Tuesdays at the Castle: Chapters 1–5

Of course, the king had to admit that there was usually some strange logic to the Castle’s movements. The Ambassador of Bendeswe, for instance, had turned out to be a spy, and the sheep...well, that had all been mere whim; but there was still logic to be found if you looked hard enough.

Celie watched a trunk the size of a coffin being carried out by two burly footmen and loaded into the luggage cart that waited beside the carriage.

She was tall, and when she stood shoulder to shoulder with Rolf their resemblance to the king and queen was both striking and intimidating.

Rolf and Lilah were there, and the steward and others of the Castle staff.

It was narrow, and she pushed it open listlessly, certain that it would just prove to be a small cupboard, and then she would have to hurry even faster to catch her parents.

She had been hanging around the throne room, and their private chambers, all morning, hoping that if she got in the way often enough, they would relent and take her along.

Tall and slender and stately, with her long dark hair pinned up with gold combs, she wore a travel dress of soft green that set off her eyes.

They knew what that meant: Lilah would act queenly and matronly by turns, and order them to eat in the summer dining hall in full court dress every night.

But she’d also admonish them constantly to eat their vegetables and not slurp their soup.

Their parents had left on a Thursday, and other than Celie’s discovery of the little turret with the spyglasses at each window, the Castle hadn’t done much.

The next Tuesday had been fourteen-year-old Rolf's first day hearing petitions, and there had not been any problems of a Castle-based nature. On the other hand, all the villagers, farmers, and shepherds from miles around had come to present land disputes and water disputes and family grievances, hoping that Rolf would rule in their favor out of naiveté.

The next Tuesday had been fourteen-year-old Rolf's first day hearing petitions, and there had not been any problems of a Castle-based nature. On the other hand, all the villagers, farmers, and shepherds from miles around had come to present land disputes and water disputes and family grievances, hoping that Rolf would rule in their favor out of naiveté.

Some people brought out issues that King Glower had already ruled on, slyly looking for a different outcome, and even tried to invent disasters (floods, goat pox epidemics) so that the Crown would give them money in recompense.

He knew that Delcoe Ross’s goats were often thin and sickly, but that was because Delcoe Ross was a skinflint and barely fed them enough to keep them alive.

Pogue was easily the handsomest young man in Glower Valley, which was presumably why he ended up in so many fights. All he had to do was look at a girl, and she would completely forget her beau and run after Pogue.

She clambered out from under the throne, her bundle of papers in hand.

Celie had kept the master copy to add to her own atlas, and on her way to her room she began to muse about how many pages it might be when it was finally completed.

She just hoped that she wasn’t abusing his trust now, as she guided him to the foot of the winding stair that led to the Spyglass Tower, as Celie had dubbed it in her head.

Celie’s father, like every other King Glower, was given the Griffin Ring at his coronation.

“Nevertheless, we’ll send a search party,” the Emissary to Foreign Lands said in a brisk voice.

“If it is true they are dead, then it will be good if they can bring back the bodies of our lamented King Glower the Seventy-ninth and his queen.”

“I will be sending a full complement of soldiers with Sergeant Avery, as soon as possible, to look for my father and mother, but also to hunt down—”

“Let us not mar this sad occasion with talk of revenge. This can only lead to more tragedy.”

Rolf looked at him for a moment in shock, then he stepped down off the dais and nodded curtly to Pogue, who bowed and moved back.

Courtiers and commoners alike filed through the Castle with black armbands to bow and curtsy and murmur condolences to Celie and Rolf and Lilah, who refused to accept them.

Celie was growing so fast that her funeral gown couldn’t be fastened up at all, and as it was, the gray gown was an inch too short and chafed under her arms.

All the Councilors were clustered around, whispering to one another and eyeing Rolf, and there were two couriers from neighboring countries standing before the dais, looking patient.

She knew if anyone saw her, she would probably be sent out, so she sidled along the wall to where Lilah was standing with Pogue Parry.

In the days since their parents had been attacked, Pogue had become the royal family’s staunchest ally.

Celie nodded politely to both men, who bowed. The Vhervhish ambassador was rather perfunctory about it, but the man from Grath did so with many flourishes and sidelong looks, as though checking to see who was watching.

They were both leaning forward, eager to hear what she had to say. The Vhervhish ambassador had a faint sneer on his face, though, and the Grathian’s eyes were narrowed with speculation.

They did have a large number of cousins, and there were sure to be other countries sending delegations, anxious to hear the outcome of Sergeant Avery’s search.

She had a little inkling that something about the two ambassadors had not been quite right, but she wasn’t sure what.

He had encountered the Castle’s foibles and changes many times, of course, but was not half as skilled at navigating them as the royal family.

“Or they don’t really believe it, or they want the Castle to change its mind. The Vhervhish will probably try to take it by force, if they try at all, and the Grathians by guile.”