shall come. Make haste, fool girl!” she rapped out at me. “Or we'll be departing without you.”

Ha.
I was certain she would not miss the coming scene of my humiliation and rejection for anything, no matter how long I delayed.

“Yes, my lady,” I said, then turned on my toes to scurry upstairs.

I'd stolen the opportunity earlier to bathe in a copper tub by the kitchen fire while Cook napped, so I was clean and ready to get dressed. When I burst into my room, I saw that a group of mice and rats had assembled there to see me off, though strangely, Blackie and Frump-Bum were not among them. I stripped down to my shift, and over it I hastily donned the glorious gown the mice had crafted. After fastening all the hooks and buttons, I released my damp hair from its braids, beat at it quickly with an old brush Eustacia had discarded, and took a deep breath.

What was I forgetting?

Oh, yes. The emerald necklace.

I blew upon the jewels and did the best I could to polish them with the tepid water in the basin. Once the grime of centuries had been rubbed off, the emeralds reflected cold fire even in the weak light of my garret. I fastened the chain about my neck. Now I was ready to depart.