Charming, Volume 2 (14 page)

“I think so.” Dominic opened the scroll and squinted at it. “Damned hard to read. Whoever wrote it used gold ink on gold paper.”

Dorian pulled it from his hand. “Why, this is incomprehensible!”

Hayden peered over his right shoulder. “Illegible!”

Sneedon crowded in on Dorian's left, blew another trumpet sound into his handkerchief, and sniffed. “Unreadable!”

Grady snatched it away from Dorian. “And gaudy to boot. This is why you should never trust a woman to plan a wedding.”

Liz grabbed the invitation from Grady mid-­critique. She ignored his glare and studied it. “It is. This invites ‘The Seven Players' to perform at ‘the celebration of the wedding of Princess Gwendolyn Mostfair to King—­' ” She stopped in midsentence, her mouth open, and her face suddenly pale.

Instinctively, Charming tried to rise in aid of her. Elle, also sensing her sudden distress, moved closer. “Liz, what is it?”

Silently, Liz handed the invitation over to her friend and sat down next to Charming on the bed. He wrapped his hand around hers. “What is it, milady?”

Liz just shook her head in silence. After a moment's study of the scroll, Elle's face flushing bright red, she said, “That crazy woman has gone and made him King!”

“What?” Charming asked incredulously. “Who?”

“Gwendolyn. She's had Will crowned.”

“My father, the . . . well, my father, he has been deposed?” Charming said in disbelief. “This is monstrous. We must put a stop to this immediately.”

“Exactly my point,” Rapunzel said in a forceful voice directed at Liz. “There is no time to lose.”

Charming pulled Liz's hand into his body. “Give me a sword, milady, and I will ride to the castle tonight.”

The color had finally returned to Liz's face, and Charming's request seemed to have restored her voice as well. “You'll do nothing of the sort.”

“No, he's too weak,” Elle agreed. “But Collins and I, we can.”

“You'll do nothing of the sort either,” Liz said firmly.

She snapped the paper out of Elle's hand and waved it at the group. “We are going to Castle White, and we are going to stop this wedding, and we are going to try very hard not to get killed.”

There was a second of silence, and then Dorian said, “Well, you'll need some brains.” He turned to the other dwarves. “I know we usually espouse a philosophy of nonviolence . . .” Liz couldn't help but snort at this. Dorian stared at her hard over the tops of his glasses, then he continued. “As I said, I know we typically do not believe in getting involved in conflict, but it seems to me that this Gwendolyn dame has to go. Agreed?”

For once, the dwarves were in unanimous agreement, and seven voices were raised as one—­“AYE!”

 

Chapter 9

We Are Gathered Here

OF ALL THE
legends that have been born from the lives, trials, and loves of the Pickett siblings, none has undergone more revision or suffered greater embellishment than the wedding of King William Pickett and Princess Gwendolyn Mostfair. It is simply not true that the bridal party was carried into the great chapel of Castle White on the backs of matching unicorns—­the royal huntsman having been unable to capture a pair of satisfactory splendor. And it is disgraceful that some still spread the story that the princess commanded that the moat surrounding the castle be drained, refilled with spirits, and stocked with hundreds of white swans. Firstly, there were only ever eighty-­eight swans, and, secondly, they had to be removed almost immediately because, thirdly, they kept drinking themselves into a stupor and drowning.

However, there are some stories that do have a basis in reality. For instance, while the Princess's dress was not spun by fairy magic, it was not for a lack of trying. In fact, Gwendolyn spent many days leading up to the ceremony demanding that the fairy do just that. And, as the fairy explained, repeatedly, and with increasing impatience, she could do just that if the princess would let her out of the glass ball so she could gather the proper color of morning dew. Needless to say, they reached an impasse.

Another true story is that the wedding was the very first time the actors—­artists—­of the Seven Players Company, known better by their stage name, the Seven Dwarfs, reunited with lead writer Dominic to perform their smash hit, “Ash and Cinders: The Elizabeth Pickett Story.”
**
It would be the beginning of an incredibly lucrative reunion tour, the residuals for which would end up making Elizabeth, as a reluctant co-­author, the wealthiest lady in the kingdom.
†
 
‡

However it happened, the morning of the wedding found Alain, the former captain of the Royal Guard, and Collins, Elle's valet-­cum-­huntsman or huntsman-­cum-­valet, dressed as stagehands, driving a covered tinker's wagon that had been hastily painted with a rather graphic mural of the dwarves “acting,” under which a rather overdone and flowery hand had written “The Seven Players.” Preceding the wagon and marching somewhat in unison, Dorian, Grady, and Dominic did their best to lead. In the back of the wagon, hidden amid the costumes and marionettes, backdrops and props, Charming, Liz, Elle, and the four remaining dwarves bounced uncomfortably.

After much debate, the party had agreed upon a plan that involved driving the wagon to the back gate, luring the guards there into the wagon and having the dwarves ambush them, then performing a quick “costume” change so that Collins and Alain could take their places.

So, as Collins cracked his whip and drove the wagon toward the castle, they were all relieved to see that only four men had been set to guard this lesser gate. As expected, the group of soldiers, all dressed in violent shades of pink, shouted a challenge as they approached.

“Halt, in the name of the King!”

Two of the four pink-­clad soldiers stepped forward. They loosely held their pikes. One even leaned against his, as if it were holding him up and not the other way around. Unlike the other gates, this one seemed to have little traffic, and the men seemed much less alert, if not outright drunk, and in the air there was the overwhelming smell of drink.

In the lead position was Dorian, who smiled, cleared his throat, and, with a sweeping flourish, asked, “Is there a problem, Officers?”

“No problem,” one in a particularly gaudy pink-­plumed helmet answered, “We need to see your invitation and inspect the wagon.”

Dorian produced the invitation with a twist of his wrist. “I think you will find everything is in order. We are
The
Seven Players, and have been ordered to perform for the Royal ­Couple by special request.”

The man took the gilt invitation and squinted at it dubiously before handing it back. “I guess that's fine. Now, we need to examine the wagon.”

Grady stomped forward. “Now, look here, Captain.” Grady shook a meaty finger in the general direction of the man's stomach. “Do you know who we are?”

“I'm a lieutenant. And you are the seven players?”

“Not just ‘seven players'—­
The
Seven Players,” Grady bristled. “Capitalize it when you say it. I won't be insulted by a common foot soldier.”

“My apologies.”

Grady had been expecting more fight from the man, and opened and closed his mouth in obvious disappointment before starting again. “Yes, well, don't let it happen again. As I was saying, we are world-­renowned artists. Our names are legend, and we will not submit to the indignity of a search.”

“By Royal Command, we must examine every vehicle entering the castle—­no exceptions,” he said automatically.

“But we are ex
cep
tional,” Grady said, adding a pronounced flourish to the last word.

“You may be exceptional, but we are allowed to make no exceptions.”

Grady bristled his brows. “What is this really about? Do you have something against dwarves?”

“Sir,” the man said, shuffling from side to side. “I love dwarfs.”

“It's
dwarves
. Dwarfs is considered demeaning.”

“Er, dwarf . . . ves. Anyway, as I said before, everyone is being searched today.”

Dorian held up his hands in a gesture of peace. “Captain . . .”

“Lieutenant.”

Dorian adjusted his glasses as he struggled to keep a smile fixed to his face. “Lieutenant, we can overlook your prejudice, but we can't risk our livelihood. We have spent the better part of two years preparing for this performance. We have a number of props and costumes that are exceedingly delicate in the wagon. Perhaps, if we could oversee the search . . . ?”

The lieutenant sighed and gestured to the other guards. “All right. Bring them along. But keep an eye on them, especially bristly brows,” he said, pointing at Grady. So all four guards surrounded the three dwarves in a wall of pink and cream crinoline, and marched in step to the side of the wagon. As the lieutenant stretched out his hand to open the door, he asked, “By the way, you said you were The
Seven
Players, but there are only three of you. Where are the others?”

The three dwarves smiled in unison. “Excellent question.”

The door swung open and a swarm of miniature hands and diminutive bodies with ropes and sticks emerged from the darkened interior. The lieutenant managed one muffled cry of horror, and then the four guards were pulled into the maw of the caravan. Dorian, Grady, and Dominic followed behind, the door swung shut with a crack, the wagon rocked violently once, twice, three times, and then was still. As choreographed, Collins and Alain dismounted from their positions and opened the back of the wagon, then clambered inside, while Charming, wearing a deeply cowled hood, climbed out.

A few moments later, Alain and Collins, appearing to the world as two disheveled pink-­clad guards, emerged back onto the bridge and waved the wagon across and through the gate.

Alain whispered to Collins, “Those poor bastards never knew what hit them. Remind me never to cross a dwarf.” The other man, still wide-­eyed from the horror, nodded in silent agreement and watched the wagon, a heavily cloaked Charming at the reins, slip out of sight into the inner courtyard of Castle White.

Inside the wagon, the seven dwarves sat in raucous satisfaction atop the bruised, bloodied, and bound soldiers, cheering their victory.

“What a fight!” Grady trumpeted as he put a finger to his tender eye.

“You said it.” Hayden sniffed happily as he rubbed blood away from his battered nose. “That was a real donnybrook.”

“I think I lost a tooth!” Dorian said proudly, and stuck his tongue through a blank space in his smile.

“Nice one,” the others exclaimed.

“Well, if you ask me—­” Elle started.

“And, we didn't,” Grady grunted. The others nodded in agreement.

“I thought we agreed that there would be no unnecessary violence,” Liz said with a disapproving glare.

Grady stood up on one of the bound soldiers and bounced on his toes, eliciting a grunt from the man beneath him. “I defy you to point to a single instance of ‘unnecessary' violence.”

Liz put her hands on her hips and shook her finger at the group of dwarves. “Dorian, what about when you bit that man's nose?”

“Essential to our plan of attack,” he explained.

“And Grady,” Elle asked, “poking that poor fellow in the eye?”

“Elementary tactics. You've got to blind the enemy,” he lectured, and then demonstrated by poking his fingers into the air at an imaginary attacker.

“I see,” Liz continued. “And kicking the lieutenant in the head after he was down, Sneedon?”

“He was . . .
ah
. He was . . .
aaah
. He was”—­the dwarf sneezed—­“resisting.”

“Mmmhmm,” the two women said together, then Elle turned to Hayden. “Should we even bother asking what you were doing to that poor man's . . . well, his . . . ?”

Hayden smiled. “Demoralizing my foe.”

Liz and Elle exchanged a glance. Liz shook her head and sat down. “Now that they are properly ‘demoralized,' can we trust you boys not to abuse them while we're gone?”

The seven dwarves looked up with matching expressions of unconvincing innocence and sang, “You have our word.”

Liz looked at the four half-­naked men and shrugged to Elle. “I'm not sure we have any choice.”

Just then the lieutenant's eyes flickered open and his body immediately tensed against the ropes as he struggled to break free. Liz leaned in close to the man. “Of course, if they do try to escape . . .”

“ . . . or call out for help . . .” Elle added, kneeling down next to him.

The two women looked at each other and smiled. “You would have to do whatever was necessary to subdue them.”

All seven of the little men's faces stretched into evil grins, and as one they nodded. The lieutenant's face paled, his eyes rolled back into his head, and his body went slack. As the women rose to their feet, the wagon came to a stop with a jerk. From above, there was a grunt, and then Charming opened the door with a swirl of his cloak and an elegant half-­bow that was only marred by an accompanying grimace of pain.

“Ladies and dwarves,” he said with a heavy breath, “we have arrived.”

Liz and Elle descended the wagon into the gloom of an otherwise empty livery stable. They took one last look at the dwarves, who were literally standing and sitting guard over the soldiers, and closed the door.

“Do you think they will be safe?” Charming asked with some concern.

The women looked at one another for a moment, then Liz said, “The dwarves can handle themselves.”

“I was thinking about the soldiers.”

Liz tucked her arm through Charming's. “We have enough to worry about ourselves, so let's—­” Suddenly she drew away from him and threw aside his cloak. “What is that?” she asked, pointing an accusing finger. A long scabbard, festooned in pink and silver, hung at his side.

“It's my sword,” he said with a sly smile, but his face faltered under her glare and he stammered, “Li-­Liz, try to understand.”

Elle smirked at him and clucked her tongue. She moved away in anticipation of an argument. “Here it comes.”

Liz gave Elle a warning glance that backed her further away, then she turned her attention to Charming. “What should I understand? That you don't care a wit if you leave me a widow before I'm even married?”

Charming started to respond, but stopped with a sudden hush of expectation. “Is that a yes?”

Liz flushed and bit her lip. “Don't you go trying to change the subject, Edward Charming.”

“I'm not,” he said in a voice so earnest that it silenced her. “I am wearing this sword because of you.” She started to interrupt, but he forestalled her rebuttal by grabbing her hands and locking his eyes onto hers. “I have no intention of making you a widow, Elizabeth Pickett, but I will not be a widower even if it means that I must stain every stone of this castle red with blood and tear the heavens from the sky to stop it. If you will promise to leave this place now and return to the cottage in the woods, then I will happily lay down this weapon and take my chances, but I will not walk into that chapel with you at my side and face the Princess unarmed, and you will have to kill me yourself to stop me.”

A quiet smile stole over Elizabeth's face. She withdrew her hands from his and smoothed her skirt. She looked back into his eyes and said, “Well then, it's a shame about the color, I don't think pink suits you.”

Charming frowned at the sword. “I know. It's a damned nuisance. I'm much more of an autumn than a spring.”

Liz rolled her eyes and laughed aloud. “Elle, it is time to go. Edward will always be Charming, and all is well between us.”

With that, the trio cracked open the stable door and peeked out onto the main courtyard and a scene of utter chaos. Servants, in a cacophonous rainbow of livery, but dominantly pink, raced here and there carrying silver this and gold-­plated that, and every manner of silk, satin, and brocade this and that.

“Now what?” Liz asked, pulling the stable door closed again. “We can't possibly go out there without being spotted.”

“You're right,” Charming said. “Someone would be bound to recognize
me
. But fear not, I have a plan. Follow me.”

With that, he led the ladies, who exchanged an unspoken “that's Charming” moment behind his back, through the livery and into a door half hidden behind some moldering crates. Elle muttered something dark about her confidence in his “plan” under her breath, which Charming chose to let pass without comment. He had to admit he had earned her distrust. His behavior at the tower and the ball had been disgraceful, not to mention the fact that he had pulled out most of her hair.