Twice Upon a Marigold (15 page)

Marigold, unlike Finbar, was a pretty good liar. She'd had a lot of practice growing up, trying to keep things from Olympia. But then, she'd had time to prepare her lies in advance. Now she'd been taken by surprise, and caught red-handed as well.

"Uh, my name's Mary. I, uh, I ain't been here too long. I can't say 'zactly when I came." She quickly decided her best defense was to keep her head down and to appear as foolish as possible. In her experience, people gave up too fast with those they believed to be stupid. Patience might be a virtue, but in Marigold's view it wasn't practiced often enough.

"Well, I would have been the one who interviewed you, and I don't have any recollection of that. And I certainly would have remembered someone as dirty as you are. And as out of uniform. And as hangdog. I don't permit any of the castle's workers to go around looking as you do. It's a disgrace. And Beaurivage has a reputation to uphold. I believe you've sneaked in here thinking you could get free food and lodging by pretending to be employed here. It happens from time to time. But no one goes undiscovered for long."

Marigold quickly decided further lying or arguing would get her nowhere. She'd known Mrs. Clover all her life, after all, and knew she was not a lady to be messed with. That was why she hadn't dared mention the rebellion to her, even though she might have been sympathetic. So Marigold hung her head even lower and murmured, "Uh-huh."

"Just as I thought," Mrs. Clover said. "I'll have Rollo escort you out across the drawbridge. Come with me. Oh—and give me that bowl of hoofenpoofer goulash. You've had your last meal courtesy of Beaurivage Castle."

Marigold certainly hoped that wasn't true. She allowed herself to be pulled along, keeping her head down in what was meant to look like shame.

She kept her face averted while Rollo took great pleasure in marching her to the end of the drawbridge with his sword point in her back. Once she'd stepped
into the dirt of the road that led away from the castle, he shouted, "I'll be watching for you, so don't try sneaking in here again! Next time you'd go before the queen, and I know you wouldn't like that."

Rollo definitely had that right, Marigold thought. "I've heard about your queen," she shot back. "Sounds to me like she's just asking for an uprising."

Rollo blinked. "How long were you in the castle?" he asked.

"Dunno. Few days." She shaded her eyes with her hand to shield her face. "Why?"

"And in that short a time you heard about an uprising?"

"Didn't hear about one. Just heard how miserable and browbeaten and suspicious a lot of the subjects and the workers are. The queen should know better.
Anybody
should know better than to do what she's doing. Just makes people mad. And sooner'd you want to guess, they're going to do something about it." She paused. "Don't you think?" Here was her chance to see if what Lazy Susan had suggested could be true. But she had to be very careful not to give anything away in case it wasn't.

Rollo was quiet for some time—and he
did
appear to be thinking. Finally he said, "You could be right."

"I
am
right," Marigold said. "I've been thinking about it longer than you have." And she had. From childhood she'd watched her parents rule and thought about what she would do differently if she ever got the chance. In one of the first in-person conversations she'd had with Christian, they'd talked about how they would run kingdoms, which was strange since at that time, neither of them thought they'd ever do such a thing.

"Yeah." Rollo seemed to be talking to himself. "I think you are."

Marigold was about to offer him some inducements, unlikely as it was that he would believe she had the power to grant them, when he said in a louder voice, "Go on now. Go back to where you came from. And don't think you can get in the castle again without me catching you."

She had missed her chance! She had no choice but to turn away and begin walking down the dirt road toward the Zandelphia-Beaurivage Bridge. As she walked, she wondered what his agreement meant. Was he actually thinking of participating in a revolt? Or of tipping Olympia off that there was a possibility that one could be on the way?

As for not being able to sneak back into the castle—well, ha! She could be back inside via the disposal tunnel within half an hour.

And she was.

"You have to go back," Finbar said after she'd told them what had happened. "You have to go back and tell him what he can have if he joins the rebellion."

"Me?" Marigold said. "I'd never get close enough to Rollo now to tell him anything. I can't go back into the castle from here. Mrs. Clover would spot me right away. And I can't get in across the drawbridge. Why would Rollo believe me even if I
could
get to him? I'm just a dirty castle-crasher as far as he's concerned. He's under orders not to let me in as myself, either, so forget it."

"I'll tell him," Chris said. "He'd have to believe me. I've got credentials
and
clout."

"And he's under orders not to let
you
in, too," Marigold reminded him.

"Oh, yeah. Well,
somebody's
got to make him an offer he can't refuse."

They all looked at one another, weighing the reasons why none of them could do it, even as they recognized that with Rollo on their side, the odds of Ed, Swithbert, and Magnus avoiding becoming history, as well as toast, were greatly increased.

"I still have the livery I wore when I was a servant here," Christian said. "I kept it as a souvenir. I can go
get it and wear it to approach Rollo. I'll wear a false mustache so nobody recognizes me."

Marigold's heart almost stopped at the thought of the serious risks Chris would take in such an operation. She wanted to tell him he couldn't do it, that she couldn't bear to have anything happen to him. But then she remembered that she was a queen. And queens—good ones, anyway—had to put the good of the people they were responsible for ahead of their own personal desires. Maybe not just queens should do that, she thought. Maybe everybody should. But since she
was
a queen, she really had no choice. And because Christian was a king, he didn't, either.

She took a deep breath, blinked back her tears, and said, "That's the only plan that makes sense. And we're running out of time. You'd better hurry."

With that, Chris gave her a quick hug, rushed into the disposal tunnel, and disappeared.

The time before he returned was filled with pacing, hand-wringing, worrying, and feeble attempts from each of them to cheer up the others.
Feeble
being the operative word: the attempts were completely unsuccessful.

Chris returned with a bundle holding the livery, the fake mustache, and also a shaggy gray wig left over from a costume party he and Marigold had thrown to celebrate their first anniversary. Once he was dressed, he looked so ridiculous that it was hard to imagine Rollo would even be able to talk to him without laughing. But in disguise was the only way for him to go into the castle, so he kissed Marigold, shook hands with Finbar, Ed, Swithbert, and Magnus, and started up the stairs.

Christian tiptoed along corridors, ducking behind drapes or statuary whenever he heard anyone coming. As he ran through the deserted Hall of Mirrors, he caught a million quick glimpses of himself and hoped that he didn't really look as demented as the blurry, fractured images suggested.

Gradually Chris made his way to the guardsmen's quarters and loitered outside their ready room, crouching behind a large leather chest with assorted weapons spilling from it. If Rollo took offense to anything he had to say, there would certainly be no shortage of items with which to be run through. Chris shuddered, then braced himself. This was no time to
get cold feet. He had a mission. A lot of people would benefit from what he had to do. If he did it right.

He hid behind the chest for quite a while, through one changing of the guard (accompanied by a lot of weapon-clattering), a long, boring conversation about the merits of different kinds of chain mail, and finally silence as all the off-duty guards went to dinner. And Rollo never put in an appearance.

Just when Chris thought he would have to go out into the castle again to hunt Rollo down, he heard footsteps and, peeking out from behind the chest, saw him coming along the corridor alone. At eight feet tall, Rollo was always an impressive figure, but at that moment, he was not at his finest. His eyes were cast down, his shoulders slumped, and he was dragging his sword along so carelessly that Christian could see (with relief) that the tip was being dulled and bent.

Chris waited until Rollo had gone into the ready room before he came out from behind the chest and tiptoed into the room, too. Rollo was sitting in a chair, his back to the door, untying his cuirass. His sword lay on the table beside him.

Chris closed the door and cleared his throat. Rollo grabbed his sword, jumped to his feet, and whirled around. When he saw Chris, dressed in Beaurivage livery, he lowered his blade, gave a choked laugh, and
said, "What in the devil do you want? And who's your barber?"

Chris felt his wig, relieved that Rollo didn't seem to recognize him. "Does it look that bad?"

"It's pathetic, man," Rollo said. "Looks like it's been gnawed by a ferret. Better not let Sedgewick see you or he'll have your head shaved. Which, come to think of it, would be a big improvement. Did you want something?"

Chris nodded. "I need to speak to you in confidence."

Rollo spread his long arms. "Nobody in here but us. Go ahead."

Chris cleared his throat and shot a quick look back, calculating how fast he could get the door open if he had to run for his life. "I'm here to make you an offer. A very good offer."

Rollo laughed, loudly this time. "
You?
What have
you
got to offer
me
?"

Chris stood very straight and resisted trying to smooth his wig. "I'm authorized to offer you a new title—major-general of the guards—as well as a new uniform, a better steed, and a medal."

Rollo squinted at him. "Say again?"

So Chris said it again.

"Authorized by who?" Rollo asked.

"By the king of Beaurivage, and the king and queen of Zandelphia."

"Huh," Rollo grunted, and scratched his head. "And why would those folks want to do all that for me?" he asked suspiciously. "By the way, in case you haven't heard, the king of Beaurivage is being tried for treason tomorrow morning, so he might not actually have too much to say about what happens around here."

"That's why he wants to give you these things. So you'll help him"—Christian had to stop for a breath before he plunged into dangerous territory—"with his rebellion."

"Rebellion?" Rollo boomed. "There's going to be a rebellion?"

Chris resisted the impulse to put his finger to his lips. "That's the plan. I mean, the hope."

"Who are you, anyway? What's some footman with a rotten haircut, who I'm pretty sure I've never seen before, doing with an offer like that? You wouldn't be a spy from Queen Olympia, would you, trying to test my loyalty? Trying to get me put on trial tomorrow, too? Because, if you are, you should know I wouldn't take very kindly to that." He raised his sword and ran his thumb along the edge of it, stopping with a puzzled look when he got to the bent tip.

This is the moment,
Chris thought, and whipped off his wig. "Now do you know me?"

Rollo leaned forward and squinted. "King Christian? Of Zandelphia? Really?" His mouth made a big O.

"That's me."

"How—how did you get in here? All my guards know the queen has forbidden your entrance into the castle. Who let you in? The queen will have his head."

"Nobody
let
me in. I have my own ways of access. That's beside the point. Which is that there's a revolt on the way. The people of Beaurivage deserve better ruling than they're getting from Olympia. Swithbert should be back on the throne. We have reason to believe that a good number of the citizenry will be with us, and also most of your guards. But we know it will go faster and smoother, and with less—uh—mayhem—if you're in it, too. And if you are, there'll be the title, the uniform, etc. If not—well, you'll take your chances."

"You're serious?"

"Never more."

"You're really going to rebel against the queen?"

"Didn't I just say that?" Chris was getting exasperated. He wanted a yes or a no—and right now. Not all this dancing around. They were running out of
time. If Rollo said no, the rebellion would have to start instantly.

"What happens if you lose?" Rollo asked.

"Probably nothing good, wouldn't you think?"

"Yeah, that's what I'd think."

They stood there looking at each other. Chris observed that Rollo hadn't turned loose of his sword, though he hadn't raised it, either, so there was no clear indication of his intentions.

One more try,
Chris thought. "The queen has been very unkind to many people. King Swithbert has never been anything but benevolent. Which style of leadership do you think your fellow Beaurivageans would thank you for helping them achieve?"

"Some admire how Olympia rules."

"True, I suppose. Is that your answer?"

He sighed. "No. But when you're eight feet tall and captain of the guards, people expect a certain degree of heartlessness and inhumanity."

"Maybe you could show them that being eight feet tall and rigorous in the pursuit of justice for everybody is better than being eight feet tall and heartless. You don't want to be a stereotype, do you?"

Rollo sighed again. "You don't have to bribe me with the title and the uniform and all that. I'm tired of heartlessness and cruelty. It wears on you after a
while, you know. Especially when you're thinking about becoming a father. I'll help. I want to."

"Good man. You won't be sorry."
I hope,
Chris thought. "And good luck with the father project. I'm thinking about it myself."

"Just tell me what you want me to do."

Rollo didn't sound very happy, but Chris hoped that was because he was scared and worried about the outcome, not because he wasn't convinced.
Well, join the club,
he thought.