His cousin, Ulrike, was fascinated to see a man knitting. “Who would think that a man—and a soldier!—would do such a thing?” she marveled.
“Many soldiers do,” he told her. “There is no other way, on a battlefield, to get new socks or a warm scarf when winter sets in.”
“But all of my friends and I knitted endless socks and scarves. Hats and mittens, too,” Tante Liesel had protested. “We sent boxes of them to the army! Ulrike made nine stocking caps last winter. Didn’t you, liebchen?”
Galen shook his head. “I’m sorry, Tante. They went astray somewhere, or there were not enough to go around. I’ve never had a sock that wasn’t knit by my mother or myself.”
“Well,” his aunt had assured him, “Ulrike and I can keep you in socks and caps now.”
But Galen couldn’t sit idle. He had spent too many years knitting socks, or polishing weapons or building camps. So every day he slipped his needles and yarn into his satchel, along with the hearty lunch his aunt provided.
“What are you doing, boy?” Uncle Reiner came down the path to stand, frowning, before the rock on which Galen sat with his knitting.
The obvious answer was “knitting,” but Galen knew that his uncle would not find that answer amusing. “I’m waiting for Walter to bring the mulch for this bed,” Galen said, pointing with one sharp needle at the flower bed nearby. “I offered to help but he insisted on doing it himself.”
Walter Vogel had taken Galen in hand after his first day, training him in the use of the various garden tools and teaching him the names and natures of the plants that they cared for. There were nearly a dozen other gardeners under Reiner Orm, who variously regarded their work in the King’s Folly as an embarrassment or a privilege. Either way, they were not that friendly toward the newcomer. Many of them had sought work in the gardens to avoid going to war, and seeing someone they considered a mere boy who had fought while they pruned hedges made them uncomfortable. So Walter made Galen his assistant, and Galen ignored the other gardeners as they ignored him.
Galen and Walter had already trimmed the winter-dead flowers down to dirt level and were preparing to cover them with mulch to protect their roots from the cold. In the past Galen had thought that gardening, like farming, was a matter of luck. You planted something, you watered it, you hoped that it grew.
Here, though, was an intriguing new world. A world of thinning, mulching, bandaging, grafting, and pruning—it was like building fortifications against an enemy invader. Trunks of trees and whole shrubs had to be wound with strips of burlap for the winter. The iris roots or “corms,” which looked rather like withered parsnips, were dug up, separated, and then replanted.
Gophers, mice, and other rodents were the bane of the Queen’s Garden. The gardeners did double duty as exterminators, keeping an eye out for any signs of burrowing or nibbling. Walter had a pair of small dachshunds that roamed the garden, their liquid brown eyes on the lookout for trespassing vermin. Their sharp barks at finding prey carried clearly over the screeching of the peacocks.
Now as Walter came trundling around the corner with a full wheelbarrow, Galen stowed his knitting in a canvas bag and jumped down to help. Under the watchful eyes of Reiner Orm, they carefully shoveled a layer of rich black mulch over the stumps of the hollyhocks. Galen overloaded his shovel in his zeal, and a clump of mulch fell on the browning grass.
“The garden must be made ready for winter,” Reiner said. “But”—he held up an admonishing finger—”it must still be pleasing to the eye.”
“Yes, sir,” Galen said, raking up the clump with his fingers and scattering it over the bed.
“There will be a great many important guests this winter. Royal guests.”
Both Galen’s and Walter’s heads snapped up, but it was Galen who asked the question. “Is there more trouble? With Analousia?”
“No, lad, nothing like that,” Reiner was quick to reassure them. No one wanted another war. “The ambassadors will be coming and going, and I was told that the princesses would be receiving more guests.”
“The king is thinking of a royal marriage?” Walter rubbed his chin, looking thoughtful. “Rose, most likely; she’s the oldest.” His expression clouded. “O’ course, she’s the most ill right now, poor girl. And there are other things—” He saw Galen and Reiner looking at him and stopped abruptly. “Forgive my rambling.”
“Princess Rose is ill?” Galen had wondered why he hadn’t seen any of the princesses in the garden since the day that Rose had fallen in the fountain. He felt a surge of guilt. She wouldn’t have fallen in if he hadn’t startled her, but seeing her there, with her white face turned toward the bronze swan, had made him think of the crone and her strange gifts.
“Very ill, as are the others. It’s the talk of Bruch, and they say that—”
“Walter, Galen,” Reiner said stiffly. “We do not speak of the royal family in this familiar fashion.” But as he stalked away, they could faintly hear him muttering, “Young ladies running wild, dancing about all night in their rooms.… ”
Galen drew back and exchanged a look with Walter. Once his uncle was out of earshot, Galen traded his shovel for a rake. “Dancing all night in their rooms?”
“You may be the only person in Bruch who hasn’t heard the gossip,” Walter told him. They raked for a while in silence, and then the older man spoke. “Every third night the girls emerge from their rooms exhausted, with their dancing shoes in tatters. Dr. Kelling, the royal physician, says this is the cause of their continuing illness.”
“But I don’t understand,” Galen said. “If they are ill, why are they dancing all night? Or are they sneaking out to meet suitors? Can’t a guard follow them?” It seemed ludicrous to imagine the king’s daughters climbing out their window in the night, attired in ballgowns and dancing slippers, but he supposed stranger things had happened.
“Guards outside the rooms, maids within, and no one sees or hears a thing,” Walter said. “Though I understand that last night, extra steps were taken.” He frowned. “If they do keep the princesses in their beds, it may be a mixed blessing.”
“How so?”
But Reiner had sent one of the other under-gardeners to help, and Walter would say no more in front of the man.
All the while they were busy spreading the black mulch, Galen thought of Princess Rose. She was ill, quite possibly because of the dunking she took the day they met, and something was compelling her to dance night after night. How would she ever rest and recover?
His guilt increased when, later that day, he was assigned to clean stray leaves out of the swan fountain and rake the gravel around its base. He set to it with a will, though. Walter had told him that this was one of Princess Rose’s favorite spots, and Galen thought that at the least he could keep it nice for her. Of course, with the weather turning cold and night falling ever earlier, it would likely be some time before the invalid princess could visit.
When Galen was done it was nearly full dark, and he had to make his way slowly to the distant toolshed to return his rake. He nodded to the other gardeners and accepted a lantern to light his way home. Uncle Reiner would stop in briefly at the palace. He and King Gregor were breeding new types of roses in a hothouse on the east side of the gardens, and on days when the king didn’t have time to check on their progress, the head gardener reported to him in person.
Walter was standing just outside the toolshed, a troubled look on his seamed face. His lantern hung loosely from one hand, and Galen thought the older man looked to be in danger of dropping it.
“Walter? Are you all right?” Galen took the lantern from him.
“Another gate is open,” Walter said in a hoarse voice. “I can feel it.”
“What gate?” It was a fifteen-minute walk to the palace gates from the shed. “How can you feel it?”
“Get back in the shed,” Walter said. Another of the gardeners was just stepping out with his own lantern. “All of you! Get back!” In a sudden frenzy, the peg-legge
d man began shoving them all back inside. He slammed the door on them and barred it from the outside.
“What the devil?” Jakob, who had helped Galen and Walter earlier, stared at Galen. “He’s run mad!”
Galen felt the back of his neck prickle. The wind had picked up, rattling the shed’s small window, and Galen heard dogs howling in the distance.
“Something’s wrong,” Galen said. He put both lanterns on the tool bench and went to the window, swinging it wide. “Walter! What’s happening?” The wind came in and nearly stole his breath, causing Galen to stagger back. From their bed in the corner, Walter’s normally fearless dachshunds huddled together, whimpering.
The window was barely wider than his shoulders, but Galen grabbed the sill and shoved himself through. His belt buckle caught for a moment on the frame, and he ended up landing on one shoulder in a flower bed. He quickly rolled to his feet and brushed off the dirt.
“Walter?”
“Galen!” The older man came stumping around the corner. “Stay inside!”
“No, tell me what’s happening!”
It was dark, and Galen could barely make out Walter’s head shake. “No time, no time! Take this.” And he pressed a switch into Galen’s hands. “Rowan, best I can do in a pinch.”
“For what? The storm?”
The wind was tearing through the gardens, and Galen thought with despair of how many leaves he would have to dredge out of the swan fountain in the morning. Strangely, it didn’t smell of rain or snow, both of which were possible at this time of year, but of mold and stone.
“This is no storm,” Walter said evenly. “Do you know where the windows of the princesses’ sitting room are?”
“The south side? Overlooking the hedge maze?” That he knew this so readily made Galen blush. He hadn’t been trying to peep at the princesses, but he’d seen them at those windows more often than at any of the others.
“That’s right. Come quickly!”
Walter moved off at greater speed than Galen would have thought a man with a false leg could go. Galen was soon trotting to keep up as the wind buffeted them. They skirted wide around the maze and came upon the smooth lawn on the south side of the palace.
The windows were all ablaze, and Galen could see anxious faces peering out: servants curious about the sudden wind. The princesses’ sitting room was on the third floor, and Galen thought he saw movement there.
But then his attention was caught by a sound that sliced through the wind. A hollow howling sound that was no dog Galen had ever heard. Strange, creeping shapes were coming out of the hedge maze, from behind a fountain shaped like a mermaid, around the corner of the palace. They were like tall men, stooped over.
“Hey, hallo there,” Galen called, his words carried off by the wind. “Hey!”
“Galen!” Walter shouted.
One of the figures lunged at Galen. He brought up his switch just in time and lashed his attacker across the face with it. A surprisingly human cry followed, and the hunched figure fell back. Now more creatures were coming at them, and Galen and Walter whipped at them as best they could.
“Stop there!” With a surge of panic, Galen saw that one of the figures had gone around them and was attempting to climb the ivy on the palace wall. It grew all the way to the princesses’ windows, and though it would not hold a grown man’s weight, these … beings … were slender and seemed almost insubstantial. “I said, stop!” Galen rushed after the figure, switching it across the back.
Above them, a window flew open. One of the princesses, her hair streaming in the wind, leaned out.
“I see you, Rionin,” she cried, her voice rough. She doubled over, coughing. “I see you!” It was Rose. “Go back, and tell him we’re coming.” More coughing, and another girl appeared at the window.
Galen heard a familiar click and froze. The second princess had just cocked a pistol. In the rising moonlight, he could see it in her hand, pointed squarely at the figure Rose called Rionin.
“He’s made his point,” the second princess said, her voice shaking.
Rionin reached up a hand.
Galen brought his rowan switch down just as the pistol went off. The bullet went over their heads and buried itself in the lawn, but Galen didn’t think the princess had meant to hit this Rionin, only warn him.
The figures began to fade back now. Rionin hissed at Galen and then lurched away, hunched in the moonlight and with smoke rising from his back where Galen had struck him.
Walter stumped over and called up to the window, “Your Highnesses, are you all right?”
“Yes, thank you, Walter.” The second princess lowered her pistol, rather unsteadily.
“Careful with that,” Galen yelped.
“She was taught well,” Walter assured him. “Back to bed with you now, young highnesses,” Walter called up to the window.
“But only for a few hours,” Rose said, drooping against the window frame. “We’ll have to go tonight, and it’s not even the third night.”
“I know,” Walter said quietly. The wind had died down, and in the following stillness, the old man’s words were clear.
Rose’s sister pulled her inside, and they latched the window. Cries could be heard now, and shouts, from inside and outside the palace.
“Walter, what just happened?” Galen’s voice shook, but he didn’t care. His skin still prickled, and a cold sweat ran down his back.
“The less you know, the better off you are,” Walter said. He tossed aside his switch. “Dispose of that properly tomorrow,” he grunted. “Moonlight enough to see you home?”
“I—I suppose.”
“Good night, Galen.” And the old man stumped away, leaving Galen with a sick feeling in his stomach, clutching a rowan switch in the moonlight.
Solution
There were … creatures … in Maude’s garden.” With shaking hands, King Gregor reached for the decanter of brandy, but he was too stricken to pour. He drew back and clutched the arms of his leather office chair. “You saw them, Wilhelm.”
“I did, indeed,” Dr. Kelling agreed gravely.
“Creatures?” Bishop Schelker, the bishop of Bruch, stared from Gregor to Kelling and back again. “Wild animals, you mean?”
The king could only shake his head as Dr. Kelling took the decanter and poured them all a glass.
“Men,” the doctor said, “or perhaps ghosts, who gathered beneath the princesses’ windows to deliver a message that none of them will reveal.”
“Precisely!” The word exploded from King Gregor. “The girls! Won’t even speak of what happened! Shoes worn through again this morning, and Rose and Daisy both too weak to rise from their beds, yet they begged to be put back in their old rooms, and the guards removed.”
King Gregor closed his eyes. “I did it, of course. How could I refuse them, with Rose so pale and worn, pleading with me like that? What am I to do, Wilhelm? Bishop? Hey? Something is not right here, not right at all.”
“I agree,” Schelker said quietly. “The princesses’ reluctance to speak of this, even though they clearly do not enjoy their ‘midnight revels’ is a strong indication to me that they are doing this against their will.” He clucked his tongue. “I do wish you’d told me of this sooner, Gregor.”
King Gregor opened his eyes and looked down at his hands. “I didn’t want you to write to the archbishop, but now I fear we must. This is surely witchcraft, and it must be stopped before my girls end up like … ” He drew a deep breath. “Like Maude,” he finished sadly.
“But consider, Gregor,” Dr. Kelling said, hesitant. “If this all began with Maude, do we really want the archbishop to send someone snooping around?” The doctor bit off his words, seeing King Gregor’s stricken face and Bishop Schelker’s offended look. “Sorry, Schelker,” Dr. Kelling murmured, contrite.
“It may surprise you, Wilhelm, but I do agree,” Schelker said in his mild way. “You’ve known me too long to think I’m going to run straight to the archbishop at the f
irst hint of something … odd. This is something best looked into by those of us who love the princesses.”
“But how? What do I do?” The king’s downcast eyes fell on a letter on his desk. “Luis of Spania is sending his eldest son here on a state visit,” he murmured. “I’ll have to write to tell him not to come. I’ll say it’s because of the girls’ illness.”
Dr. Kelling squinted at the letter. “Gregor, a moment. Perhaps you should seek outside help for this dilemma.”
The king stopped in the act of reaching for a blank sheet of paper. “Whose, then?”
Bishop Schelker raised his eyebrows, intrigued.
The doctor leaned back in his chair. “What if you didn’t cancel the Spanian prince’s visit?”
“What are you getting at?”
“Let him come. It’s Rose I’m mostly worried about. Let this prince come, and see if he can’t find out where the princesses go at night. If he does, he can … he can marry one of them.”
King Gregor spluttered, “My daughters are not … prizes to be won in some bizarre contest!”
Dr. Kelling raised one shaggy eyebrow. “Come now! You know that the only reason Spania is sending this prince is in the hope that he’ll take a fancy to one of your girls. They’re waiting to see how much dowry you offer; you’re waiting to see what trade agreements they’ll sign. You might as well give the boy something to do while you and his father work things out.”
Schelker gave a small, appreciative laugh, and looked to the king for his reaction.
King Gregor’s face went red. “But, but, but the scandal! What do we do if these strange doings drive him away? I won’t have my girls hurt, rejected by some Spanian fool.”
“Pish-tosh!” Dr. Kelling made a dismissive gesture. “If a bit of mystery doesn’t make the girls all the more alluring, I’ll eat my hat. And we don’t know that the boy’s a fool: by all accounts he’s quite dashing. I’ll send him away myself if it doesn’t work. He won’t want his name linked to any scandal; odds are he won’t breathe a word of what’s going on, just to avoid being implicated. I’ll make sure to reinforce that idea when—if—we need to bid him farewell.”