Once Upon a Marigold (16 page)

"We
really
need to talk to Marigold," Calista said.

"Now!" Tatiana agreed.

The sisters grabbed hands and, three abreast, ran down the exquisitely carpeted hallway to Marigold's suite.

It was empty. Pristine and empty. No nervous, prostrate bride-to-be in the great canopy bed. No flurry of maids preparing the trousseau. No piles of gifts and flowers from the eager bridegroom.

"You don't think Mother's done something to Marigold, do you?" Eve asked, her voice trembling.

"I wouldn't put it past her," Tatiana said, her eyes narrowing. "But she wouldn't do it until after the wedding. She wouldn't want to be cheated out of that spectacle. We've got to find Papa!"

Holding hands again, the sisters ran up a wide curving staircase, down a hall, around two corners, and up a narrow flight of steps to their father's unique
set of rooms in the northwest turret. The door was locked from the inside.

"Papa!" Tatiana called, banging on the door. "Are you in there? It's us—Tatiana and Eve and Calista. We need to talk to you."

Denby's voice came through the door. "Is the queen with you?"

"No. It's her we need to talk to you about."

There was a long silence. Tatiana pounded again. "Papa! We're plotting a mutiny! We need your help."

Their papa opened the door looking quite chipper and lively, his cheeks pink and his eyes bright. "My dears," he said, embracing each of them briefly and formally.

"Is that your nightshirt tucked into your breeches, Papa?" Calista asked, wondering if, though he looked perfectly healthy, his mind was off its hinges.

"Oh," Swithbert said, looking down at himself. "I guess it is. Denby, would you fetch me a shirt, please? From the
dressing room?
"

Something about the way he emphasized the words made the triplets take notice. They might be blonds, but there was nothing dumb about them. What was going on in the dressing room that their papa wanted to keep secret?

Denby opened the dressing room door just enough
to squeeze through and shut it quickly. The sisters raised their eyebrows at one another.

"Are you all right, Papa?" Eve asked. "Mother said you were doing poorly."

"I'm fit as a violin," he said, sitting on his auxiliary throne next to a diamond-paned window that overlooked the flagstone terrace. "Now, what's this about a mutiny?"

So the sisters laid out their half-formed fears about Marigold and Magnus's marriage, tiptoeing around their suspicions that their mother might be involved somehow in something disagreeable—or actually nefarious, if you got right down to it.

When they were finished, their father said, "I had no idea that, because of your mother, you were such unhappy children. You seemed so content."

"We weren't defiant, the way Marigold is," Tatiana said, "but we had one another to commiserate with."

"Besides," Calista said, "the best way to avoid Mother's wrath was to act cooperative. We saw what happened to Marigold. All those evenings in her room without supper—"

"I always smuggled her something on a tray," Swithbert said.

"—and all that time spent picking out the stitches on other people's botched embroidery as punishment
for some minor thing, and all those awful gowns poor Marigold had to wear, even worse than the three-just-alike ones we had to wear. We see now that we should have protected our little sister more, but we were just kids ourselves then."

"Now we have another chance to do that," Tatiana said.

"Because Mother's getting out of control," Calista added. "It's time somebody stopped her."

Eve, who had been silent until then, asked, "Why did you let her get away with so much, Papa?"

He shook his head sadly. "I'd never known anyone like her. I'd grown up with quiet, gentle people, and when our marriage was arranged, I'd never even met Olympia. I admit she dazzled me at first, so beautiful and fiery and headstrong—and so completely unfamiliar. I was a lot older than she was. I guess I was too indulgent—more like a doting parent than a husband. I gave her too much latitude, I see it now, but I didn't know how to stop her. You girls are right, though. I know exactly what she's planning, and it's time to bring a halt to her tactics. Now."

Eve's voice was tender with understanding and forgiveness. "Papa. Where's Marigold? Do you know?"

"I do."

"Is she safe?"

"She is now," Swithbert said grimly. "And I'm going to keep her that way." How odd it was that at this moment of desperate crisis, he felt more alive than he had in years.

"Can we see her?" Tatiana asked. "I think it's time we explained a few things about the kind of big sisters we were."

"And try to make it up to her," Calista added.

Swithbert went to the dressing room door and opened it. "Marigold, precious. Your sisters want to talk to you," he said.

It took them so long to sort out everything that was going on, as well as their long history of misunderstandings, that they completely forgot about Olympia bringing the evening drink for Swithbert. When she pounded on the door, they jumped as if they'd been struck by lightning.

"Quick, girls," Swithbert said. "Get in the dressing room!" He hopped into bed, pulling the covers up to his chin. Fortunately, he'd gotten so involved in his conversation with his daughters that he'd never put on the fresh shirt Denby had brought him, and was still in his nightshirt. "Okay, Denby," he said when the girls were safely stashed away. "Let her in."

"What's the meaning of this?" Olympia demanded, her face a storm cloud. "Where's my maid? Why did it
take you so long to answer the door? And why was it locked?"

"My fault, Your Majesty," Denby said humbly, bowing from the waist, his hands clasped. "I dismissed Millie because the king wasn't doing anything but sleeping. I know every hand is needed to help, what with all the extra guests in the castle. I can watch over him as well as she, and I had nothing else to do. I locked the door to protect his privacy. I didn't think you'd want any wedding guests stumbling in here and seeing him like that. I must have dozed off, too. It's not the most stimulating thing, watching someone else sleep."

"If you're going to watch him, then I want you to
watch
him. Now, prop him up so I can give him his nighttime draught. I must get on to my guests for the evening entertainment."

Denby held Swithbert up by the shoulders. Olympia took the cork from the bottle and held it to the king's lips. As she poured, his head lolled limply, and the gray liquid trickled from the corner of his mouth.

"Blast!" she exclaimed. "He's too far gone to swallow
again]
All right, it'll be your job to get it down him once he wakes up, just like you did yesterday and the day before. You know what will happen to you if you forget."

"Of course, Your Majesty. Don't give it another thought." Denby bowed deeply.

Olympia cast a look around the room. "That frankincense tree isn't looking too well," she said. "I'll have someone come up to replace it." Her eyes swept the room again. She hesitated for a moment, then she picked up her skirts and made for the door. "Don't forget the dose, Denby—or you'll be very sorry."

As soon as the door closed behind her, Denby turned the key in the lock and whispered, "She's gone."

Swithbert popped up and the door to the dressing room opened.

"Don't drink that, Papa," Marigold said, spotting the bottle Olympia had left on the bedside table.

"Don't worry," Swithbert said. "I haven't had any in a couple of days. Look what it's done to the frankincense tree." The poor tree shuddered, and a few more leaves fell.

"Now, the first thing we have to do is hide Marigold very well, until after the wedding has been called off," Swithbert continued. "Then we find Magnus and make it up to him somehow. I've always been fond of the boy, and this will be a big disappointment for him."

"Let's get Chris and Ed and the dogs out of the
dungeon before we take care of Magnus," Marigold reminded her father.

"We'll get around to that, my dear, when the time is right," he said, patting her hand. "Don't worry. Denby, take a look out there. Go all the way down the steps and check the hall to make sure the coast is clear before we move Marigold."

Denby went to the door but couldn't open it. He twiddled with the key in the lock, but the lock held fast. "It feels as if it's barred from the outside," he said.

Alarmed, Swithbert hustled into the dressing room and tried the back door out of his suite. It, too, was barred from the outside.

"We're locked in," Swithbert said. "It has to be Olympia's doing. How in the world—" His eyes fell on the table where he and his daughters had sat, drinking tea and winkling out the whole story of Olympia's treachery. When they had scattered, running from Olympia's knock, they had forgotten about Calista's tiara, Tatiana's scarf, and the sash to Marigold's dressing gown, all left untidily on the chairs. Olympia hadn't missed a thing. She knew they were all there, and now they weren't leaving.

"Curses!" Swithbert exclaimed. "You can't stage a mutiny in slow motion; we took too long getting organized!"

They spent the rest of the night pacing, cursing, and trying without success to devise a solution.

C
HRISTIAN SPENT THE NIGHT
perfecting his creation. After a while Ed got interested enough to help him. He decided that, by hook or by ladder, he'd do anything to get himself out of incarceration in time for the LEFT Conference. After a reluctant start, Bub and Cate had thrown themselves wholeheartedly into the project and were having the time of their lives. Whether it worked or not was beside the point to them, as is usual with dogs.

Olympia partied. She kissed her guests—some of them more thoroughly than others—and drank some wine and danced with Magnus and tried to figure out what to do about her rebellious family. When King Willie and Princes Teddy and Harry came to her asking where Tatiana, Calista, and Eve were, she shrugged prettily and said they were probably off somewhere catching up on sisterly gossip.

All she knew for sure was that in just one day, Marigold was going to marry Magnus.
Nobody
was going to make this queen look like a fool in front of most of the royalty in the known world.

At dawn Olympia came with a troop of her soldiers to Swithbert's suite. Banging on the door, she called, "Don't bother to prevaricate. I know you're all in there. I want Marigold. It's time for her to get ready for the wedding. If she doesn't come out, there's going to be a terrible tragedy that will wipe out my whole family in one swoop. I'll be an elegant, grief-stricken queen, don't you think? So brave, so resolute, with the kingdom to rule all by myself."

She could hear frantic whispering inside, and stood her ground confidently. Marigold had no choice but to come out. She wasn't going to sacrifice her father and her sisters just because Magnus wasn't to her taste. Olympia knew it.

And, of course, Marigold did. What else could she do? If she hadn't come out, she'd have signed all of their death warrants. By marrying Magnus she was signing only her own. And marrying him bought time—with time, maybe they could still find a way around Olympia's wicked plans. She'd just made three new friends—her sisters—and she wasn't willing to let them go so easily or so soon.

She stood like a big doll while the abigails, under Olympia's instructions, dressed her and did her hair and sprayed her with perfume. Her mind was in her father's suite with him and her sisters, and in the dungeon with Christian and Ed and the dogs. She didn't even know where Flopsy, Mopsy, and Topsy were. Olympia told her that they were just fine—and would stay that way as long as Marigold did as she was told. Fenleigh sprawled luxuriously on the chaise, safe for once from the yaps and nips and chasings of Marigold's three little mops.

In Swithbert's chamber Denby, under guard, was preparing the king for the wedding ceremony. The triplets had been removed to an adjoining suite to be prepared also. They all felt more as if they were dressing for a funeral. Which indeed they were, even if it would be some time in the future.

I
N THE DUNGEON
Christian was saying, "
I
think we're ready. First the door."

Among the blacksmith's discards he'd found a small tin of what he suspected—and hoped—was Inflamium. He packed some around the hinges of the cell door. Then he struck a piece of metal against the wall of the cell until he got a spark, which fell into a pile of dog fur he'd collected from Bub and Cate. Cate had thrown a fit of miffed vanity when she'd seen the bald spot the fur-harvesting had left on her leg. But now that she saw what a merry little fire her fur made, she was pleased with her contribution to
the escape attempt and swaggered importantly around the dungeon.

The fur fire ignited a slim stick of wood from the junk pile, which Chris touched to the stuff packed around the hinges. The flame sputtered for a moment, then went out.

"Rats," Christian said. "I'll have to try it again. Line up, Bub and Cate. I need more fur."

Cate was even less cooperative this time. She could envision herself being denuded for the sake of an experiment that never worked. But between them, Ed and Christian managed to hold her down long enough to get what they needed. In truth, Chris knew he could have gotten all the fur he needed from shaggy, cooperative Bub. But he also knew that, if the experiment succeeded, Cate would never forgive him for not letting her contribute to what would in time, in her own mind, be her single-pawed role in the saving of all of their skins—if they were lucky.

Christian went through the routine again. This time when the ignited stuff began to sputter, he blew on the tiny embers, coaxing them into steady burning.

"Step back, everyone," he said once he was sure the fire wasn't going out. "Turn your backs." He had to lift Cate bodily and turn her from the door.

They waited.

And waited. "No peeking," Christian warned, crossing all his fingers and praying that what he'd found really was Inflamium.