Twice Upon a Marigold (19 page)

"Right," Marigold said, and went to the bedroom door, pulling Chris along with her. She hesitated for a moment, and then opened the door, closing it behind them.

"Who
is
she?" Mrs. Clover whispered. "That filthy girl with King Christian?"

"Why, it's Queen Marigold," Denby said. "I don't know why she's so dirty unless it has something to do with the long-overdue rebellion."

"Oh, my," Mrs. Clover said, sitting down suddenly. "I didn't even recognize her. Wait until you hear what I did."

T
HE DOCTOR STOOD
next to the bed, holding Olympia's wrist in one hand. He dropped it when he saw Christian, and bowed. "Your Highness," he said.

"She's a Highness, too," Chris said, indicating Marigold, "though hard to recognize right now. It's Queen Marigold."

The doctor's mouth fell open. "Oh" was all he could say.

"How is she?" Marigold asked.

"Well, she's alive," he said, recovering from his surprise, "but she's got a pretty big goose egg on the back of her head. And she hasn't woken up yet."

"But she will, won't she?"

The doctor shrugged. "I can't say. I've put leeches on her to bleed her, and we're washing her with cloths soaked in vinegar and honey—all the latest, most cutting-edge medical techniques. There's nothing more to be done. We just have to wait and see."

Marigold went to the bed where Olympia lay with her eyes closed, her hair disheveled, a bruise on her cheek, and Fenleigh crouched on the pillow. Marigold had expected, and even hoped, to feel a spasm of heart-deep pain for her. But all she experienced was the kind of human pity she would feel for any unfortunate person, underlain with the sense that Olympia had gotten what she deserved. As Ed would have said, what goes around, comes down like a ton of bricks.

"Well, keep us informed," she said to the doctor.

As she and Christian went down the corridor together, Chris said, "I know leeches are the standard treatment for just about everything, but it's such an odd idea, don't you think? How could it work?"

"Don't ask me. I'm not a doctor. But you're the inventor. Why don't you think up something better? Something a sick person could drink, or have put into them some other way if they're too sick, or too unconscious to swallow."

"That's a great idea! It makes much more sense to put something helpful
in
than to take something essential
out.
I'll work on it."

They found Swithbert in the throne room supervising the reinstallation of his throne, and consulting with the court carpenter about fixing the part the trebuchet had damaged.

"How is she?" he asked. Christian and Marigold told him what they knew, and then he dismissed the workmen. "Have a seat." He indicated the two side-by-side thrones that he and Olympia had once occupied. "I want to talk to you."

"There?" Chris asked, pointing to the damaged one. "That's your seat."

"I'll stand for a while," Swithbert said. "I've gotten over my light-headedness. Go ahead. Sit."

So Marigold and Christian sat in the thrones and waited.

Swithbert regarded them thoughtfully, and then spoke. "I've watched how you rule together and I've been impressed with your wisdom, your fairness, your prudence, and your real nobility. Nobility can sometimes be only a title, as it was with Olympia, and not a true condition of the heart and mind, as it is with both of you."

Marigold felt horribly guilty about even
thinking
of getting even with Olympia—and about what she'd suggested for Fenleigh. And grateful that her father saw her, as Olympia never had, in such a kindly way, overlooking her flaws.

"I think you are excellent rulers for Zandelphia. Beaurivage also needs excellent ruling, but I'm old and tired and I want to retire. We've talked about combining our two kingdoms before, and now I'd like to do it. Marigold would have been my natural successor if she'd remained Princess of Beaurivage, and if we make Beaurivage and Zandelphia one kingdom, she would still be the rightful queen of both parts of it. So what do you say?"

"Papa! You're not old and tired! I've seen you playing with the dogs. And sitting for hours at the snipsnapsnorum table with Ed. You still have lots of energy."

"Maybe so, precious. But now I want to spend it
all
on games with the dogs—and with Ed, too—and not on affairs of government. Besides, as I'm sure you've noticed, I'm not the best king. I've been too lax with my subjects and with Olympia. It's a wonder there hasn't been a revolution before now. One that aimed to depose
me.
"

"Oh, sir," Christian said. "Your subjects love you. They would never do that."

Swithbert sighed. "They love me because they know they have nothing to fear from me. They know I'd never do anything to make things difficult for them, even if it would be for their own good. But they don't respect me." He hung his head.

Marigold and Christian were silent for a moment, recognizing the truth of what he'd said, but not wanting to agree.

Swithbert looked up. "I know many of them really disliked Olympia, but they may also have respected her because she was so strong in her point of view. They knew what to expect from her, even if it was nothing good. Does that make sense?"

"No, Papa," Marigold said. "It doesn't make sense. Look how your subjects rallied to you just today. No—" She held up her hand when he started to
speak. "It wasn't just that they wanted Olympia gone. They want
you.
"

"You're very kind to your old papa, precious. Really, I've had enough of the king business. I want to relax, and to sleep without worrying about my kingdom, and to have time to play with my grandchildren."

Marigold presumed he was referring to her sisters' children, but still, she looked at Christian and blushed.

"So, can you give me an answer? Soon?" Swithbert asked.

Christian reached between the two thrones to take Marigold's hand and said, "Yes, of course. Now maybe we should all go see about those supporters of Olympia's that Rollo has in the dungeon. We need to decide what to do with them."

"Quite so," Swithbert said, admiring Chris's decisiveness, and thinking that he was already a better king than he himself had been on his best day. "But can't we get Ed and Magnus and have some hoofen-poofer goulash first? All the uproar took my appetite for a while, but now I'm ravenous. And I know you all must be, too."

"You're right, Papa," Marigold said. "I'll race you to the kitchen."

Mr. Lucasa walked Lazy Susan back down to the scullery once it became clear that nothing would be happening soon with the ex-queen.

"What are you going to do now?" she asked him. "Since the rebellion wasn't a
yabu hebi ni naru.
"

"You remembered that Japanese phrase for something backfiring!" he said, amazed. "Maybe you have a gift for languages, too. Well, since I'm not going to
taghairm,
I'll have to make my own decision." Seeing her eyebrows raised in question, he said, "The Scottish highlanders wrapped a man in a freshly butchered bullock's skin and took him to some wild and deserted place where the answer to his problem was supposed
to be given to him by the spirits who live in such places. That's
taghairm.
"

"Nice little word for a big idea," she said, thinking that maybe she
did
have a gift for languages. Maybe some
taghairm
would help her figure out what to do with it. But that part about the freshly butchered bullock's skin—she shuddered.

"I've been thinking about what I love most," Mr. Lucasa said. "I like to cook for people to the point of
slappare
—that's Italian for eating everything, right up to licking the plate—and I like to work hard making things more for the pleasure of it than the
lechuga—
Caribbean Spanish for dollars. I want to be
tubli.
That's Estonian for being orderly, and productive, and hardworking, and behaving properly. Being a good example."

"You want to do all that here?"

"I think I'd rather be self-employed than work for someone else. So I'll probably have to go somewhere else. And not back to my cottage. It feels too isolated after my time here among other people."

"Well, be careful what you call your new business. I heard about Wendolyn, this troll maiden who is Edric's girlfriend, who started her own travel service. She went out of business before long because, well, for one thing, nobody around here really travels for
pleasure, and for another, she called her business Go Away. It makes sense, but it doesn't. Do you know what I mean?"

He chuckled and nodded.

"You have a nice laugh," she said. "You should laugh more often."

"Maybe I will. When I get my business started."

She looked down at her hands. "I'll miss you. You were part of my transformation, and I'll never forget that."

"Are you going to stay here? Working in the scullery?"

"I don't know. I've gotten so I don't mind working. In fact, I kind of like it. I've even decided I want to be called just Susan, without the 'lazy.' The name you've always called me. But I don't want to spend the rest of my life scrubbing pots. I'd like to do something more fun."

"Maybe you'd like to work for me. I have in mind what I want to do, but I'm going to need a lot of help."

"What? What are you going to do?"

So they sat down on a bench outside the kitchen door, and he took a long time telling her. When he finished, she said, "I can't think of anything I'd rather do more."

Once the occupants of the dungeon had been questioned, it seemed that most of them merely had misplaced loyalties and were easily convinced to abandon them, knowing that they would be under close scrutiny by Rollo for quite a while to make sure that they really had.

But there are always a few really bad apples who can influence others in an unfortunate direction. These have to be kept where they can do no further harm until it's known if they are willing to change their wicked ways and become productive members of society. Dungeons are a good place for them. But Marigold insisted to her father that they should eat
something better than gruel. Making people eat gruel is not a good way to convince them to be nicer.

In the end only ten inmates remained in the dungeon. Christian, having had a lot of recent experience with how to get in and out, made sure all the escape routes were secured, and that the guards were changed on regular shifts. Thanks to Finbar, he knew the dangers of leaving one guard alone with prisoners for days on end.

As he was coming up the steps from the dungeon with Marigold and Swithbert, they became aware of a commotion.

"Not
again,
" Swithbert said. "I've had enough commotions to last me the rest of my life." As he was saying this, he realized that he heard his own name amid the noise. He turned a frightened face to Chris and Marigold. "Do you think they're coming after me? For being such a bad king? They're saying, 'Where's Swithbert?' "

"Stay here," Chris said. "I'll go look. We can always get you out through the disposal tunnel if we have to." And he ran the rest of the way up the stairs. Within a minute he was back. "The doctor is looking for you. Olympia's awake."

Swithbert looked stunned. "I don't know why, but I thought it would take her a lot longer to wake up.
I should have known better. When it comes to Olympia, she does what she wants, when she wants." He squared his shoulders. "Well, let's go see her. She's not going to like hearing that the revolt is over and that she's out of a job."

As they appeared at the top of the dungeon stairs, someone spotted them and called, "There he is! The king!"

"Yes, yes," Swithbert said wearily. "Here I am."

The doctor met them outside Olympia's bedroom. "I can't explain what's happened," he said. "She's awake, but she's behaving strangely. Come on in. You'll see for yourself." He opened the door and ushered them in.

Olympia sat up in bed, the covers pulled to her chin, her eyes wide. Fenleigh still crouched on her pillow, and she cringed away from him, whimpering in what really did sound like fright.

"Olympia?" Swithbert said. "What's the matter? Are you in pain?"

"My head hurts," she moaned. "Can you take that animal away? He keeps trying to jump on me." Her voice ended in a wail of distress.

"Fenleigh? You don't want Fenleigh?"

"You know his name?"

Swithbert scratched his head. "Well, sure. He's
been yours since he was a pup. Or whatever baby weasels are called."

"Ferret, Papa," Marigold said. "Fenleigh's a ferret."

"Whatever," he said absently. "Anyway, you've never been afraid of him. And he's harmless—at least, as far as you're concerned. The rest of us are justified in being afraid of him. Look at those teeth."

"Just take him away. Please," Olympia wailed.

Gingerly, Christian picked up the squirming ferret while Marigold pulled the pillow slip from one of the many pillows on Olympia's bed. Together, they managed to get Fenleigh inside the pillow slip and to tie a knot at the top.

"There," Swithbert said. "All taken care of. What can we do for you now?" He expected her to say, "Give me the kingdom back." But what she said was, "You can tell me who you all are, and where I am, and what I'm doing here."

Christian, Marigold, and Swithbert looked at one another, and then back to her. "Why, Olympia," Swithbert said. "What do you mean?"

"Olympia?" she said. "Why are you calling me that? My name is Angelica. I live in Granolah. Is this Granolah?"

"Why, no." Swithbert looked over at Marigold and Christian, putting his finger to his lips and then making a twirling motion next to his ear. "You're in Beaurivage. And I'm Swithbert, monarch of Beaurivage. This is my daughter Marigold, and her husband, Christian. Do you know any of us?"

She shook her head. "Ow! That makes my head hurt more. How did I get here? What happened to me?"

"Apparently you've hit your head. You should lie back and rest now. I think you have a friend here who can help explain things to you. Do you remember someone named Lazy Susan?"