A Tale of Two Castles(32)

When I raved over how sweet the monkey was, IT held up a claw. “Emotion is of no consequence.”

But it was! “Please, Masteress, listen. He is a kindly ogre under his gruffness.”

“Inconsequential.” IT asked a dozen more questions about the journey to the castle, then progressed to my meeting with the princess. IT enh enh enhed endlessly over the monstrous shadow.

“If people in Two Castles know she is to marry His Lordship,” I said, “they must be furious. No one in the town wants to be ruled by an ogre someday.”

“I agree.” IT went on to questions about what had taken place in the stable.

Finally, when I thought I might pass the rest of my life in the outer ward, IT asked, “Is there anything else?”


My mind squeezed itself until I had a headache. Oh! How could I have forgotten this? “Master Thiel was sleeping in the stables. He slept through Princess Renn’s shrieking.”

“Or seemed to.”

I blurted, “Masteress, is he in need? Without a home?” Suffering? Could I help him?

“His father left him nothing and gave the mill and the mule to his brothers, but never fear. Thiel will make his fortune through marriage. Half the maidens in Two Castles are wild for him. If you have set your new cap for him”—enh enh enh—“you had best have more than three tins. Thiel’s blood runs noble. His great-great-grandfather, a knight, was the first owner of Jonty Um’s castle. Thiel’s bride—”

“What happened?”

“Lodie, do not interrupt your masteress.”

I apologized.

“Debts, extravagance. Jonty Um’s grandfather bought the castle from Thiel’s grandfather without regard for the opinion of the town.”

Another reason for people to dislike the count.

“Thiel looks much as the old man once did. I do not fancy him for you, so it is just as well you are poor.”

I didn’t enjoy being teased. “The stall he’d been sleeping in was empty on my way out.”

“Mmm. You peered into the same stall of a certainty?”

“I dropped a broom there.”

“Think. He may have moved the broom to a different stall.”

I blushed. I should have thought of that. “I picked this up in a wagon in the stable.” I pulled the little pouch out of my purse and opened it. The contents were only a few half-dried leaves. When I brought them to my nose, I smelled peppermint.

Goodwife Celeste?

“What is it?”

“Peppermint.” Had she been in the stables and then gone? I turned the pouch over in my hand, looking for some distinctive mark, but it was plain brown wool of ordinary quality. I thought back to the cog and was certain I hadn’t seen a pouch. “Do the goodwives of Two Castles carry peppermint?”

IT held the pouch up against the sun. “A healer might. A traveler might. The animal physician may have dropped it. A goodwife of the town would keep her herbs at home.”

“On the cog the goodwife Celeste gave me peppermint leaves. Do you remember I told you that I met her and her goodman when I was proclaiming?”

“Naturally I remember.”

I took a deep breath. “I didn’t mention that she warned me against you. She said you’re moody and might do anything if . . .”

IT stretched ITs neck and aimed a puff of fire skyward. The flame guttered out before reaching the ground. “Because dragons have fire, we’re believed to be hot-tempered.”

IT did have a temper.

“Everyone has a temper, Lodie.”

“Masteress, she wears a bracelet of twine. Master Thiel has a twine ring. Is there a league of wearers of twine jewelry?”

“Mmm.”

Mmm again. I returned the pouch to my purse. “Masteress, I like her, and she may not have been in the stables.”

“She warned you away from me!” IT stood on ITs back legs. “I will return at the nine-o’clock bells tonight. As soon as His Lordship’s guests arrive, remain with him.” IT flapped ITs wings. “Do not let him out of your sight. Trust no one. Keep him safe.”

How could a girl keep an ogre safe?

IT circled above me. “You can shout. A person half your size can shout. Act!”





Chapter Eighteen

In the kitchen, Master Jak, chief third assistant cook, whom I’d awakened the night before, swore at me for my late arrival, then grinned evilly. “Onions, Ehlodie. By thunder, onions.” He led me to the long kitchen worktable.

I scanned the room for Master Thiel, but he wasn’t there.

“Sit.”

I climbed onto a stool next to a sack of onions that rose to my elbow. Master Jak supplied me with a chopping knife, a peelings pail, and a big bowl for the chopped onions. He said a scullery maid would take away the bowl when it was filled and bring it back empty.

“His Lordship likes onions in his soup and onions in his stew,” Master Jak said, “and he is devoted to his onion pie. Don’t stop until they’re all chopped. By thunder, no weeping into them, Ehlodie.”

I began. Soon tears were falling into my lap, and yes, into the onions. Weeping made me think of mansioning. A true mansioner won’t use an onion to make her cry. I wondered if a true mansioner could conjure happiness and not cry in spite of a mountain of onions. I couldn’t.