Chapter 7: An Impish Plan
****
The next day, Clarkent had to help a rather rude knight saddle his horse, and then he returned to grooming Penelope Grace, who was extremely dirty *again*. After about two blissful and problem-free minutes, she stepped on his foot. It was all he could do to keep from kicking her to make her move.
“Get off,” he gritted, pushing her with his shoulder.
He successfully managed to unbalance her, and the blasted horse finally moved, giving his foot back. He lifted his leg with a wince, glad he was wearing such thick boots. If not for them, he might be missing a toe or two.
Resuming his grooming grudgingly, he reflected with some sadness that he still hadn’t seen the princess since the day before last. Maybe she was done with riding forever--perhaps it had just been a phase. He wished he knew the reason for certain. However, she was a princess, and he couldn’t exactly go track her down, so it was going to remain a mystery.
At least that boy, Gawain, would be coming to visit. Gawain seemed like a bit of an odd one, and Clarkent couldn’t easily forget Peri’s words of warning, but the other boy probably just wanted a friend. And if Gawain really *did* work in the kitchen, Clarkent couldn’t blame him for wanting to get away. The cook wasn’t known for acts of kindness.
He looked up and saw the object of his thoughts walking through the stable entrance. Gawain was almost frolicking about as he came in. He appeared more comfortable in the stable than he had the day before, and when he saw Clarkent, he grinned widely.
“Hello!” Gawain said cheerfully.
“Hello,” Clarkent returned, wondering what had caused such a change in mood.
Gawain tilted his head, looking at the curry comb in Clarkent’s hand. “Grooming, huh?”
“Yeah. This cranky thing here is Penelope Grace.” Clarkent gestured at the horse with his free hand, and the horse snorted, almost as if it understood him and disapproved of his insult.
“That’s . . . Queen Ellena’s horse, isn’t it?”
“Uh huh. You can tell she used to belong to royalty--she’s more spoiled than a barrel of rotten apples.”
Gawain smiled. “She must have been nice at *some* point if the queen liked her.”
Clarkent shrugged. “I guess so.”
Gawain shifted in place, his hesitancy obvious as he tried to formulate his next sentence. “Would you . . . uh . . . like to go out into the field?”
Clarkent glanced beside him at Penelope Grace. “I have to finish grooming some horses. But Billy’s around and can help with riders, so I might have some free time in a little while . . . . ” Clarkent had done a lot of work before he started grooming Penelope Grace, and Geralph had made a surprising amount of progress on mucking out stalls, so it was likely there would be time.
“What if I help you?” suggested Gawain. “With an extra hand grooming, you’ll be done faster.”
Frowning, Clarkent asked, “Have you groomed horses before?”
Gawain’s eyes dropped down to his sleeve, and he picked an invisible piece of dust off it. “My . . . my father had a horse. He--he used to let me help groom it.”
“He must have really trusted you, as young as you would have been,” Clarkent commented. Gawain would have been seven years old or younger when he was still with his parents.
“Yeah . . . ” trailed off Gawain. He seemed uncomfortable.
Clarkent considered Gawain’s offer for a few seconds, and then he smiled. “Well, I guess if you’re willing to help me, then I accept.”
Beaming, Gawain exclaimed, “Great! This will be fun!”
And then Clarkent got out some more grooming supplies, and they set to work.
****
“Oh, come on! It’s not that bad! I volunteered to be the girl!”
“This is silly!”
Gawain put his hands on his hips. “It’s not silly--it’s fun!”
Clarkent sighed. “Fine. I just wish I didn’t have to be the bad guys.” Not that he wanted to be the girl either. He was surprised Gawain had taken the role.
“I can’t be the girl *and* the bad guys,” Gawain noted in aggravation.
“What bad guy am I going to be first?” Clarkent asked, resigned to his fate as a player in this strange game of Gawain’s.
“You’re going to be one of the soldiers of the first Barbarian King. The first Barbarian King is the father of North.”
“North?” echoed Clarkent, not completely understanding.
Gawain narrowed his eyes at Clarkent. “Don’t you remember the things I was telling you? The first Barbarian King died recently, so his son took over. People say North’s just as bad as his father was--if not worse.”
“Uh, right,” Clarkent mumbled.
“Now, the first Barbarian King killed the rightful king, as you should remember, and the queen ran away with their baby. He sent soldiers after the queen, and they captured her and killed her child. Then, the Barbarian King forced her to marry him--”
“That sounds depressing,” Clarkent interrupted. It didn’t sound like a very glorious story.
“Well, it is,” Gawain said matter-of-factly. “But it’s romantic--the queen wasted away after that, pining after her dead husband and child, and she only lived a few more years. She was killed when she tried to escape to Metropolita.”
“And you know all this . . . how?”
“I read about it in a book,” Gawain said firmly.
“A book?” Clarkent echoed. Books were expensive, so how did Gawain have access to them? “From who?”
“From--from an old man, that’s who! It doesn’t matter. Look, are you going to act this out with me or not?”
Clarkent sighed. Gawain was a boy with a vivid imagination, but he was also a bit bossy. “All right,” Clarkent conceded. “Fine--I’m a soldier.” He picked up one of the sticks he and Gawain had gathered a few minutes before, and he held it out like a sword. “Stop, queen,” he said in a voice that was suspiciously close to a monotone.
“No, that’s wrong!” Gawain exclaimed. “You have to put feeling into it! You’re a soldier who is going to be killed if he doesn’t do what his master wants. You have to *feel* the role!”
Once again, Clarkent exhaled. It was going to be a long couple of hours.
****
Sometime later, a figure scurried down the castle hallway, suddenly ducking behind an ancient suit of armor upon hearing the light padding of footsteps.
The person causing the noise passed, and the hidden figure cautiously stepped out from behind the armor, pausing to listen only for a second before continuing on.
A few minutes later, the figure was rushing into a room.
Dirty fingers removed a blue dress and a pair of shoes from a trunk at the foot of the bed, and--holding the items with a little hesitance--the figure began turning in circles. The figure’s spinning abruptly turned into a blur of color as the speed of the rotations became faster than the eye could follow. When the movement stopped, a princess with a blue dress and a very smug expression was staring down at a set of boy’s clothing. Pushing her long brown hair behind her back, she stuffed the clothes into the trunk under a blanket, where they would be hidden from immediate view. She felt immensely proud of herself and pleased with how her day had gone.
She heard a small noise that indicated Robert Bigmouth was coming out and wanting food, so she looked into a drawer and found some cheese for her small friend.
Princess Loisette knelt on the floor and held out the food, and Robert Bigmouth came rushing over in excitement. He climbed into her hands to nibble at the cheese, and she stroked his back absentmindedly, her thoughts wholly focused on something that had happened a few days before . . . . .
*~*~*~*
Flashback
*~*~*~*
“I don’t know what to do, Robert,” she sobbed. “I just don’t know what to do.”
The little mouse stared up at her, but it was obvious he didn’t know what to do either.
“I want to run away,” she told him, her chin trembling. “But I don’t know where to go.” She set the mouse down on the ground and buried her face in her hands. “I wanted Clark to be my friend. But I guess that can’t ever be.”
Robert Bigmouth seemed to realize he wasn’t going to be fed, and he returned to his hole. Loisette stood up suddenly, wiping her red eyes with her hands. She was going to go outside at least. Her father couldn’t deny her that.
She almost ran through the castle in her effort to get outside, sick of the dark walls of the place, sick of the cold hard stone, sick of her confined world . . . sick of being a princess.
And then she burst out into the sunlight, glad that at least it could warm her skin, if not her heart. She broke out into a true run, only to halt abruptly as she almost ran into someone.
“S-sorry,” she stuttered, certain the man had not been there a moment ago.
He was wearing a strange black robe with white ruffles on the sleeves and useless brass buttons down the front of it. His hair was black and curly, and his mustache extended downward to his chin. There was a slightly manic yet gleeful look in his eyes that immediately set Loisette on edge, and the staff he held in his right hand didn’t make her feel any better.
“That’s all right, Your Highness!” he said, holding his hands up. “I must say--it is *so* nice to see you.”
She frowned. “Who are you?”
He held up a finger and gave her a slight smile. “Ah! No, no. You see, bad things happen when people say my name. I’m afraid I must simply ask you to call me something else--perhaps ‘Imp’ would be best. I think I like that.”
“All right, Imp,” she said hesitantly.
His smile grew. “Great! Now, I can see from your face that you’ve been crying. Would you like to tell me what’s wrong?”
She averted her gaze to the ground and mumbled, “It was something my father said.”
Imp stepped lightly toward her with a knowing gleam in his eyes. “Hmm . . . let me think . . . . He doesn’t want you hanging out with the stableboy anymore, does he?”
She looked at him sharply. “How did you know that?”
“The walls have ears,” he told her. “Well--not literally. But if you have the power, you can spy on all sorts of things. And I happen to have that power.”
“Why are you spying on people in the castle?” she asked him, wary.
He waved his hands in the air. “No matter. What matters is that I can help you. I have something you want.”
“And what is that?”
His dark eyes danced. “Well, you want to be with the stableboy without your father finding out, don’t you?”
She hesitated and then nodded.
“Well, I can give you that!” He moved his arms in a big twirling motion in the air and then bowed, extending his hand downward. There was a flash of light, and then something appeared on the ground where his hand was pointing.
Loisette gasped. He was a magician.
Oblivious to her surprise, Imp crouched and picked up the items, holding them out for her to look at.
It was a boy’s outfit. There were brown breeches and boots, a brown hat, and a brown and white tunic with a rearing golden pegasus sewn into the corner.
“It’s a disguise,” Imp told her excitedly as he straightened up. “The hat to cover your hair--the royal symbol to indicate you work for the castle . . . Dressed as a boy, no one will ever give you a second glance! You’ll be practically invisible!”
Loisette frowned. “I could find boy clothes myself--I don’t have to take yours.”
“Ah, yes,” he acknowledged, “but they wouldn’t be like these. My clothes are magic. You see, whenever you wear these, no human will be able to recognize you as anything other than a boy. Animals are too reliant on all their senses to be fooled, of course, but that’s a small and irrelevant detail! And what’s more--the clothes will grow as you do, so you don’t even have to worry about that! They are loose on your body, which will be enough to hide your feminine curves . . . . ” His eyebrows lifted, “That is--it will whenever you actually get them.” He gave a small smile. “But even then, it won’t matter, as the magic will force everyone to recognize you as male regardless.” He leaned forward, as if about to tell her a secret. “The only catch is . . . you can’t let anybody know about the disguise.”
She stared down at the clothes. Secrecy didn’t seem like a big concession to make, but she didn’t like it. She wanted to interact with Clarkent--and maybe others--in the outfit, and the thought of never being able to reveal her identity didn’t sit well with her. What if she really liked the freedom it gave her? What if she needed to be able to tell someone her identity for some reason?
“That means you can’t tell anyone about it or take it off while anyone else is around who can see you,” Imp clarified. “You can’t try to trick the magic. The clothes can come off, but not when anyone else is in the room with you.”
She thought about it some more. It still didn’t feel right . . . .
“I don’t know,” Loisette said, concerns fluttering around in her head like disturbed bats.
“Fine, fine,” he said with a sigh. “I didn’t actually think you would take them that easily--but you can’t blame me for trying!” He clutched the clothes to his chest with one hand and tilted his head. “I’ll let you in on a little secret. Much as it makes me roll my eyes to admit it, magic has one weakness.”
Loisette looked at him in interest. “And what’s that?”
As he’d noted, Imp was rolling his eyes as he told her the answer: “Love.”
“Love?” she echoed.
“Yes,” he said, twirling his free hand in the air. “It may sound a bit sappy, but love can break all sorts of spells in all sorts of ways.”
“And what would love do with this . . . disguise?”
“When--and only when--your true love proves himself willing to give up everything for you, then he will see you as you truly are, and the magic surrounding the clothes will disappear completely.” Imp jiggled the clothes in his hand. “And if you put these on, that will make you a princess and a cross-dresser all wrapped up in one.” He seemed to find something very amusing about that.
Loisette squinted at him in suspicion, a little annoyed. “I don’t love anyone. Why should this make me feel better about accepting this?”
Imp exhaled loudly. Then he spoke in exasperation: “Surely the only person who it would ever be important for you to know your identity is your true love!”
She considered what he had told her. Would there really be a reason to tell someone about her disguise? A disguise would allow her freedom. Would she ever need to let anyone know the truth about it?
Imp did make a valid point--if there ever was someone who *would* need to know the truth, it would be her one true love. And she could always stop using the disguise at any time.
“What’s in it for you?” she asked him, the thought suddenly occurring to her.
He smiled. “I’m a mischief-maker. And the king’s daughter running around disguised as a boy sounds like the greatest kind of mischief, don’t you think?”
She looked at him warily. He *did* seem like the type of person who liked mischief, but she didn’t feel that was all to the story. “Is there anything else about these clothes that you aren’t telling me?”
“Well--there is one really cool part that I left out.” Imp showed gleaming white teeth. “To get into the clothes, you have to spin into them!”
“Spin into them?” she echoed, skepticism coloring her voice.
He nodded with glee. “You just hold them in your hands and make one spin, and then the magic will exchange the clothes you are wearing with these. It’ll be so fast that no one can see it!” He looked smug with himself. “To make the exchange back into your original clothes, just hold your original clothes and spin twice.”
She crossed her arms. “And that’s all I need to know about these?”
“Yep. All the cards that concern you are now on the table.” He held the clothes out and shook them lightly. “Now, do you want these or not?”
Loisette stared at the clothes for a few seconds and then suddenly snatched them. “I do.”
“Great!” he said with a laugh that was almost a cackle. “I’ll be watching out for you. Try to do as many dangerous things as possible! The riskier, the better!”
Letting out a gleeful chuckle, he threw some powder on the ground and vanished in a puff of smoke.
Startled, Loisette looked at the spot he had vacated. Then she turned her eyes back down to the clothes. Though she didn’t quite like the man who had just left her, these clothes had suddenly become very important to her. They were her key to freedom.
Hugging them to her chest, she hurried back inside the castle. She was going to put them on and go see Clarkent. And that thought made her very happy.
Nobody would be able to say that the princess had been hanging out with a stableboy--because it wouldn’t be the princess. To everyone else, it would a boy no one had ever seen or heard from . . . a boy no one cared about.
But she cared. She cared because that boy she was going to become was her ticket to freedom. Even if it was just for an hour or two a day--and she knew it couldn’t be much more than that--it would give her a second life.
*~*~*~*
End Flashback
*~*~*~*
Loisette had almost fallen to pieces when Clarkent had asked her boy self for a name. But then--like a ray of light illuminating the proper path to take--the story of Gawain had come back to her, and she had latched on to it. She felt it had served her well. It made her feel more adventurous, more daring, more . . . willing to take risks. Suddenly, she could do more than just ride horses with the stableboy. A whole new world had opened to her. There was nothing she couldn’t do.
She was smiling and recalling the adventure she and Clarkent had played out in the field earlier when there was a knock on the door. She hurried over to the door and opened it, only for her spirits to abruptly plummet as she realized something she had forgotten.
Aliss was standing there, and with her was the Noblewoman that was going to be Loisette’s new lady-in-waiting.
The Noblewoman was wearing a dress that showed a lot more of her chest than was strictly proper, and her confidence level was high if the way she held her head up high despite the newness of her surroundings was any indication. She looked to be perhaps a few years older than Loisette.
“Princess,” Aliss began slowly after curtseying, “this is Lady Catherine. She will be your new lady-in-waiting.”
The princess stared at the other girl, her heart suddenly heavy.
“Your Highness,” Catherine greeted coolly with a small curtsey.
“Lady Catherine,” Loisette returned, her voice just as flat. She could already tell that she wasn’t going to get along very well with Catherine. And judging by the haughty expression on her new lady-in-waiting’s face, Catherine’s thoughts were in sync with her own.
What a rotten ending to what had been a great day.
