"I know what you mean," he said. "And I don't want to leave, either, until I see if I can help. What should I do?"
"Just try to get more people involved. And let me know if you find anybody who's on the queen's side so we can figure out a way to neutralize them before the actual rebellion starts."
"Neutralize?" He didn't like the sound of that.
"I just mean get them out of the way. Lock them up someplace so they can't interfere. Or maybe change their minds. Afterward we can determine whether to exile them, or give them another chance, or whatever. I don't get to decide that. I'm not the one in charge here."
"Who is? Who's leading this rebellion?"
Lazy Susan scratched her head. "To tell you the truth, I don't actually know. I heard about it from another maid in the scullery. Her name's Mary—but I don't see how she could be the leader. She's just a scullery maid. And you should see how dirty she is!"
"I'd feel better if I knew who the leader is. We don't want to walk into a trap. Maybe the queen's trying to find out who in the castle opposes her in order to get rid of them. Maybe this Mary is a spy. We don't want to kusat' sebe lokti."
"We don't want to what?"
"It's Russian for biting one's elbows. It's an expression that means sort of like crying over spilled milk. Carrying on over something you can't change. Regretting a mistake you can't correct. Like getting caught by the queen while planning a rebellion against her."
"Oh. Say, how many languages do you speak, anyway?"
"I've lost count. More than twelve, I'm pretty sure."
"Maybe you could teach me some words in other languages. It's handy to have a few, I can see that."
"With pleasure. Now I've got to get these things up to the queen before she says I can't have any supper for three days. And as you can see, I like my supper." He rubbed his little potbelly.
LATER, IN THE SCULLERY, Lazy Susan mentioned to Marigold that the plans for the rebellion might be a trick by Olympia to ferret out any more traitors.
"Oh, no," Marigold said. "I know that's not true. I know where the idea came from."
"You do? Who?"
"I can't say. It's a secret. The fewer people who know, the safer. I wouldn't want anything happening to you because you know. You know?"
"But I wouldn't tell anybody."
"You don't know what you'd do under torture," Marigold said darkly. "Nobody does."
"Oh," Lazy Susan said. "Torture."
"I'm sorry. But I must protect you. You'll thank me someday."
"I hope so. I'm getting nervous. I was up on the third floor this afternoon arranging flowers when Mr. Lucasa, the queen's new chef and couturier, brought her some outfits, and I could hear her yelling all the way from her quarters about something she didn't like. And it wasn't even anything important. Just a bow in the wrong place, or something."
"Her and her darn bows," Marigold muttered.
"What?"
"Oh, it's just those bows. She's got to have a bow on everything! And she wants everybody else to have bows on everything, too."
"Sounds like you know her pretty well."
"Uh, well, I've been around for a long time. And it's ... it's hard to ignore so many bows. As for the yelling, she's good at that, too."
"It'll be nice, then, when it's over. If this thing works."
"Right."
Marigold was getting nervous, too. So far, things had been going so smoothly that she was beginning to think something was wrong. Nothing went that smoothly. No one but Finbar was checking on the dungeon, no one seemed to notice the new maid in the scullery, none of the many subjects of the kingdom who now knew about the impending revolt had leaked any information to anyone who shouldn't know about it, and nobody had heard a single word about whether a trial actually would be occurring on the next Market Day.
Naturally things couldn't stay this uncomplicated.
27
The first complication was this: Olympia sent a couple of new guards down to check on Finbar. Relieving him would be something that wouldn't occur to her. But checking up on people—that was something she was experienced at.
The guards, Somerset and Grumley, arrived while Finbar, Swithbert, and Magnus (gratefully wearing a smuggled-in pair of pants and a shirt under his dressing gown) were napping. Marigold was out and about in the castle, and Chris had gone out the disposal tunnel to look in on affairs in Zandelphia. Ed, grown bold by days with no one actively guarding them, had left Finbar (who had taken to sleeping in Ed's cell, the biggest one) and crept out to rummage in the tumbled heap of his possessions piled at the farthest, darkest end of the dungeon.
When he heard Somerset and Grumley clomping down the stairs, he froze, hidden in the dark, up to his hips in his precious collections.
"Finbar!" Grumley shouted, waking not only Finbar, but Swithbert and Magnus as well. "What's happened here? Why are you in there? Why are the cell doors open? Where's the other prisoner?"
Finbar jerked upright, pillow creases on his cheek. "Huh?" he said.
"And where did you get a pillow?" Somerset shouted. "Cells aren't supposed to have pillows."
Finbar staggered to his feet. "Pillow?" he said stupidly, stalling for time. "Why, it must have been left behind when the cells were cleaned out." He knew perfectly well it was one of the ones Marigold had brought from the castle linen cupboard.
"I don't think so," Grumley said in a menacing tone. He had known Finbar since they were boys, and knew what a perfectly dreadful liar he was. "What's going on down here?" He put his hand on the sword strapped to his hip.
Ed, perched in his pile of junk, furtively felt around for something he could use as a weapon, but there seemed to be nothing but scarves and socks and knit caps.
By this time Magnus and Swithbert were awake and quaking on their cots, afraid to move.
"You wouldn't be fixing to help these prisoners escape, would you?" Somerset asked.
"Do I look crazy?" Finbar felt pretty crazy just then. "The queen would have me stretched on the rack for that. I admit, I wouldn't mind being a little taller, but I don't want to add a few inches that badly."
"Then what are you doing?" Grumley asked.
"I'm, uh, I was, uh ..." Finbar's natural instinct was to tell the truth, and his attempts to override that were always obvious, even to someone who wasn't paying much attention. And sometimes, like just then, he couldn't do it at all. "Say. You fellows wouldn't be interested in seeing King Swithbert back on the throne, would you?" he blurted.
Ed gasped so loudly he was sure they would hear him. But his gasps were drowned out by Magnus's and Swithbert's.
"Back on the throne?" Somerset asked. "With Queen Olympia, you mean? How's that going to happen when he's about to be tried for treason?"
"Don't, Finbar," Swithbert said, while Magnus made little gurgling sounds and Ed kept hyperventilating.
Finbar looked over at Swithbert, shrugged, and kept going. "I mean by himself. Sole ruler."
Somerset scratched his head with the dirk he was holding. "I don't get it."
"Think about it," Finbar said. "Are you having a good time working for the queen?"
"Well, all us guards have been a lot busier. And a lot nervouser, since she's always upset about something. And she wants us to be a lot meaner, which not all of us like. I myself prefer to think that I'm serving as the people's protector, not the people's punisher."
"Hey, you're right," Grumley said, letting go of his sword hilt. "Heroic in battle is one thing. Picking on unarmed people is something else. But what's that got to do with the king and treason?"
"Well, let's say he's innocent. Let's say the queen just wants him out of the way so she can take over the kingdom without any interference now that she's changed the constitution so it says she can succeed him. Let's say she lives to be a very old lady, getting crankier and more demanding with each passing year, turning the kingdom into a place that exists just to satisfy her whims and pleasures. Does that sound like a good thing?"
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Somerset scratched his head some more with the dirk, and Grumley rubbed his jaw thoughtfully.
Ed didn't think it was that hard a question, but he kept himself from blurting out the answer by stuffing a sock in his mouth.
Finally, Grumley said, "Not to me."
"Me, either," Somerset said.
"Okay, then." Finbar cheerfully clapped his hands together. "We've got to get the king back on the throne, don't we? That means we need to get the queen off."
"But isn't that—treason?" Somerset asked. "Isn't that why Swithbert's in here?"
"If you're on the right side, it's called a people's revolution," Finbar said. "And you're a man of the people, right?"
Swithbert had long since shut up and let Finbar go. He was so persuasive he could have a new career as some kind of salesman or minister instead of a guard. Swithbert made a note to himself to put those talents to work if he ever got Beaurivage back.
"Uh, I guess so," Somerset said.
Grumley nodded. "Does that mean we're part of the plot now?"
"It's not a plot," Finbar said. "It's an act of liberation. How many of the other guards do you think feel the way you do?"
"I'd say ... most of them," Somerset said. "There's a few who think the queen is the greatest, but they're the ones I'm a little scared of myself. And there's a couple who think anybody who has a ferret has got to be okay, just because they're big ferret fans. But they could probably be convinced. When's this happening? It better be soon because the queen's setting up a gallows in the bailey. And Market Day is tomorrow. You know how she likes a big audience."
Swithbert finally had something to say. "So I guess we know when the trial's going to be and how it's going to turn out."
"Was there any doubt how it would turn out?" Grumley asked.
"I suppose not," Swithbert admitted.
"So, here's your job," Finbar went on. "Find out how many of the guards we can count on. And crazy as it may sound, don't forget Rollo. Come back and tell me, and we can go from there. Oh—and it should go without saying, stay out of the way of the queen."
After Grumley and Somerset had gone back upstairs, Swithbert came out of his cell and shook Fin-bar's hand with both his own. "I thought for sure we were goners right there on the spot, but you were brilliant. When this is over, you're getting a big promotion." He paused. "Only if we win, of course."
"Of course," Finbar agreed.
Ed emerged from the shadows, removing the sock from his mouth and saying, "I don't want to be putting the cat before the horse, but there may be some stuff in that pile that we can use."
At that same moment, Marigold came padding down the stairs, and Chris came crawling in through the disposal tunnel, and they had to be brought up to date. Marigold had brought some treacle tarts, which they ate while they worked on their strategy.
"These are the best treacle tarts I've ever tasted," Swithbert said. "Surely the same cook who used to make those runny eggs didn't make these."
"There's a new chef," Marigold told him. "He came with Olympia and Lazy Susan. He's fixing some of her dresses, too. Seems like he can do about anything. Lazy Susan says he's the most creative person she's ever seen. And he can put up with Olympia better than most, too, even though he doesn't really care for her tactics."
"He sounds too good to be real," Swithbert said. "I can't wait to meet him. I hope I get the chance."
"Me, too."
And then they went back to their planning. The next day they would find out if their plans would work, and no one was sure. Olympia wasn't an easy person to fool, and she would be especially vigilant about pulling off such an important act before a big crowd. She would have to make dear old Swithbert look wicked and dangerous, and then execute him, along with Ed and Magnus, in public. And she'd have to do it with such confidence and authority that no one in the castle, or the crowd, would consider questioning her actions or interfering with her.
None of them doubted for a moment that she was perfectly capable of all that.
NOR DID SHE. At that very moment she was standing in front of her full-length mirror, wearing the execution-day gown Mr. Lucasa had sewn for her, practicing her royal wave. And then her royal signal to the executioner to pull the nooses tight.
28
The next complication was that Mrs. Clover noticed Marigold.
Maybe Marigold had taken too many chances running around the castle she knew by heart, forgetting that she was supposed to be a simple maid. She'd thought she was being careful, but ordinary maids didn't help themselves to a pan of cooling treacle tarts, or get glimpsed carrying a pile of feather pillows with the imperial crest on them down the dungeon stairs, or keep very irregular working hours. Or stay so dirty.
Somebody as attentive as Mrs. Clover wasn't going to miss things like that for very long. She stopped Marigold outside the pantry when Marigold, thinking too hard about what was to happen the next day, walked out with a bowl of hoofenpoofer goulash for her father.
"Where do you think you're taking that, young lady?" Mrs. Clover asked. "I'm not aware that anyone has ordered a bowl of hoofenpoofer goulash. And you better not be eating it yourself. You know servants eat only at assigned times." She peered more closely at Marigold, who ducked her head and let her hair fall over her face. "You look familiar to me, but I can't put a name to you. And I don't remember hiring you. How long have you worked here?"
Marigold, unlike Finbar, was a pretty good liar. She'd had a lot of practice growing up, trying to keep things from Olympia. But then, she'd had time to prepare her lies in advance. Now she'd been taken by surprise, and caught red-handed as well.
"Uh, my name's Mary. I, uh, I ain't been here too long. I can't say 'zactly when I came." She quickly decided her best defense was to keep her head down and to appear as foolish as possible. In her experience, people gave up too fast with those they believed to be stupid. Patience might be a virtue, but in Marigold's view it wasn't practiced often enough.
"Well, I would have been the one who interviewed you, and I don't have any recollection of that. And I certainly would have remembered someone as dirty as you are. And as out of uniform. And as hangdog. I don't permit any of the castle's workers to go around looking as you do. It's a disgrace. And Beaurivage has a reputation to uphold. I believe you've sneaked in here thinking you could get free food and lodging by pretending to be employed here. It happens from time to time. But no one goes undiscovered for long."
Marigold quickly decided further lying or arguing would get her nowhere. She'd known Mrs. Clover all her life, after all, and knew she was not a lady to be messed with. That was why she hadn't dared mention the rebellion to her, even though she might have been sympathetic. So Marigold hung her head even lower and murmured, "Uh-huh."
"Just as I thought," Mrs. Clover said. "I'll have Rollo escort you out across the drawbridge. Come with me. Oh—and give me that bowl of hoofenpoofer goulash. You've had your last meal courtesy of Beaurivage Castle."
Marigold certainly hoped that wasn't true. She allowed herself to be pulled along, keeping her head down in what was meant to look like shame.
She kept her face averted while Rollo took great pleasure in marching her to the end of the drawbridge with his sword point in her back. Once she'd stepped into the dirt of the road that led away from the castle, he shouted, "I'll be watching for you, so don't try sneaking in here again! Next time you'd go before the queen, and I know you wouldn't like that."
Rollo definitely had that right, Marigold thought. "I've heard about your queen," she shot back. "Sounds to me like she's just asking for an uprising."
Rollo blinked. "How long were you in the castle?" he asked.
"Dunno. Few days." She shaded her eyes with her hand to shield her face. "Why?"
"And in that short a time you heard about an uprising?"
"Didn't hear about one. Just heard how miserable and browbeaten and suspicious a lot of the subjects and the workers are. The queen should know better. Anybody
should know better than to do what she's doing. Just makes people mad. And sooner'd you want to guess, they're going to do something about it." She paused. "Don't you think?" Here was her chance to see if what Lazy Susan had suggested could be true. But she had to be very careful not to give anything away in case it wasn't.
Rollo was quiet for some time—and he did appear to be thinking. Finally he said, "You could be right."
"I am right," Marigold said. "I've been thinking about it longer than you have." And she had. From childhood she'd watched her parents rule and thought about what she would do differently if she ever got the chance. In one of the first in-person conversations she'd had with Christian, they'd talked about how they would run kingdoms, which was strange since at that time, neither of them thought they'd ever do such a thing.
"Yeah." Rollo seemed to be talking to himself. "I think you are."
Marigold was about to offer him some inducements, unlikely as it was that he would believe she had the power to grant them, when he said in a louder voice, "Go on now. Go back to where you came from. And don't think you can get in the castle again without me catching you."
She had missed her chance! She had no choice but to turn away and begin walking down the dirt road toward the Zandelphia-Beaurivage Bridge. As she walked, she wondered what his agreement meant. Was he actually thinking of participating in a revolt? Or of tipping Olympia off that there was a possibility that one could be on the way?
As for not being able to sneak back into the castle—well, ha! She could be back inside via the disposal tunnel within half an hour.
And she was.
"You have to go back," Finbar said after she'd told them what had happened. "You have to go back and tell him what he can have if he joins the rebellion."
"Me?" Marigold said. "I'd never get close enough to Rollo now to tell him anything. I can't go back into the castle from here. Mrs. Clover would spot me right away. And I can't get in across the drawbridge. Why would Rollo believe me even if I could get to him? I'm just a dirty castle-crasher as far as he's concerned. He's under orders not to let me in as myself, either, so forget it."