Grassina got up early the next morning, borrowed a basket with a lid from a scullery maid, and made her way down to the swamp. This time she was going to be prepared; no toad would get away from her again. She had just set her wicker basket down and lifted the lid when something hurtled over the lip, making the wicker creak. “What was that?” she said, peering inside.
A surly-looking toad blinked up at her and said, “I’m a who, not a what. The least you can do is be nice to me, considering I put myself in here.”
Grassina picked up the basket. “Why did you?” she asked, already counting the toad’s seven warts.
“I don’t rightly know,” said the toad, sounding genuinely puzzled. “There I was, slurping up a worm, when all of a sudden my legs just carried me in. I’d jump out if I could, but my legs are locked up tighter than a snake’s jaws on a muskrat. I don’t suppose you’d want to take me out and set me back on the ground so I could finish my breakfast?”
“Not a chance,” Grassina replied, closing the basket’s lid. “You have seven warts, so you’re just what I need. I’m not one to look a gift toad in the mouth.”
“I never said I’d open my mouth so you could look in,” said the toad, his voice muffled by the wicker. “You’re awfully arrogant, thinking I would do that for you.”
Grassina slid the little piece of wood to latch the lid. “I would like to know what compelled you to do it. Toads don’t just jump into baskets for no reason. Something or someone,” she said, looking around her, “made you do this. I wonder why.”
“Because they’re mean and ornery and hate me for no good reason that I can think of ?” said the toad.
“Maybe . . . or maybe someone is trying to help me. Whoever you are,” she said, raising her voice, “thank you!”
“Yeah,” grumped the toad. “Thanks a lot!”
Pleased that she finally had the toad she’d been ordered to find, Grassina hurried to take it to her mother. She found the queen alone in the Great Hall, crouched on a bench while she pulled leeches off her dripping legs.
“That moat’s full of leeches,” said Olivene, glancing up at her daughter. “Good thing, too. Means I have a steady supply. A little boiled leech paste and . . . What is that you have there?” The queen’s long nose quivered as she eyed Grassina’s basket.
“It’s that toad you asked for. I brought it as soon as—”
Olivene’s lips pursed, and her eyes grew as cold as iron. “I told you to get that toad yesterday! A day late is almost as bad as not at all. I think you need a little lesson about being slow, my girl.”
The color drained from Grassina’s face when her mother raised her arm. Setting the basket on the floor, she backed away, saying, “I’m truly sorry, Mother. It won’t happen again! I’ve already learned my lesson.”
“I’ll be the judge of that,” sneered Olivene. “Next time I’m sure you’ll do whatever it takes to be prompt!”
The turtle skirted a moldy clump of tansy, shaking its head in disgust. The herbs that covered the floor of the Great Hall should have been replaced weeks ago, but ever since the queen had fallen prey to the family curse, a lot of things had been neglected in the castle. Two pages were just returning from watching the knights practice with swords and lances when one of them discovered the turtle. The freckle-faced boy, the son of a minor noble and the youngest page in the castle, stopped to poke the plodding turtle with his shoe. “Look at this! How do you suppose it got in here? Do you think it belongs to somebody?” The boy picked it up and flipped it over to examine its underside. Startled, the turtle pulled its head and limbs into its shell and squeezed its eyes shut.
A page with curly black hair rapped on the shell with his knuckles. With the authoritative air of someone a full year older, he said, “Nobody brings a turtle into the castle unless it’s meant for supper. I love a good turtle soup.”
“Maybe it escaped from the kitchen,” said the first page. “Do you think Cook will give us a reward if we take it back?”
“Let’s see if she has any tarts left from last night,” the older boy said, reaching for the turtle. “Give it to me! I’ll take it to her.”
“And claim all the tarts for yourself ? I don’t think so!” Snatching his prize back, the younger boy took off running with his friend right behind.
Acting in a very unturtlelike manner, the captive stuck its head out of its shell, looking for a way to escape. Its head bounced painfully on its scrawny neck as the boy ran, but the turtle knew what would happen if it reached the kitchen: a little discomfort was the least of its worries.
“Cook!” shouted the page. “We found your turtle!”
“My what?” The head cook blinked sleepily at them from her seat by the fireplace, where she’d been dozing with a cat on her lap. She peered at the turtle as the pages held it up for her to inspect. “Ah,” she murmured, “it’s a nice turtle, too. Thank you, boys. I like a bowl of turtle soup now and then. Give it to Lettie there. She’ll know what to do with it.”
Thrusting its legs out of its shell, the turtle struggled to get down, but the boy held it away from his chest so that his captive had nothing to push against.
“Drop that right in this pot,” said a chubby young woman with cheeks bright red from the cooking fire. “Oh, that’s a good-sized one, that is! This water’s cold, but it’ll soon heat up over this nice hot fire, so . . . I say, what’s this? Turtles aren’t supposed to glow like that, are they?” The scullery maid was staring down into the pot with eyes as big as trenchers.
“What are you going on about, Lettie?” Cook said, dislodging the cat as she leaned forward in her seat.
“Agh!” shrieked the scullery maid. She dropped the pot, which had suddenly become too heavy to hold. It hit the floor with a clang, splashing water everywhere. While the maid backed away from the fire, the pages fought to see around her. They gasped when a person shot up out of the pot and went sprawling on the floor.
“Well, I never!” said Cook.
Grassina groaned and rubbed her head where she’d hit it on the edge of a table. Shaking her foot until it came unhooked from the pot handle, she sat up and looked around. “Sorry about the mess,” she said, seeing the scullery maid’s horrified expression.
Lettie gulped. “That’s quite all right, Your Highness. Think nothing of it.”
“Does this mean we won’t get a tart?” the freckle-faced page whispered to his friend.
Grassina’s cheeks were crimson as she hurried from the kitchen, leaving a trail of wet footprints behind her. Avoiding the eyes of everyone she passed, she fled to her room, shivering in her damp clothes. It was the first time she’d had an audience when she changed back, and she felt oddly embarrassed. “I shouldn’t worry about what other people think,” she muttered, wriggling out of her clammy gown and into a clean one.
Grassina glanced out the window when she heard the rumble of thunder. The sky had darkened, and rain was already pattering on the sill. A breeze blew the dried plants that hung from her ceiling, making them rustle the way they had while alive. When the door flew open behind her, Grassina turned to see Chartreuse stalk into the room. “I heard what happened,” said Chartreuse. “The whole castle is talking about it. What were you thinking of, turning back in front of so many people?”
Grassina flipped her braid over her shoulder. “I didn’t have any choice. It wasn’t as if I wanted to be a turtle or could choose when I turned back.”
Sighing like someone carrying a great weight on her shoulders, Chartreuse flung herself on her sister’s bed so that she was lying on her back with her arm covering her eyes. “It’s bad enough that she likes turning us into things, but does she have to make it so obvious? My princes are bound to find out now, and I’ve tried so hard to keep it quiet. I’ve sent them on every errand I could think of just to keep them away from Mother. Clarence isn’t back yet or I would have sent him, too. What’s the point, though, if Mother insists on making these spells so public? Someone is bound to tell my princes sooner or later. I’ll never be able to live this down! Greater Greensward is going to be the laughingstock of all the kingdoms! On my way here, everyone stared at me as if I was about to turn into some awful creature. How could she do this to me?”
Chartreuse rolled over onto her stomach and stared accusingly at her sister. “Come to think of it, the entire thing must have been your fault. She turns us into horrid beasts when she wants to teach us a lesson, which means you did something to make her angry. What did you do this time?”
Grassina looked away and shrugged. “I was a little late bringing her the toad, that’s all.”
Chartreuse sat up abruptly. “I’ve nearly killed myself doing whatever she’s asked me to do, but you couldn’t bring her one stinking toad! Would it be too much for you to make a little effort to please the woman?”
The rain began to fall in grass-flattening sheets. A cackle of laughter as loud as thunder drew Grassina back to the window. She jumped when a jagged bolt of white light struck the ground at the edge of the moat, the boom so loud it made her ears ring. Wrinkling her nose at an acrid smell, she stepped closer to the window. The flash of lightning had shown her something so unbelievable that she had to look again to see if it was true. A figure dressed all in black was capering in the field below with her skirt hitched up and her skinny legs dancing across the lightning-singed ground. Her hair was flying as she twirled and spun, making snatching motions with her hands all the while.
“. . . if you would just think of others. Oh, for . . .” Chartreuse hopped off the bed, grabbed Grassina’s shoulder, and spun her around. “Have you heard a word I’ve been saying? I told you not to make a spectacle of yourself like that again! We’re going to be the talk of the entire kingdom. No one will want to marry either of us!”
“I don’t think they’ll be thinking about us at all,” said Grassina. “Not after they see what’s going on outside.”
“What are you talking about?” Chartreuse said, peering out the window. “There’s nothing out there except . . . Is that Mother? What is she doing in the rain?”
A bolt of lightning hit the ground, narrowly missing the prancing woman. Leaping into the air, she kicked her legs high and flailed her arms, then hunched over and slapped the ground. Although the girls had to clap their hands over their ears to still the ringing and make the thunder bearable each time another bolt struck, they were unable to look away from the cavorting queen.
“This is horrible!” Chartreuse shouted during a lull. The thunder had been so loud that everything else sounded muffled and distant. “We can’t let anyone see her like that!”
“And what do you propose we do about it?” Grassina shouted back.
“We can . . . You should . . .” Chartreuse’s voice trailed away as she tried to think. Then, nodding to herself, she declared, “We’ll go see Father. He can talk to her.”
“What can he do?”
“I don’t know. He’s her husband. She’ll listen to him before she’ll listen to us.”
“Are you crazy?” Grassina asked, following her sister into the corridor. “You know what she’s like now. She doesn’t listen to anyone.”
Chartreuse stopped long enough to glare at Grassina. “If you have a better idea, I’d be happy to hear it!”
Grassina swallowed and shook her head. For the first time in ages, Chartreuse actually wanted her suggestions. It was too bad that she didn’t have any to give.
Flickering torches lit the girls’ path through the dungeon, making shadows jerk and waver around them. Because every surface was made of stone, every sound had its echo, with a hollow note that made even the most innocent noise seem sinister. Water seeping between cracks made the floor glisten and slippery to walk on and the air already sour with mold and decay smell even more pungent. One section of the corridor was so cold that Grassina could see her breath, yet there were no crosscurrents of air and there was no reason why it should be colder. Chartreuse shivered and hurried on, calling to Grassina when she lingered to look around. They were passing a cell with rusty bars in the tiny window when Grassina thought she heard voices; she peeked inside, but no one was there.
The only sign of life they encountered was a spider weaving its web across a doorway. “Listen!” said Grassina when she thought she heard something faint and far away and . . . Someone coughed and the sound echoed in the nearly silent hall. Following their ears to the door of their father’s cell, they peeked inside and found him sitting hunched over a small table. “And to what do I owe this honor?” he said, having looked up from his quill and parchment when he heard the girls’ hesitant knock.
“We’ve come to ask for your help,” said Chartreuse. “Mother is dancing in the thunderstorm and making a spectacle of herself.”
King Aldrid looked puzzled. “I’d like to help you girls, but I don’t know what I can do about it. The queen has been avoiding me. We haven’t spoken in days.”
“I knew we shouldn’t have asked him,” Grassina blurted out. “He can’t even leave the dungeon.”
Chartreuse gave her father a pitying look. “Don’t worry, Father. As soon as I come into my magic, I’ll get you out of here.”
King Aldrid cleared his throat. “That won’t really be necessary. Your mother’s spell kept me here for only three days. I could have left any time after that.”
“Then why didn’t you?” asked Grassina.
“To be honest, I’ve been avoiding your mother. As long as she doesn’t see me, she leaves me alone. I’ve been able to handle the kingdom’s business from down here, probably better than I could if I were upstairs running into Olivene. One flick of her finger and I’d be a rat again. Believe me when I say that no one wants a rat ruling the kingdom. If word got out that the king of Greater Greensward had been turned into an animal . . .”
“So what are we supposed to do about Mother? She has to be insane to do what she’s doing!” said Chartreuse.
“She could get herself killed!” said Grassina.
“Your mother isn’t insane. Just because she doesn’t behave the way she used to doesn’t mean that she doesn’t know what she’s doing,” said the king. “I’m sure that whatever her reason is, it has something to do with her magic.”
“But does she have to do it where everyone can see her?” wailed Chartreuse.
“She probably thinks it’s more fun that way,” said Grassina.
The king coughed behind his hand. “She probably does,” he said, chuckling to himself.