Thrice Upon a Marigold Page 6

  “Hey!” Chris yelled, jumping off his horse and starting after her.

  His shout startled the dragon, who coughed a jet of flame right at his feet. With the dragon’s attention focused on Chris, Marigold ducked under her line of sight and vanished into the lair.

  Hannibal raised his trunk and trumpeted with surprise. The dragon looked back at him with the sheepish expression people often have when they are caught doing something they know is wrong, but don’t want to admit it. Then she turned her back on Hannibal and Wendell and the rest of them and bustled back into her lair.

  “Wait!” Chris yelled as he rushed toward the entrance. “My Marigold is in there!”

  Apparently the dragon didn’t care. She didn’t reappear, and a blast of flames issued from inside.

  “Marigold!” Chris cried, dodging the flames. “Marigold! Come out!”

  Nothing happened except for more torrents of fire.

  Hannibal trumpeted and trumpeted. Finally he faced facts and turned around, lumbering back to where Sebastian and Phoebe waited, their mouths open in astonishment. Not only was Poppy missing, but now Marigold was, too. Instead of making progress, they were going backwards.

  Shoulders slumped, Chris led his horse back to them, wisps of smoke rising from his singed doublet. “I can’t get in there without getting burned to a crisp. And then who would save Poppy?” He took a deep breath. “I don’t know what to do now.”

  9

  THAT GOAT HAS GOT to go,” Emlyn said, holding her nose. “Can’t we tie her up outside the tent?”

  “You know we tried that,” Fogarty said. “Unless she’s inside, she bleats so loud she attracts attention we don’t want attracted. And she tries to eat the tent.”

  “Well, then, I’m going outside.” And Emlyn did just that, saying, “Let me know when you decide anything,” as she closed the tent flap. Sitting outside in the mud was better than being in a tent with four men and a goat. She wasn’t sure, in fact, which one smelled the worst.

  “We need to send that p-mail about the ransom arrangements tonight or first thing in the morning,” Vlad said, stroking his mustache in lieu of holding his nose. “I can’t take these close living arrangements much longer, either.”

  “Okay by me,” said Boris, who wasn’t bothered at all by any number of horrible smells—or unusual body fluids or unearthly shrieks, for that matter. “How shall we do it?”

  Vlad said, “I’m formulating a plan. We need to make sure we’re in a location where we can’t be trapped, and where we can get away easily. That suggests water to me. But we need to make sure we’re close enough to the dragon to use her for threat purposes. Even if we can’t get her to cooperate. I swear, I never imagined she’d be so stubborn. Wouldn’t you think she’d be so flattered at having a poison and a torture device named for her that she would be willing to do whatever we asked? But be that as it may, she’s still a great symbol of a threat. No one has to know she’s not cooperating. So . . . let me see . . .” He bent over a strip of paper, scribbling and squinting in the dim light from a candle.

  Poppy slept in the laundry basket, her tummy full of goat’s milk, dreaming of green meadows populated by large families of happy goats, even though the only goat she had ever seen was one that had been out in the rain and then inside a tent, which hardly ever improves an animal’s aroma. Or disposition.

  “Is that something you think your fathers might do?” Christian asked Sebastian and Phoebe. “Put a helpless baby in a dragon’s lair?” They lingered among the trees within sight of the lair. Chris kept looking over, hoping to see Marigold emerge.

  “Well, sure,” Sebastian said, wondering why the king was even asking such an obvious question about the inventor of Take Seven Steps and Die. And of Dragon’s Sweat, the deadliest poison known to man.

  Chris turned to Phoebe, his eyebrows raised in question.

  “There’s not a doubt in my mind,” she said. It seemed unnecessarily cruel, and superfluous besides, to say anything about the glee Boris exhibited when he had a day of torture ahead of him. “But as I think about it more, I don’t think he’s done that in this case.”

  After more consideration, Sebastian said, “Neither do I.” He and Phoebe looked at each other with a sort of sad acknowledgment. They knew too well how their fathers thought.

  “You don’t?” Chris asked. “Why not?”

  “For one thing, they’d want easy access to the baby for when it’s time to exchange her for the ransom,” Sebastian said. “And they’d want to be sure they could go in and out of the lair at will, and our dragon seems a bit too unpredictable for that.” He wasn’t even going to consider the possibility that there would be no baby to exchange for the ransom money, though he knew that the Terrible Twos were more than capable of that sort of thing.

  “That makes sense,” Chris said. “And you know them. But that means Marigold is stuck in the cave now, in danger, too.” He hung his head and rubbed his eyes.

  “Yes,” Phoebe whispered. “It is a calamitous situation.”

  Sebastian gave her an admiring look. “Grievous indeed,” he whispered back to her.

  They watched as Christian stood beside his horse, continuing to rub his eyes, and waited for him to make a kingly decision. It is sometimes easy to forget that a king is still a real person who can make mistakes, and get confused, and become discouraged.

  When Chris finally raised his head, he said, “We should go to the hunter’s cabin so Hannibal can sniff around. I think that’s what Bub wanted him to do. And then we should go back to the castle. I need to send Rollo and his guards out to find and search the forest residences where Vlad and Boris have been living in exile. I should have done that first thing. I thought I was thinking straight, but I was actually panicky. I acted irresponsibly. And on top of everything, I’ve lost Marigold.” He rubbed his eyes again. “I need to sit still for a while and see if I can think straight. And yet I’m afraid of wasting more time.”

  He shook his head and, without meeting any of their eyes, mounted his horse and rode off the way they had come, back to the hunter’s cabin—where Hannibal sniffed and sniffed with his great big sniffer but could find nothing that Bub hadn’t.

  It was a silent and dejected group that arrived back at the castle. Christian left his horse at the stables, gave Rollo his orders, and went off alone, to close himself up in his private chambers. Wendell, in need of cheer, passed through the castle corridors, looking for Mrs. Clover. To his dismay, she was busy having a cup of tea and a lovely long conversation in the kitchen with Denby, Swithbert’s valet. And Phoebe and Sebastian went their separate ways, to the blacksmith shop and the library, after several backward glances that weren’t coordinated enough to allow either to know that the other one was looking.

  They were all back in the throne room early the next morning (along with Ed, Swithbert, and Magnus, who were anxious to know how things were progressing), just as a little light from the false dawn was beginning to seep through the high stained-glass windows.

  Chris brought them up to date. “Rollo and the guards were heroic. They searched most of the night until they finally found Vlad’s and Boris’s places, way out in the forest, past the dragon. But they were deserted. They searched them top to bottom but found nothing to indicate where the Terrible Twos might be now.”

  Before he could go on, a page came running in, a pigeon in his hands. “Sire, this p-mail just arrived.” He thrust the pigeon at Chris.

  With trembling fingers, Chris opened the container on the pigeon’s leg and shook out the strip of paper inside. “‘Do you want your daughter back?’” he read aloud, then murmured, “What a stupid question.”

  “Sounds more like Boris than Vlad,” Phoebe said.

  Chris read on. “‘Bring the two million ducats to the dragon’s lair. Tomorrow at sunset.’”

  “Those snakes in the grass are barking up the wrong tree, if they think they can get away with this,” Ed said, his fists clenched in anger.

>   Chris raised his head. “Two million ducats is almost everything Marigold and I have earned from my inventions and her perfume business. But we’d spend it all, and more, to get Poppy back. How fast can we bag it up?”

  “I think we can just about make it,” Swithbert said, “if we start right now.” He jumped up as fast as his crotchety knees would allow. “Magnus, you come with me. We’ll get Mrs. Clover and Denby to supervise the servants who’ll be doing the bagging. They’re the most reliable staff members we have. We don’t want to take any chances on anybody putting a few ducats in their pockets. We’re going to need every one for the ransom.” He and Magnus hurried out.

  “Your Highness,” Sebastian said. “I know you’re more than willing to hand over the money. But that deadline gives us two days to keep looking. We don’t have to give up yet.”

  “I agree,” Ed said. “I’m throwing a cold blanket on giving up right now.”

  Chris put one hand on Sebastian’s shoulder and one on Ed’s. “You two don’t quit, do you? I’m out of ideas. Do either of you have any?”

  Ed shook his head. “I wish I did, but I’m afraid you have to include me out.”

  “I’ve been thinking about it,” Sebastian said. “What I’ve come up with may not be as true for Boris as it is for my father, but Vlad likes his comforts. He can rough it for a couple of days, and then he’s sick of it. He wants a good bed and some privacy and something decent to eat. I believe he would have hidden out with little Princess Poppy right at first, when it would have been logical for you to search for his house, but once he thought you’d moved on, he’d be wanting to get back home.”

  Chris sighed. “It would have been logical to search there first, wouldn’t it? But I didn’t do that. However, as of last night, he still wasn’t there. Do you think he’s there now? With Poppy?”

  “What can it hurt to look again? We don’t want to miss them.”

  “Excuse me, Your Highness,” Phoebe said. “We should probably look in Boris’s house, too. They could be there. They have spent a lifetime working together. Though I’d put money on a bet that it’s nowhere as nice as Vlad’s place.”

  “That would be my guess, too,” Chris said. He had gained a sense of Phoebe’s childhood, living with a feared and reviled parent with a reputation of being a slob, in an unkempt, motherless home. “Well, let’s not waste any more time.”

  “Right,” Ed said. “Go get them! You’ve taken a big headache off my shoulders.”

  10

  AAAH,” VLAD SAID, STRETCHING out in his favorite chair, his feet up on his favorite footstool (a stuffed snapping turtle), a glass of thistle juice spiked with fermented frizzer (a pretty potent combo) in his hand. “Don’t I deserve this! After sleeping in a tent! With a goat! Waiting for Rollo and his troop of oafs to finally do what I’d expected them to do a lot sooner—quit pawing through my things and ride back to Beaurivage Castle. The things I put up with for a fortune!”

  Boris sprawled on the weasel-fur rug in front of the fire, trying to get his mouth around a gigantic anaconda-sausage sandwich. “I wish I could unhinge my jaw, the way this snake could have done,” he said. “Then I wouldn’t have any trouble at all.” Finally, he just stuffed the sandwich in, causing chunks to tumble down his shirt and onto the floor.

  “It won’t be long before I can upgrade,” Vlad mused, giving Boris a look of disgust. “After this caper is over, I’m on my way to greener pastures. Once word gets out about this heist, I’ll be in demand in any number of places. When that money’s in my hands, I’m history.”

  “Me, too,” Boris mumbled around his sandwich.

  “Old boy,” Vlad said. “Let me suggest something. For your future. I believe you should begin planning on one without me.”

  “One what?” Boris mumbled.

  “Future. It’s been a long and fruitful partnership but I rather think it’s time for us to be going our separate ways now.”

  “What!” Boris exclaimed, then coughed, a piece of anaconda-sausage stuck in his throat.

  “Yes,” Vlad went on calmly, watching Boris’s face get redder and redder. “I need to move on unhindered by any baggage.”

  Boris gasped and gargled, his eyes bugging out, his lips forming what might have been the words, “Help! I’m choking!”

  Vlad regarded him placidly.

  Boris had rolled onto his back and was writhing desperately when Emlyn entered the room. “Lucifer’s lunchbox!” she exclaimed. “Look at Boris!” She ran to him, pulled him into a sitting position, and hugged him hard from behind. The thrust of her hug caused a hunk of sausage to shoot from Boris’s mouth and smack into the wall, missing Vlad by inches. Vlad raised the corner of his lip in repugnance.

  Boris scrambled to his feet and charged, yelling, “Were you just going to watch me choke to death?” He closed his hands around Vlad’s throat. Now it was Vlad’s turn to turn several shades of red.

  “Hey!” Emlyn shouted, grabbing Boris’s hands. “I don’t care what you two do to each other once we’ve got the ransom money. But let’s keep it together until then, okay? We’re going to have enough trouble with other people trying to hurt us without doing it to each other.” She yanked hard at Boris and managed to pull him off Vlad.

  Boris lay on the floor at Emlyn’s feet, gasping, while Vlad, his hands protectively around his throat, gasped, too.

  “You were going to watch me expire,” Boris wheezed.

  “Of course not,” Vlad said, then coughed. “I would have gotten to you in time to save you.”

  “Hah!” Boris said bitterly.

  “Well, thanks to Emlyn”—and Vlad gave her a dark look—“now you’ll never know for sure.”

  “Me?” Emlyn squealed, getting the idea that she had interrupted something more malign than an accidental choking. “I was just responding to an emergency, the way any sensible person would do.” No one seemed to find any irony in an accomplice to a felony regarding herself as a sensible, compassionate person.

  “And what did you mean about going our separate ways?” Boris went on. “What am I supposed to do on my own?”

  “I believe you have certain marketable skills,” Vlad said, adjusting his collar. “Rather crude ones, I would admit, but ones that have stood you in good stead. All you have to do now is to find another monarch who values the art of torture as much as Queen Olympia did.”

  “And where am I supposed to find that?” Boris blustered. “You think I can just walk into any random kingdom and ask if anyone needs to have their fingers broken by the Digit Snapper? Or the flesh of their faces flayed by the Dragon’s Teeth?”

  “I would suggest more subtlety than that,” Vlad said.

  “Hey, wait a minute,” Boris said, his eyes narrowing. “You’ve been thinking about this for a long time already, haven’t you? You’ve made your plans without consulting me, or even telling me. You don’t want me with you, do you?”

  Vlad rolled his eyes, as if to say, The poor numbskull is finally getting the picture. “I believe it would be best for our individual careers and reputations if we forged separate identities. You’d want that, wouldn’t you? Why would you want your name attached to mine, in case I were to do something stupid?”

  “I think you just have,” Boris said, baring his teeth.

  “Now, now,” Vlad said soothingly. “Let’s be sensible. By tomorrow we’ll be wealthy men again, ready to begin anew after years of humiliation and disgrace. You have to admit that our prospects in this kingdom are finished. We have to move on. And our possibilities are greater as individuals than as a team.”

  “I don’t know what makes you say that. We have a reputation as a team.”

  “And what makes you think that? Isn’t it just as logical that we have two different reputations?”

  “Hey!” Emlyn interrupted. “Boris! Can’t you get that he doesn’t want to work with you anymore? When somebody doesn’t want you, arguing with him is not going to change his mind. Believe me, I know. It’s the same
with boyfriends.”

  Boris looked at the floor, his brow furrowed. “I’ve never had to look for a job before. I just followed in my father’s torturing footsteps. I don’t know how to do it.”

  “Think of it as a learning opportunity, then.” Vlad sprang from his chair and paced briskly. “It’s important, I believe, to keep our minds agile and flexible by providing them with new experiences. Approach this occasion with optimism. With enthusiasm. With zest!”

  Boris’s head lowered further between his hunched shoulders. “Right. Zest.”

  “Oh, for the love of—” Emlyn began. “What kind of a pantywaist have I gotten mixed up with? I thought you guys were pros.”

  “We are, we are,” Vlad insisted. “By tomorrow, when we collect those two million ducats, you’ll know that for sure. And we’ll all feel better about moving on with our lives. You’ll see. And you, Emlyn—what are your future plans?”

  “How many families do you think would want to hire me after it’s apparent that I can’t get a reference from my previous employer?”

  “Have you never heard of forged references?” Vlad asked silkily.

  “What a great idea!” Emlyn exclaimed. “Why, that way I can be the best employee they ever heard of. I’ll be in demand!”

  “Now you’re talking,” Vlad said, pleased. “That’s the kind of initiative I like to see. Boris? Are you paying attention? You could take a lesson from this girl. Nobody’s as interested in your future potential as you are. Nobody else will work as hard to see that you get ahead. Are you getting the picture?”

  Miserably, Boris nodded.

  “Sheesh!” Emlyn exclaimed, and left the room.

  Christian set off with Sebastian, Phoebe, Wendell (you never knew when you might need a wizard), Hannibal (where Wendell went, Hannibal went, too), Rollo, and three of the guards who had been with Rollo when they found Vlad’s residence. They rode through the forest, the only sound that of their mounts’ hooves crushing the leaves and twigs on the ground. Hannibal’s big feet just made bigger crushing sounds.