The Sweetest Spell (27 page)

“Let’s get out of here,” I said.

But when we reached the ladder, the men were standing around. A voice bellowed from above, “Only the boy from Wander. Send him up and no one else.”

Why did they want me?

Mister Thistle put a hand on my shoulder. “Good luck to you, lad.”

When I finally reached the surface, the relief I’d expected didn’t come. Below, the air had been cool and crisp. As I crawled into the sunlight, I inhaled a huge lungful of yellow particles, then broke into a fit of coughing.

“There he is!” Soldier Wolf grabbed my shirt sleeve and pulled me to my feet. He slapped my back, which sent me into another coughing fit. “Good thing you’re leaving or you’d be getting wet lung right quick.”

“Leaving?” I wiped spit from my lips. “You said I’d be down there for weeks.”

“That was before I learned you could barefist fight,” Wolf said. “Trying to keep a secret, were you? One-eyed Henry told me you

were the champion of Wander. Then he reminded me that the king’s tournament is just around the corner. I’ve been trying to figure a way to get into the king’s good graces. If I bring two bare-fist champions to his tournament, I’m certain to be pardoned.”

Henry had proven to have a brain in that seeping head of his after all. To enter the king’s circle was the highest honor for a barefist fighter. Though I’d often imagined it, I knew my chances were slim at best. Mother would never have supported such a venture. But on that day, standing in the late afternoon glow of the mineral fields, I couldn’t have asked for a better change of fate. Not only would I be getting out of this death trap, I’d be delivered straight to Londwin City, where Emmeline was sure to be.

“I’ll fight as your champion,” I said, “but I’ve got one condition.”

Soldier Wolf’s easygoing demeanor fell away as his face tightened. “What do you mean,
condition
?”

“I want to bring two dirt-scratchers with me.”

“What for?”

“To get them out of here.”

He folded his arms over his glistening chest. “You can bring one.”

Billy wouldn’t last long in this place, but for the time being he was better off with his brother. At least there was food and water here. There was nothing waiting for him in the Flatlands. “Agreed. I’ll bring one.”

“Why do you care about a dirt-scratcher?”

“He’s a gift for a young lady. The man I want to bring is her father.”

Wolf grinned. “You’re in love with a dirt-scratcher girl?”

“No. Not
in love
. But I care about her. It would make her very happy.”

“You say you’re not in love, but look at you. I can see the longing in your eyes.”

“That’s yellow dust,” I said.

He slapped my back again. “I agree to your condition. You can have your gift. I don’t want it said that I kept a man from winning the woman he loves.”

There were five chambermaids who kept my rooms tidy, laid out my clothes, brushed my hair, and filled my bath. Like a flock of birds they flitted around me, braiding my hair and winding it atop my head so it fit perfectly beneath my bonnet. Stuffing my fancy shoes with just the right amount of soft fabric to cradle my foot. At first it felt as if I had sisters, but they never spoke to me. I didn’t know their names or where they’d come from. They smiled and did their work. But as soon as they stepped outside my rooms, they found their lost voices. The silence reminded me of those first days with Lara when I’d been desperate for conversation.

“Good morning,” I said as I climbed out of bed. A maid slid a pair of slippers onto my feet while another draped a robe over my shoulders. I sat at a little table that had been set with breakfast. Tea was poured, a napkin placed on my lap, salt sprinkled onto my boiled eggs, a honey cake cut into bite-size pieces. While I ate, the chambermaids made the bed, fluffed the pillows, and put fresh
flowers into the bedside vase, even though the old ones were perfectly nice.

Life at the palace was warm, comfortable, and delicious. How many days had passed since I’d been given these rooms? I’d lost track, distracted by luxuries I’d never imagined. But the happiness wouldn’t be complete until Father joined me.

As soon as I finished morning meal, the chambermaids cleared the table and dressed me. Each day I was given a clean yellow dress and white apron with matching bonnet. And each day, soon after dressing, the Royal Secretary knocked on the door.

“Good morning,” I said.

He always carried a bundle of parchment. And he always kept a white quill tucked behind his ear. “Good morning,” he said, expressionless. His lips were stained purple to match his ruffled shirt. Each morning he escorted me from my rooms to the kitchens, which lay in the palace basement. We always took the same route—a narrow stairway where we never passed another person.

“Any news today?” I asked as I followed him down the stairs.

“It’s a very long journey to the mineral fields,” he replied. “But do not fret. The scroll has been sent. I saw to it personally. I’m sure the other dirt-scratchers will be on their way home very soon.”

“And my father?” I asked, gripping the railing. Going downstairs was never easy for me. “Don’t forget about my father.”

“Yes, yes, of course. Your father.” His pointed shoes clicked against the stairs. “I’m certain you will be reunited soon.”

“Where will he stay? Can he have one of my rooms?”

“Her Majesty will choose a
suitable room
for your father.”

It couldn’t happen soon enough. Who could have ever imagined that a girl from the Flatlands would work in the palace? And live in four rooms? And have chambermaids? How proud my father would be of his unwanted daughter.

“Have you heard anything from the man who brought me here?” I never got the chance to say good-bye to Griffin.

“As I told you, your friend took his reward but left no message.”

I knew Griffin had been eager to get back to the Flatlands. I understood his urge to leave right away, but I wished I could have thanked him for his help.

At the bottom of the staircase, the Royal Secretary pulled a ring of keys from his pocket and unlocked a door. Then we stepped into my churning room.

It was a simple room, with no windows. One door led to the narrow stairway, another door led to the kitchens, but I was not allowed to go there. A churning bucket, filled with fresh cream, waited next to a stool. There was a table of food—bread, cheese, honeycakes—anything I could possibly desire. This was my work, to sit there and churn. Every time a new batch of chocolate was ready, I rang a little bell and a kitchen boy came in and carried the bucket away.

“I will return for you at midday,” the Royal Secretary said. “Remember, you are forbidden to leave this room.” Then he locked the door and walked back up the staircase.

There I sat, the door to the staircase locked, the door to the kitchen bolted from the outside. Why did they feel the need to lock me in? Did the queen think I’d run away? I’d agreed to work for Their Majesties in exchange for all that I’d asked. I was here to
stay. I’d provide a nice life for myself and my father. In time, I’d begin to call this place home.

That day’s kitchen boy was new, and he smiled shyly at me after he’d unbolted the door to collect the first bucket. My arms began to ache as I finished churning the third bucket. Hopefully I’d get stronger with time. I rang the bell, then rang it again, but the kitchen boy did not appear. I waited. Where was he? That’s when I noticed that the door to the kitchens was cracked open. He’d forgotten to bolt it. “Hello?” I called. “It’s ready.” The bucket needed to be delivered before the chocolate hardened. So I grabbed the handle and carried it out the door.

And I stepped into the vast underground world of the royal kitchens.

Though I knew I wasn’t supposed to leave the churning room, I also knew that the chocolate was precious. Surely an exception would be made for me to leave under the circumstances. I passed a room filled with dead animals. Many had been skinned and were curing. A wild boar hung near a row of chickens. Partridges, unplucked, lay in a pile on a table. A cow’s head sat at the table’s end. I gasped and turned away from the barbarity. To think we Flatlanders were considered primitive. I still hadn’t gotten used to the fact that the outside world ate the very creatures that had saved my life.

There was a room filled with vegetable and fruits. Another where servants ground grain into flour. There was a room with a great oven where the air sweltered. The cooks, red-faced and sweaty, stirred enormous pots. Kitchen boys ran back and forth with buckets of coal, feeding the roaring fire. Cauldrons bubbled, knives chopped.
No one took notice of me. I should have asked for help, but the scenery mesmerized me—I wanted to see more.

The kitchen floor began to tilt uphill until it reached ground level and opened onto a small courtyard. A wagon filled with potatoes drove into the courtyard, parking next to another wagon filled with cheese.

“You’re not supposed to be out here,” a voice said. I turned to find a familiar kitchen boy looking up at me. “You should go back.”

“I have some chocolate,” I said, holding out the bucket.

He took it, then hurried away. I was about to walk back to my little churning room when a soft sound caught my ears.
Mooooo
.

I waited until a wagon of apples passed by, then I walked across the kitchen courtyard to a fenced area. As I approached a chorus of mooing filled the air. These were not the brown woollies of the Oak farm, nor the short-haired cows of the Flatlands. The royal cows were pure white, with black noses and black tails. They greeted me in the gentle way of all cows, flicking their tails and pressing their nostrils against my outstretched palm. Three were being milked by milkmaids. Three others were being bathed by servants. How difficult it must have been to keep the soot off their white coats. Each cow wore a gold ribbon around its neck. The greenest alfalfa I’d ever seen filled their troughs.

“Hello,” I said to them. “It’s nice to meet you. My name’s—”

A trumpet sounded. The milkmaids jumped to their feet and bowed their heads as King Elmer and Queen Beatrice entered the kitchen courtyard. Two servants swept a path across the soot-covered stones for Their Royal Majesties to follow. Another servant
carried the royal crowns on pillows. I ducked behind a stack of alfalfa bales. Surely I’d get in trouble for leaving the churning room.

“If we need more coin, then we shall make more chocolate,” the king said. He plucked a chocolate square from a golden box and popped it into his mouth. “Delicious.”

“We’d like to increase production,” the queen said. “The problem is, the dirt-scratcher girl has only two arms. She can’t churn much more than she’s already churning. I suppose she could get less sleep but we need to keep her healthy.”

As they strode close to the alfalfa bales, the king turned his golden box upside down. “It’s all gone!” he exclaimed. “Get me more!” He waddled off the carefully swept path. One of the sweepers followed, madly creating a new path.

The Royal Secretary slid alongside the queen, a paper bundle tucked under his arm. “If I may be so bold as to make a suggestion?” The queen nodded. “Is Your Majesty familiar with the phrase
less is more
?”

“Less is more?” The queen stopped walking. “Whatever do you mean?”

They spoke in hushed tones. I leaned around the bales, straining to hear.

“Would gold be as desired if it dripped from every tree?” the Royal Secretary asked.

A smile spread across the queen’s powdered face. “Yes, of course. We will not make more. We will simply raise the price.” She fiddled with the jewels that hung from her waist. “Send a
box to the king of Franvia and to the Imperial Pope of Italialand. Include a price list for future shipments at triple what we discussed.”

The Royal Secretary plucked the white feather from behind his ear and scribbled on a piece of parchment.

“No, wait!” the queen cried. “Tell them that we will be holding an auction. The highest bidder will receive a limited supply.”

“Your brilliance shines like the sun,” the Royal Secretary said.

“Make certain that every ambassador who attends the tournament receives a box of chocolate. That will be the best way to spread the word. We are going to be very rich,” the queen said to her secretary.

Wasn’t she already rich?

“Bring me more!” the king bellowed as he wandered over to the fence. Then he leaned close to one of the cows. “They tell me,” he said in the cow’s ear, “that the treasury is empty.”

“Do not worry, my love,” the queen said as she took her husband’s puffy hand. “You’ve got the tournament to think about. I’ll worry about the treasury. I’ll get us lots and lots of pretty coin.”

A kitchen boy ran up to the king and, after a little bow, handed him a new box of chocolates. The king shoved a piece in his mouth, the headed back to the palace. The queen and Royal Secretary followed. I took a deep breath, then hurried across the courtyard in the opposite direction. I retraced my steps, through the sweltering room of ovens, past the room of curing meat, and back to my little churning room where a bucket of cream waited for me. With a sigh of relief, I sat on the stool. I hadn’t been caught. But what I’d heard
made my thoughts spin. How could the king and queen of Anglund have no coin?

Just as I began churning, the door flew open. The scent of honeysuckle tickled my nose as Queen Beatrice stormed in. She towered over me, her hands on her hips. “What were you doing outside?” she demanded.

I rose slowly to my feet. Not wanting to get the kitchen boy into trouble, I said, “I needed to stretch my legs, Your Majesty.”

“You are not supposed to leave this room, dirt-scratcher girl.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. The room felt smaller than it had a few moments ago, as if the walls were pressing in.

She ran a hand across her brow, patting a few stray hairs into place. Though she smiled sweetly at me, the rage in her eyes did not fade. “It is too dangerous for you to venture beyond this room. There are those who would try to take you from us. You must stay in here until the Royal Secretary delivers you back to your chambers.”