Twice Upon a Marigold (20 page)

"Of course. She's my best friend. But I prefer to call her just Susan. That word 'lazy' has such a negative connotation, you know. She's here? Oh, I would love to see her. May I?"

No one had ever before heard Olympia ask permission for anything. Neither had they ever witnessed her trying to avoid hurting someone's feelings.

"We'll send someone for her right away," Swithbert said. "We're going to leave you to rest now while we fetch her." He tiptoed out of the room, followed by Marigold and Christian, who held the squirming pillow slip.

Once they were in the sitting room, Chris handed the pillow slip to Denby. "Find somebody to figure out what to do with this ferret, will you please?"

"I think I'll just hang on to him for a while," Denby
said. He had already heard from Miranda, Olympia's maid, about her change of personality and name. "It seems cruel to separate him from—" He paused, not knowing how to refer to Olympia anymore. "From someone he's familiar with. I'm sure we can bring them together again."

"Good man, Denby," Chris said, clapping him on the shoulder. "Very compassionate."

Swithbert could hardly contain himself. He put his hands over his mouth to keep from crowing, but he was jumping up and down with excitement. When he was calmer, he said in a loud whisper, "Her amnesia is back! She's not Olympia anymore!"

"We gathered that, Papa," Marigold said. "And Angelica seems just the way Lazy Susan—I mean, Susan—described her, so I don't think she's faking. But what are we going to do with her? What if she loses her amnesia like she did before? She's still a problem."

"Marigold! She thinks she lives in Granolah. We can send her back there with La—I mean, with Susan. She was happy there. Maybe that's where she's meant to live."

Marigold threw a desperate look at Chris. "Talk to him, Chris," she implored. "We can't just make her somebody else's problem.
We
have to solve her."

"She's right, Swithbert," Chris said. "We have to find a real solution. It's tempting, I know, to palm her off on someone else, but she's ours. Like it or not."

Just then, Sedgewick, the head butler, came in with Lazy Susan and Mr. Lucasa, both of whom looked apprehensive. Susan gave Marigold, still in her filthy dress, an odd look.

"Swithbert said there was news about Olympia," Susan said. "What does he mean? Oh." She curtsied to Swithbert. "Your Highness. Sire."

"Apparently that bump on the head from being dropped by Hannibal made her lose her memory again," Swithbert told her. "The way she did when she showed up in Granolah. Maybe she hit her head on a rock while she was in the river that time."

"Very possible," Susan said. "Are you saying she's changed from Olympia to Angelica again? Can you tell the difference?"

"
Can
I?" Swithbert said. "She's a completely different person. A nicer one. Is that how Angelica was in Granolah?"

"Oh, yes. Angie was lovely. Gentle and funny and sweet."

"Hard to believe," Swithbert muttered.

"I know," Susan said. "When she turned back into Olympia, I thought she was playing some kind of joke.
Not a very funny one, either." She gave Marigold another odd look.

"Hi," Marigold said. "I know you think my name is Mary and that I'm a maid, but my real name is Marigold. From Zandelphia. I'm the queen there. Thanks for your help with the rebellion."

Susan took a step back and put her hand on Mr. Lucasa's arm for support.

"I know, I know," Marigold said, indicating her dress. "This is a disguise. I apologize for not telling you when we were in the scullery together—no, no, please don't curtsy. When you've scrubbed kettles with someone that seems rather silly. Anyway, in the scullery I had to protect our plan for the uprising, and I didn't know yet who I could trust. So please forgive me. Now, about Olympia. The fact that Angie's shown up—and she's just the way you said she was—don't you think this means that she had a nice person in her all the time, but just hidden?"

"I don't know what it means," Susan said. "Your Highness. Ma'am." She'd thought it was strange the way Mary—Marigold—had taken charge of calming the crowd at the rebellion, but she'd figured people did unexpected things in a crisis. "It's like she's two separate people stuck together. Not like she's two
kinds of people
mixed
together. There's nothing of Olympia in Angelica, and vice versa."

"So, the one we want to keep is Angelica," Marigold said. "We just have to make sure Olympia never comes back."

"Do you know how to do that, Your Highness?" Mr. Lucasa put in. "Because it's the only solution. I've never known her as Angelica, only as Queen Olympia, and only for a short time, but already she's made me
mukamuka.
"

"I'm sorry?" Marigold said. "Did you say
mukamuka?
"

"Yes, Your Highness. It's Japanese. It means feeling so angry you want to throw up."

"What a great word!" Marigold exclaimed. "I wish I'd known it when I was growing up. She made me feel like that almost every day. Excuse me, but I don't know who you are."

He bowed, doffing the chef's toque he was wearing. "Stan Lucasa, Your Highness. Queen Olympia stopped at my house for food on the way to Beauri-vage and brought me along with her, to be her chef and her dressmaker."

"Interesting combination," Marigold said.

"I like creating things. And I like helping people,
and making them happy. But I have to say, the queen was a hard woman to please. Or—excuse me for saying so—to like. Especially after she told me how much she enjoyed fox hunting."

"You're telling me. I hate even the idea of fox hunting." Marigold turned to Susan. "She's pretty upset now. I mean, Angelica is. And she really wants to see you."

"All right." Susan sounded apprehensive.

Swithbert opened the bedroom door. Angelica held out her arms to Susan and burst into tears. Susan rushed into the room and Swithbert closed the door behind her.

"If you'll pardon me, Your Highnesses," Mr. Lucasa said to Swithbert, Chris, and Marigold, "I might have some help for your situation."

"Please go on," Swithbert said. "We'll listen to any suggestion, no matter how bizarre."

"It's not
too
bizarre," Mr. Lucasa said.

Swithbert motioned them all to chairs in the sitting room. Mr. Lucasa waited for the monarchs to sit before he did.

"I've been talking to Wendell, the wizard who owns that magnificent elephant. And, by the way, I don't think the elephant is a threat to anyone besides Olympia. He has a finely developed sense of justice, and he dispenses it as he sees fit. I was admiring him while Wendell calmed him down after the ... the incident. I must say, I do have high regard for a man with an impressive means of transportation. And I discussed something interesting with Wendell that might be of help to us. About getting rid of Olympia."

Marigold interrupted. "I've already spoken to him about that. He can only do immobilizations, vaporizations, and explosions. And vaporizations of evil people—as I believe Olympia is—leave behind bad energy that keeps working. The only way to cure evil people is by rearranging their heads and hearts, and nobody knows how to do that."

"I think Hannibal does," Mr. Lucasa said. "I think that's what he was trying to do when he shook her, and then dropped her. And maybe it worked. At least partially. To finish the job, I believe Wendell and I can do a vaporization spell on only the part that's Olympia. And I don't think it will harm the part that's Angelica because they're completely separate people."

"But what if it does?" Swithbert said. "That would be terrible. Harming an innocent person."

"Wendell doesn't have the best reputation for success," Marigold said gently. "And we know nothing about your magical skills. What makes you think you can do something this hard?"

"Wendell says since he's been at your castle in Zandelphia, he's been getting enough sleep and enough to eat, which he hasn't had for years, and he's had a lot of time to experiment with things. So he's gotten better at magic."

"Maybe he has," Christian said to Marigold. "I suppose it's possible."

"Go on, Mr. Lucasa," Swithbert said. "Tell us what you can do."

"I've lived alone for a long time, in a part of the country where a lot of travelers passed by my cottage. I like to cook, so occasionally one of them would come in for a meal—and sometimes end up staying for days."

"Say," Swithbert said. "Did you make me boiled eggs for breakfast
and
lunch one day?"

"Indeed I did."

"Then I can understand why they wanted to stay. Best eggs I ever ate."

"Thank you. Well, I met some interesting people that way, and I learned something from almost every one of them. Including that spell. I confess I've never had to try it, but I have the recipe with me, and Wendell has all the equipment and ingredients we'll need. We're pretty confident we can vaporize Olympia without harming Angelica."

"But what about the bad energy Olympia would leave behind?" Marigold asked. "That would be almost as bad as still having her here."

"I think this is the best time to do it, while her heart and mind are still all shaken up by Hannibal. Before her substances settle back to the way they were."

There was a long silence.

"Did you have some other solution in mind?" Mr. Lucasa asked finally. "Something you think would work better?"

After another long silence, Swithbert said, "No."

Chris, seeing how reluctant Swithbert was, as always, to make a decision that might turn out poorly for someone, acted like a king and spoke. "I know we'd be taking a risk for Angelica, but if we really want Olympia gone for good, this may be the only way. What would you say about asking Angelica how she'd feel about it?"

More long silence. Marigold went to sit beside her father and held his hand. "Olympia's given you nothing but trouble for years, Papa. And she was willing to eliminate you, and Ed, and Magnus to get what she wanted. Not to mention what she wanted to do to you and me before I married Chris just so she could be the sole ruler. She's evil, Papa. Truly."

He sighed and squeezed her hand. "I know. I do know."

"I understand," Mr. Lucasa said, "how difficult a decision this is. But you don't want to be
a'anu
forever, do you? It's a Cook Island word meaning to sit all huddled up, pinched and miserable. And it seems to me she's made almost her whole kingdom feel that way. It's not good leadership."

Swithbert sighed again, and said, "All right. Let's go talk it over with Angelica."

Angie had been calmed considerably by Susan's presence (and Fenleigh's absence), and listened to all they had to say without interruption—something Olympia would have been incapable of doing. As Mr. Lucasa said, Olympia was very good at
nyelonong
— Indonesian for interrupting without apology.

When they had finished telling Angie about the possibility of separating her from Olympia permanently, she sat clutching Susan's hands in both of hers, clearly frightened. "This Olympia sounds like a terrible person. I hate the idea that she's part of me."

"She isn't, actually," Mr. Lucasa said. "She's separate from you. Just sharing your living quarters, let us
say. What we want to do is evict an unwanted tenant. An irresponsible, destructive one. One, say, with a long
accordéon,
which is French for an extensive criminal record."

"When you put it that way," Angie said, "it makes me want her out of here right now. Except for what could happen to me in the process." Her lower lip began to quiver.

Swithbert, Marigold, and Christian watched it, amazed. She looked exactly like Olympia, but behaved so unlike her that it was positively disorienting.

"I suggest we get Wendell up here immediately," Mr. Lucasa said. "We can't waste any time. That bad energy could be settling itself while we speak."

"Of course," Swithbert said. "I'll send Denby for him."

W
ITHIN A FEW MINUTES
, Wendell was there, carrying his bag of wizardry ingredients, bowing over and over again. Never before had he been in the presence of so much royalty, and it was making him pretty nervous.

"Wendell," Marigold said, "would you like a moment to collect yourself and get prepared?" The idea of a twitchy wizard with a poor record of successes attempting a tricky spell was making her feel the need to collect herself as well.

"Good idea. Yes, indeed." He mopped his brow with his sleeve.

After a few minutes in the dressing room with Mr. Lucasa, reviewing the process, while the others paced anxiously and Angie lay, ashen, on her pillows, Wendell and Mr. Lucasa returned, smiling and apparently confident.

Angie sat up. "What should I do?" she asked in a trembling voice.

"We need some items from you," Mr. Lucasa said. "Things that only Olympia would have touched. Nothing that you've had contact with since you became Angie again."

"That would be almost everything she owned, since I've been Angie for only a few hours. But take it. Take it all. Gowns, furs, jewels, whatever you can find. I don't want any of it enough to be her again."

Swithbert winced watching Mr. Lucasa go through the drawers of Olympia's jewelry chest. Nothing in there had cost him less than—well, he wouldn't want to say, but a
very
great deal—and he would hate to see so much of an investment be melted, or whatever was going to happen to it. But on reconsideration, he decided he agreed with Angie—he didn't want any of it enough to get Olympia back. "Take it all," he encouraged Mr. Lucasa.

"This is just what I need." Mr. Lucasa picked up a handful of tortoiseshell hairpins. He held them in front of Angie. "Now, breathe on them. Don't touch them, just breathe." Angie huffed a little puff of air onto the hairpins. "Now spit on them."

"Really?" Angie said. "I mean ... your hand ..."

"It's all right," he said. "I'm washable."

"Are you sure about this?" Wendell asked. "I've never seen such a thing."

"It's in the recipe," Mr. Lucasa said. "There are times when one can improvise with a recipe, but this is not one of them. Now lie back and close your eyes."