Thrice Upon a Marigold Page 13

  “As long as you’re with me while we do it.”

  He smiled and took her hand. As long as he was too tired to think, he relied on his feelings. And they said, Take her hand and don’t let go. “I will be.”

  21

  BY THE TIME THEY were finished explaining what had happened since Sebastian witnessed the Terrible Twos escaping from the dungeon, they were just about incoherent with fatigue. Phoebe had slumped over onto the large round table in the throne room, her head on her arms, her eyes closed. Every time Rollo or Chris or Marigold asked her a question, Sebastian had to shake her to wake her up.

  “We’ve got the whole story by now,” Chris said. “Let’s all go get some sleep.”

  Phoebe lifted her head. “I forgot to ask. About Poppy.” Her voice wavered.

  “We can wake her up now—though she just falls back to sleep,” Marigold said. “The doctor says the sleeping potion will wear off soon. Mrs. Sunday’s keeping a close eye on her. Our princess will be fine.”

  Phoebe wobbled as she stood up. “I’m so glad.”

  “Go,” Marigold said. “Get some sleep. And you know we’ll never be able to thank you.”

  “We can talk about bringing the dragon in later,” Sebastian said as he and Phoebe headed for the door.

  “About what?” Chris asked.

  “Good night,” Sebastian said, then closed the door.

  A whole day passed before Phoebe and Sebastian were awake again. Sebastian came to the library, where Phoebe was sitting at her desk, doing nothing.

  “How are you?” he asked tentatively.

  “All right. Sleep helps. How about you?” He looked so good to her, all washed and brushed and dressed in clean clothes. The last time she’d seen him, he’d been dirty and red-eyed and disheveled. And he’d looked good to her even then.

  “All right. I went to the blacksmith shop to see if I still had a job, but Maurice told me the king had said I could have all the days off I wanted. And Maurice was nicer to me than he’s ever been. I guess being associated with the royal family instead of the Terrible Twos makes a difference.” His voice had a trace of bitterness.

  “I know what you mean. It’s happening to me, too. Already today I’ve had more people come in to get books and have a look at me than normally come into the library in a week.” She shrugged. “Of course, they should always have been judging us on our own qualities. But they weren’t.”

  “And they’re still not!” Sebastian said.

  “But isn’t it better like that? This way they’ll spend more time with us and that will let them see who we are.”

  “But it’s not fair. It’s wrong.” Sebastian slumped onto a stool and ran his fingers through his hair. “We’re still just a curiosity to everyone in the kingdom.”

  Phoebe came over and stood behind his stool, then put her arms around him. The strange happenings—the chase through the forest, Winnie’s intervention, the discovery of lost mothers—had somehow freed her. If she’d learned nothing else, it was that life was unpredictable, to put it mildly. Hanging on to whatever might help one survive the bombshells seemed the sanest thing to do. Besides, she thought Sebastian was wonderful—brave and smart and gallant in the face of his personal trials and disappointments.

  She would have to be certifiable to let all that get away if she could help it. “You’re right,” she said. “It’s not fair. What should we do about it?”

  “Do? What can we do? That’s just the way people are.” Sebastian wasn’t so far gone that he couldn’t appreciate how soft Phoebe’s arms around him were and how good she smelled. And how surprised he was to have her so close. He was certainly capable of judging those qualities of hers.

  “You’re right again,” she said, hugging him harder. “That is just how people are. The way I see it, the only thing we can do is to try not to be that way ourselves. What do you say we start with Winnie? Everybody thinks she’s awful and dangerous because of her flames, but we know differently. So we have to treat her differently. And we have to let everyone know about her allergies.”

  Sebastian stood and faced Phoebe, then stepped past the stool and put his arms around her. She was just as soft and smelled just as good when he was standing as when he was sitting. “You’re right, too,” he said, holding her close. “We’ve got to go to the king and convince him it would be safe for her to live at the castle.” Then, remembering the great blast of flame that had torched the Terrible Twos, he added, “Or maybe live slightly closer to the castle.”

  “Or maybe the thing to do is to move Hannibal,” Phoebe suggested. “He’s bored here, and he makes the unicorns nervous. He’d be happier living out in the forest with Winnie, don’t you think?”

  Sebastian held her closer. “Brilliant. We should tell the king.”

  And after quite a while, which included locking the door to the library, they did.

  “It sounds fine to me,” Chris told them. “But we have to ask Wendell. He and Hannibal have been together a long time.”

  At that moment, Swithbert, Ed, and Wendell came into the throne room.

  “Where’s that granddaughter of mine?” Swithbert said. “Is what those vermin did to her all cured now? Is she waking up the way she should be?”

  Chris smiled and gestured to the cradle, from which issued a series of happy cooing sounds. Swithbert picked up the baby and they cooed at each other.

  Ed said, “I can tell you, when we heard that baby was going to be all right, there wasn’t a dry seat in the castle.”

  “I’m so happy to hear that,” Marigold said. “I think.”

  “Wendell,” Chris said. “You’re just the man we need to see.”

  “Me?” Wendell asked nervously. “I thought everything was all good now.”

  “Sebastian has a proposition he wants to run by you,” Chris said. “Go for it, Sebastian.”

  So, with great ardor, Sebastian made the case for letting Hannibal move into the forest with Winnie. Once Wendell had heard him out, he replied, “You’re right.”

  Sebastian was a bit taken aback at having been found right so many times in one day. And so easily.

  “I’ve been worried about Hannibal for quite a while,” Wendell went on. “I may be retired from wizardry and liking it, but he’s just bored. And it’s not kind to keep him shut up in the stables so much of the time. He’s begun to suffer a bit from ennui. I know he likes Winnie, and he’d love having a whole big forest to roam around in. How can I say no?”

  “Good,” Chris said. “So that’s taken care of. Now, about Anabel and Twyla.”

  “I don’t know much about them yet,” Phoebe said. “But I do know they shouldn’t be assumed to be like the husbands they ran away from and haven’t seen in years. It’s not fair. Right, Sebastian?” He nodded and she continued. “And I liked very much how they didn’t force a response from us, or insist on coming back to the castle with us, even after all those years of living in Winnie’s lair. It means they were thinking of us before themselves. Would it be all right if they moved back here if they want to?”

  “I see no reason why not,” Marigold said. “And now that Winnie will have company, they won’t worry about her. Do you think they’d want to come back?”

  “I suppose the only way to find out is to ask them,” Phoebe said practically.

  “Would you prefer if I did that?” Marigold asked. “If they’re unsure, it might be less awkward for you and easier for them.”

  “Thank you, Your Highness,” Phoebe said, relieved.

  “You can call me Marigold. I’m not all that high.”

  They giggled together.

  “Now it’s my turn,” Swithbert said, handing Poppy back to Marigold. “I, too, have a proposition. I want to adopt a couple more children.”

  “Papa!” Marigold cried. “What made you think of that? You’ve already raised me and my sisters.”

  “Well, having a father is important, don’t you think? Mothers are fine—most of them, anyway—but fathers
are special.” He held up his hand to prevent Marigold from butting in. “That’s not just ego talking, though I think I was a pretty good one, so maybe it is ego talking. Every kid needs a father.”

  “You make a good point, Swithbert,” Chris said. “Do you have any particular children in mind?”

  “Yes, I do. I’d like to adopt Phoebe and Sebastian.”

  You wouldn’t think jaws falling open would make such a loud sound, but when a lot of them do it all at once, it’s quite an event. Undeterred, Swithbert went on. “These two young people have shown courage and fortitude in dealing with the circumstances of their families, in spite of some terrible and/or absent parenting. They’ve become sensational citizens. They saved Poppy. They participated in the elimination of the Terrible Twos. And they haven’t asked for a thing in return except for someone else.”

  “For Hannibal,” Wendell added. “And for Winnie, too. And for their mothers.”

  “I think they should be rewarded,” Swithbert said. “You can give them whatever you want, Chris, but these kids have earned having a good dad for a change. So, what do you think?”

  A lot of jaws closing at the same time make another interesting sound.

  “Don’t you think you should ask Phoebe and Sebastian what they think?” Christian asked.

  Swithbert turned to them. “Well?”

  Sebastian was the first to speak. “But that means we’ll be brother and sister, doesn’t it?”

  It took a moment, but Swithbert got it. “Oh. I see. Yes. That would be awkward. All right. How would you like to have a doting, adoptive uncle?”

  Phoebe stepped forward. The surprises were coming so fast, she could barely keep up with them, but she had already learned that the best response to bad surprises was strength, and to good ones, gratitude. So she said, “Would it be okay if I hugged my Uncle Swithbert?”

  Swithbert beamed and accepted the hug, which was followed by one from Sebastian.

  “Now, Swithbert,” Chris said, “you make another good point about rewards. I have something I’d like to say about that.” He beckoned Sebastian to him. When Sebastian started to kneel at Christian’s feet, Chris stopped him. “I may be a king,” he said. “But even kings need friends, and I’d like you to be mine.”

  “Me?” Sebastian asked, stunned.

  Chris nodded. “I appreciate your active mind, your good instincts, and your competence. And I know you’re the one who makes those terrific Camelot miniatures for that stall on Market Day. Maurice showed me your workshop, where you think he doesn’t know what you’re making. But I also know why you’re so interested in King Arthur and his knights.”

  Sebastian swallowed. “You do?”

  “Yes. And I admire that, too. With a father like yours, it makes perfect sense that you would look for a better role model. And you picked the best. I try to emulate him myself, even though I had a very good father. And to show you that I believe you’ve succeeded in becoming the exact opposite of Vlad, I’m going to knight you. Now you can kneel, Sir Sebastian.”

  Sebastian knelt, and it was a good thing, too; he was so astounded, he wasn’t sure his legs would continue to support him. After the tap of Christian’s sword on his shoulders, he didn’t really feel any different inside, but it was impossible for him to quit smiling. He stood and bowed to the man who was both his king and his friend. “Thank you, sire.”

  “Call me Chris. We’re going to be spending a lot of time together now, you know. I want you to show me how to make one of those Arthurian maces. And as good as your King Arthur models are, I bet we can think of some other interesting things to put together from that pile of scraps in your workshop. Now, as for you, Phoebe . . .”

  “Me?” Phoebe squeaked.

  “Yes, you. Sebastian’s not the only one who’s overcome a questionable upbringing.”

  “Questionable?” Marigold interrupted indignantly. “How about rotten? Neglectful? Cruel?”

  “All right,” Chris said. “All of those. Anyway, Phoebe, I’ll knight you, too, if you like, but I think I know of something you’d rather have.”

  “You do?” Phoebe asked.

  “Yes. I’m going to set you up with Magnus, the court architect, so the two of you can design exactly the manor house you’d like to live in. And then I’m going to see that it gets built for you.”

  Phoebe burst into tears—and was quickly gathered into the arms of her brand-new uncle.

  “She means ‘thank you,’” Swithbert translated.

  “I get it,” Chris said. “Now, what do you say we all go get some lunch and hope nothing else exciting happens today.”

  Ed said, beaming at everyone, “It’s a good day when you can get two birds stoned at once.”

  22

  FOR THE NEXT FOUR weeks, everybody in the castle worked like beavers to get ready for Poppy’s Welcome Party. The seamstresses sewed up party dresses, tablecloths, and new draperies. The carpenters built arbors and dining tables, bleacher seats and barstools. The gardeners dug and watered, raked and hoed.

  And Chris and Marigold labored to get the trials of Emlyn, Fogarty, and Bartholomew settled so that they could enjoy the festivities without that hanging over their heads.

  Bartholomew’s sentence was easy. He was so abjectly contrite and remorseful about his part in the kidnapping that punishment was hardly necessary. Instead, Chris and Marigold assigned him to a period of working on Magnus’s estate, just so Bartholomew could observe how a good man conducts himself. Bartholomew’s main problem was that he had lacked a role model for courageous conduct. Chris was making sure that he got one. And Magnus was more flattered than he could say, since he himself had once suffered from a lack of good examples. Only with the help of his darling wife, Sephronia, and the forgiveness of Christian and Marigold had he been able to live down his shameful conduct as an admittedly reluctant cohort of Queen Olympia. His atonement was to be the finest man he could possibly be, forever.

  Emlyn and Fogarty were more of a problem. They were recalcitrant to the point of foolishness, denying that they had anything to do with the kidnapping, despite evidence—including Mrs. Sunday’s eyewitness testimony—to the contrary. They insisted that everything that had happened was some sort of misunderstanding or mistake or distortion. It is very hard to be sensible with people who are anything but.

  In the end, Marigold and Chris decided, as much as it pained them to do so, that it was best to leave Emlyn and Fogarty in the dungeon until they became curious about what punishment they could get if they came clean. Time spent in that dungeon could make one think that almost any other kind of punishment would be preferable. What form that would take would be something the king and queen figured out once things at the palace settled down again.

  In the meantime, Chris and Marigold found time to spend many hours with Poppy and to watch a companionable relationship develop between Poppy’s goat (whom they had named Tallulah) and all the dogs, especially Bub. Tallulah followed Bub everywhere and he, to their surprise, seemed not to mind. Admiration, even from an unlikely source, is a tonic for anyone.

  Marigold put Wendell and the court physician to work finding a remedy for Winnie’s allergies, and they seemed to be making some progress: the incidence of sneeze-induced conflagrations was decreasing. Winnie and Marigold had also begun a p-mail correspondence in which they swapped elephant jokes. Hannibal knew every one that had ever been told—there were quite a lot of them—and he was happy to share with Winnie. In the way of communication they had devised over the years, Winnie passed them along to Anabel or Twyla, who p-mailed them to the queen. Marigold’s current favorite was “What’s gray and wrinkly and jumps every twenty seconds? An elephant with hiccups.”

  The only blight on the days leading up to the big party had to do with the rivalry between Swithbert and Wendell for Mrs. Clover’s affections. It seemed that she and Denby, Swithbert’s valet, had been sweethearts for a long time but had kept it a secret for fear of being found guilty of inappropriate
workplace behavior (as well as making a king mad—while Swithbert was still king). But once Marigold and Christian found out about their romance and assured them that there was nothing illegal or inappropriate about it, they came out in the open with their love.

  This caused Swithbert and Wendell to spend a lot of time in the ale shop over venti-size tankards of mead, drowning their sorrows and commiserating about the fickleness of women—although as Ed (newly and happily married to the red-haired troll Wendolyn) kept reminding them, if someone doesn’t want to be with you, nobody can stop them.

  With everything else on her mind, Marigold still found time to worry about the welcome gifts the fairies would bring to her little girl. Poppy had already gotten off to a rather bumpy start, and Marigold didn’t want any more bumps for her for a very long time. But there wasn’t much she could do about it except hope Wendell could be helpful if something magical started going awry.

  Finally the day of the big blowout arrived, and all the guests were crammed into every corner of the castle.

  The court crier had made himself hoarse with all the announcements generated by such a big crowd. There had been several fistfights to report, usually for romantic reasons; a few accidental falls down the castle stairs, usually the result of too much celebrating; one case of mistaken identity, with embarrassing results; lots of scheduling changes; all the details of the business of the Terrible Twos, and Hannibal and Winnie the dragon; Swithbert’s new status as uncle to Sebastian and Phoebe; and several elephant jokes, as commanded by Queen Marigold, who thought all the guests would appreciate them. (What’s big and gray with horns? An elephant marching band. Why do elephants have trunks? They would look funny with suitcases. What is beautiful, gray, and wears glass slippers? Cinderelephant. The real Cinderella, who was a Welcome Party guest, was not amused.)

  Christian’s brothers and Marigold’s sisters had arrived from their own kingdoms; old friends Mr. Lucasa (now known as Santa Claus), Susan (once called Lazy Susan), and Angelica (loosely related to Queen Olympia) had come from the North Pole. Mrs. Clover had done an excellent job of assigning guest rooms so that no feuding parties were even on the same floor, and all valets and ladies’ maids were quartered within hollering distance of those they served. The footmen were taking bets on which lady in waiting would have the first hissy fit.