Over The Sea (24 page)

It took some time to get used to looking down at my own self, lying right where I'd fallen until Sherry thoughtfully straightened my arms and legs and put a tuft of grass under my head.

Then I looked about me. I guess you could say my senses still worked, but everything was dream-like: smeary, almost, both sounds and sights. I don't remember any smells; touch was gone too.

But I had a self, or a symbol for self, or I wouldn't have been able to do anything. Clair had explained that the magic made a kind of fake body for you, and enabled you to translate what you experienced through that.

Fine. I found I was floating in air, and that I could sort of move about — that my fake body was maybe a third of the size of my real one. When I'd gotten the hang of “looking” where I wanted to go and then swimming in that direction, I moved to Lena and drifted right across her face, wagging my arms and legs as hard as I could.

“Hey! Is that you, CJ? It's as if someone flapped a fan at me, just for a heartbeat.”

I did it again, and she nodded. “Then that is you.”

And in we floobed, Lena looking dismayed when the trail led round a great cliff and afforded the first view of the castle under the cloud. In the fading light of the day I saw her freckles stand out, but her sharp chin jutted and she marched forward, determined.

Well, no use in describing that long walk. It had gotten quite dark by the time we made it to the castle, which at least enabled Lena to slip in easier. Faline and Sherry remained hidden behind an old landslide overlooking the road leading from the castle: if anything horrible went wrong, they'd see the creeps come out, and hopefully to get to Diana and Dhana to warn them before any search party could find them.

Lena made her way through one of the mossy courtyards, half-lit by magic-burning torchlight, and then through a door, and along one of the long stone corridors. She never complained, though at sudden sounds — the change of guard on a tower far overhead, the fall of a rock, the lonely caw of an unseen crow — her chin jutted out.

Courage, I kept thinking. She's got Clair's courage. I tried to let that thought infuse me with some, but I was just terrified. That silent walk was the worst of all, leaving me with far too much time to be haunted by
what ifs
.

What it came down to was: would I really proclaim myself queen if something had happened to Clair? I didn't think I could. I loved Mearsies Heili, but without Clair, it no longer would be home.

Lena had gone up a couple of floors and back along several halls before we saw, and were seen by, a tall, skinny Chwahir in the usual black uniform, lugging a pair of buckets. My thoughts had been so dark I was actually relieved.

He stopped in surprise. “Hey! She's escaped!”

“Oh, no!” Lena yelled, her hands up to her face.

The Chwahir set down his buckets, called up the stairs to someone, and within moments Lena was surrounded by guards; we were apparently on the servants' and guards' floor, and everyone else was either at supper or elsewhere.

So up and up, while someone summoned Kwenz. He arrived looking harried and angry, then astonished. “How did you get out?” he demanded, as the ring of Chwahir stared silently.

Lena snorted. “I fell through the cracks.”

Kwenz glared at his guards, some of whom stepped back. “Someone was careless,” he muttered.

He gestured, a smaller ring closed around her, and Lena was marched up more stairs, while Kwenz wheezed along behind, sometimes staring around narrowly. Alarmed, I stayed as far from him as I could.

The Chwahir all stopped at a tower room — rounded walls set at the end of a corridor, and Kwenz muttered, then tossed a pinch of powder in Lena's face. She'd begun struggling wildly — two Chwahir held her skinny arms — but then she sagged, and a snore issued forth. Some kind of sleep-powder with a spell on it!

Where were we? I was beginning to piece together the layout of the place; while a Chwahir came forward with a great ring of keys, I looked about. We weren't far from the magic chambers.

The key-man unlocked a narrow wooden door, another shoved Lena in, and the door was not only relocked but firmly bolted from the outside.

I swam down, fear making me fast, and discovered that I could ease under the door, but I couldn't see anything, and all I heard was the sounds of breathing. More than one person.

So I slipped out again in time to hear Kwenz dismiss the guards — and see him vanish. Ahah! I thought, watching the torchlight in the sconces above flutter and stream from displaced air. Where could he be going but to the Auknuge lair?

I swam my way back out, carefully counting halls and stairways as I whizzed through the castle. I kept going straight to the edge of the Shadowland where there were no wards against transfer. Then I carefully thought the spell for zapping up to the White Castle. By now I was getting tired, but fear kept me frantic.

I found Lesa and Irene right where they were supposed to be, outside the storage room. They had tried to outdo one another in adding ribbons, lace, and sashes to the gaudiest dresses in the trunks. Irene had put on a bunch of skirts, one over the other, each one tied up with a sash so it showed something of the one underneath. The rest of the fabric poonched out behind in a bustle so huge so she almost could sit down without a cushion behind her. Lesa had countered by using just about every single ribbon we had, braiding them together and tying them around her arms, her neck, even her forehead, as well as down her braids. She had almost as many ribbons as Fobo had pompons — a feat I'd never thought possible. They were busy preening, drawling silly statements while fanning themselves, their noses in the air.

How to get their attention?

I tried to smack and kick them right in the face. Both of them looked around, distracted, but got right back to their work.

At last Irene sighed, hands on her hips. She twirled her flouncy skirts a little, then faced Lesa. “I guess we're ready. Listen. Are you sure you can manage with PJ and his horrible mother? They're if anything even worse than I've been telling you.”

Lesa laughed. “I think we have our own PJ, who we call JR, for Jack Rabbit. He's even worse than your PJ, who at least didn't try to get betrothed to any of you in order to get a crown.”

“Euuuw,” Irene said, aghast. “Mush! HOW
disgusting!
”

Dismayed, I tried even harder to catch her attention, almost winding myself around her head, until her voice sounded smeary.

“Not mush, greed,” Lesa said. “But disgusting, yes. Anyway, his mother can't be worse than our old governess, Madame Funkel, who was not only stupid, mean, and had a voice like metal shields rubbing together, but she was superstitious!”

“What's that?” Irene asked.

I withdrew. I felt as if I had a headache, except there was no pain. But it was harder to move, as if I swam in glue.

Lesa looked at Irene with wide eyes, then sighed. “I don't even know how to explain it, except to say that you have to do all these weird things all the time, in order to please the Fates, and not make them mad. Like counting your steps, and your bites, and doing little ritual things and signs, and did she scream if we forgot any!”

“Who are the Fates?”

All right, CJ, you've rested long enough
, I thought, and switched to Lesa, wrapping myself around her head — and she jumped.

“Fates?” Irene asked again.

“I think CJ is here,” Lesa said, bringing up her hands and worming them cautiously through the air around her head.

Irene put her fists on her hips. “CJ, if that's you, why didn't you come to
me
?” She sighed, then clapped her hands. “Then it's time to summon Hreealdar, and get to work!” And she did, using my ring — most carefully.

Hreealdar appeared, and stood patiently while they climbed on.

“To the Squashed Wedding Cake,” Irene cried.

With a flash of white light they were gone. I transferred after, to make sure everything went all right.

Hreealdar left them in the court outside the throne room.

The strange little steward dashed out, running backward a couple steps when Hreealdar flashed away in another burst of white.

The girls stood there, both recovering from the weird transfer, as the steward silently took in their snazzy clothes (and all the jewels they had piled on, dug up from caskets in Clair's palace). He frowned a little as he asked, “I was not apprised of your arrival. You are ...?”

“That is because we arrived by magic,” Irene said, with a sweep of a painted fan she'd found, and the steward nodded once — that explained the light. “We did not wish to be disturbed with minions along the way. I am Her Serene, Mighty, and Royal Highness Princess Irennereh Dyanara Falinar Sherreth Dhanad Seshemerreth Cherenneh Cl — oronoro.” She had been about to add in Clair's name, and stopped just in time. “Of the great and faraway kingdom of Junkya Yarda.”

Lesa waved her fan even harder — right under the steward's nose. She, having spent time around a real court, had drenched hers with some scents she'd found by accident. The steward repressed a cough, his eyes watering, but he looked impressed as she drawled in a very snobbish accent, her nose in the air, “And I, my little man, am Her Most Serene and Most Noble Highness, Princess Lisetteloonalotta Mellei-meloo-mel-humbug of the even greater kingdom of Shelanya. And we are here to consult her great majesty — ”

“Queen Glotulae — ” Irene twittered, batting the fake eyelashes she'd discovered, and had promptly and delightedly pasted to her eyelids.

“ — on a matter of delicacy and taste.”

Magic, jewels, Princesses. Taste and diplomacy. He swallowed it all (well, he worked for the Auknuges!) and then bowed deeply. “I shall inform Her Gracious Majesty that you are here. Please come this way?”

The girls sashayed after him, each trying to outdo the other in mincing and fan-fluttering. They entered the throne room, and the courtiers gathered there took one look at their layers of flounces in every color of the rainbow, decorated by bows, ribbon-knots, spangles, brooches, necklaces, rings, and feathers, and fell silent before such conspicuous beauty.

The steward bowed again, announced them (he actually got their fake names right, but then he'd had lots of practice with those long, dreadful praises Fobo loved to hear before her name), bade them be seated, and the courtiers started vying with one another to offer sticky-sweet pastries, wine, and the other stuff they had on golden trays, while the steward scurried to the anteroom where Fobo, PJ, and Kwenz sat, poring over a map — negotiating, as Irene and Lesa soon discovered, how they would divide up Mearsies Heili.

The steward scurried ahead, bowed profoundly, and at the crook of Fobo's finger (decorated with an enormous ruby set with emeralds, sapphires, and yellow diamonds) he whispered hastily in her ear.

She got up and marched into the throne room.

“Delicacy?” she murmured, simpering at her courtiers.

At once they rose, bowed, all of them repeating “Delicacy, Your Gracious Majesty” as if was some sort of magic spell.

“Taste!” she declared, louder, and with obvious approval, then, ignoring the courtiers, who had remained standing and only bowed again, repeating
taste
, she cooed, “Come forward, my dears. I fear I am not as acquainted with all the great kingdoms of the world as I might be, for a monarch is ever busy with her own.”

“Quate oll rate,” Irene drawled, in a parody of Fobo's own accent. And she started in on admiring the room, the castle, and above all Fobo's incredible beauty.

Fobo simpered and preened, eating it up.

Lesa, noting Kwenz looking at the door, added, loudly, “Above all we have come to consult on magic.” The word stopped Kwenz. “Our powerful sorcerer-kings have questions to put to those who might prove to be allies in their quest to extend their borders.”

And the girls separated, one to Kwenz, one to Fobo, each insisting that the greatness of the other required a party in their honor, at which diplomatic negotiations could begin.

Well, Fobo was delighted. Kwenz was aghast, but the words ‘magic' and ‘allies' got him to stay, while Fobo began dictating orders to her steward. There was nothing, she declared, she enjoyed more than a party.

Transferring was easier while invisible. I got myself back to the border of the Shadowland and sped inside, swimming at top speed, zooming up stairways and around corners. Then I discovered I could slip under the thick wooden door to that tower room.

“Please wake up.” That was Seshe. She yawned. “Ugh, I feel so strange.”

“The sleep spell is wearing off,” Clair said.

Clair!

“What I want to know is, is this girl really wearing one of my dresses?”

“I saw that too. I think,” Seshe said. “The door opened. Light. The girl had white hair. Did you see that too?”

“Yes. She doesn't seem to be one of us.” Clair touched Lena's face lightly, trying to discern who she was from the shape.

Lena now muttered, “I'm Lena of Sh'lanya. Phoo, it's stuffy in here! Came to get Clair out.”

“I'm Clair.”

“Oh!”

The rest of their conversation was all catching-up stuff. We'd been right! Clair was safe.

No. She was
here
. She was far from safe.

That gave me another horrible spurt of fear. Leaving the girls drowsily exchanging stories while the spell slowly wore off, I slid back out from under the door. Clair was safe, she was alive. I kept singing that to myself as I swam outside the castle and over the wall down to where Sherry and Faline waited behind their rocks, Sherry dozing, Faline's face, pale in the weak light, awake and wary.

My spirits faltered at the thought of a long, dreary time trying to get their attention, but this time I did the wrap-around thing, and Faline guessed right away. “CJ?” she breathed, and Sherry sat up, her curls tumbling, as she yawned.