A Well-Timed Enchantment (15 page)

She must have paled or looked faint, for Sir Henri took her arm. "Are you all right, my dear?"

"That might do it," she told Algernon. "I think that's it."

"The bishop's not an evil man," the wizard said.

"It makes no difference. I know because, you see, the fair folk put a spell on Oliver so he could help me. When we got the watch away from you, I touched it, and Oliver felt..."

"A shifting," Oliver explained, his expression daring anyone to ask what the spell was.

No one did.

Algernon sighed. "I'm sorry," he said. He held the watch up by its strap and let it dangle in the sunlight that came through the window, and for one last moment Deanna doubted him and thought,
Oh, no! What idea have I put into his head?

But then he held the watch out to her. "If it's that important, you'd better take it back," he said.

Deanna took the watch quickly, before Algernon could change his mind, and fastened it around her wrist: 9:26, according to Mickey.

The first thing she did was glance at Oliver to make sure he didn't turn back into a cat then and there.

He didn't.

But he shuddered, wincing as though in pain. In a moment he had recovered.
Hell be okay,
she thought. After all, he'd started out as a cat and that was the natural thing for him to be. It was just that she'd gotten used to him being a person.
She swallowed hard. He was looking at her with those big green eyes, still something of pain in them. And possibly there was fear there, too. It was hard to say.

Algernon stood. "Now what we have to do is get you back to the elves' clearing—to that temporal hole of yours—before something else changes which you have to fix. That was," he added as she got to her feet, "where I was planning to take you all along."

"I'm sorry for what I assumed about you," Deanna said, extending her hand in apology. "I'm new at all this and I've been making one mistake after—" He kissed her hand and she felt her face grow warm. She'd never get used to that.

Oliver stood abruptly. Starting for the door, he walked between them, forcing the wizard to re-lease her hand.

"Well, I'm glad that had a happy ending," Sir Henri said. "You find what you came for, everyone ends up friends, Baylen and I get to go to the tournament—"

He was interrupted by a knock on the door. His steward, Ransom, stuck his head in. "The bishop's here," he announced, "waiting in the Hall."

Algernon exhaled loudly.

Oh, no. Why did things here never stay simple for more than two seconds at a time?

"I've got to get back by midday," she told them.

Sir Henri said to Algernon, "He's going to need a proper welcome from both of us, or he'll want to know why."

"I'll delay him a bit," Algernon offered. "You get one of the boys to take Deanna and Oliver to the forest."

"Baylen," Deanna said quickly. Weasel that he was, he was safer than Leonard.

"Makes no difference," Algernon said. (Ha! Not for him!)

"My sword," Oliver reminded him. "My dagger."

Algernon groaned. "They'll have been brought to the storeroom. The guard will never let you pass."

"Here, take this." Sir Henri pulled a signet ring from his finger. "Give it to the guard on duty," he told Oliver, "and he'll return your weapons. Deanna, you go to the stable and tell the lad there to prepare horses for you, Oliver, and Baylen." He kissed her hand.

She stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. "Thank you for all your help."

"Well—" He looked as embarrassed as she had felt. "Things will certainly seem quiet without
you. We'll all miss you both." He clapped Oliver on the shoulder. "Good luck to the two of you." He swept out of the room with his brother. "I wonder if the bishop is going to Wharton's tourney?" she heard him say to Algernon. And then they were gone.

And she was alone with Oliver.

"Are you all right?" she asked.

He was leaning against the doorway, looking as sick as last night when he'd eaten ... whatever it was that he'd eaten. "It's starting," he said, though no change was evident.

"Good," she said. Then, reading reproach in his eyes, she tried to explain: "I mean, that shows Algernon can be trusted. That things are going..." Her voice got softer, all by itself. "...the way they should be."

He turned and left without a word.

Deanna wiped her sweaty palms on her dress.
Irresponsible,
Algernon had called the fair folk. He didn't know the half of it. Darn them. She gave a great sniff. Hay fever starting in early. Just what she needed.

She took one step into the corridor and ran into the tall, skinny goosegirl.

"Oh, miss," the girl said, "Lady Marguerite's been asking up and down for you."

Deanna covered the watch with her right hand, aware of the minutes passing by. "Tell her good-bye for me, will you? My quest—"

The girl took hold of her arm as she tried to ease by. "Oh, please, miss! She's been so upset since last night. She thought you'd left without telling her. Then when I told her the two of you were in the courtyard and that you'd gone to Sir Henri's room, she sent me to get you. Please. Your young man, he wouldn't stop at all. The lady, she'll be heartbroken if I have to tell her that"

Deanna sighed and restrained herself from sneaking a peek at her watch. After all, Oliver had to go all the way to the storeroom to get back his sword and knife, and Sir Henri had to explain the situation to Baylen. Surely she had a minute or two to spare. Algernon could handle the bishop at least that long. "All right," she said.

The goosegirl knocked on Lady Marguerite's door and Deanna walked in.

The room was just barely lit and Lady Marguerite was lying on her bed, the same as the first time Deanna had been here. But not exactly the same. Lady Marguerite had on her floppy sun hat and she stood when she saw Deanna. It was only then that Deanna noticed she was dressed entirely in her outdoor gear: high-necked, long sleeved gown, gloves. She even wore riding boots. "Deanna, dear," she said, "I'm so relieved, I was so afraid you'd gone."

"I wouldn't have left without saying good-bye," Deanna said. "Well, good-bye."

"I knew it: your quest calls you."

"Exactly. But I wanted to thank you. You've been so kind, so helpful."

"It was nothing. Here, do you think you can carry this—" She reached under her bed and pulled out a huge cloth satchel that looked rather like an overnight bag. "Or shall I call in some of the lads?"

"Ahmmm..." Deanna said.

Lady Marguerite picked up a second bag. "Personally, I think we can manage," she said.

"Ahmmm..." Deanna said.

"No need for us to call more attention to ourselves than we must."

"Ahmmm..." Deanna said.

"What is it?" Lady Marguerite asked. "Is something wrong?"

"I ... I..." Deanna licked her lips, swallowed hard, and tried again. "We?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"We?"

"Yes, we. Us. Together. I'm coming along with you. On your quest You, me, and Oliver. It'll be such fun."

"Lady Marguerite ... I don't know what to say."

"Well then, say you'll carry the bag, and let's get going." She was beginning to sound impatient.

"What about your family?"

She shrugged. "It'll take them a fortnight to even notice I've gone."

"That's not true—"

"Deanna, please. I hate to say this, but really that's none of your business."

"But," Deanna said, "but—"

"Perhaps I should send for the lads after all."

"Lady Marguerite, please listen to me. You can't come with us."

"Well."
Now she'd done it. Deanna could tell. "I really don't think that's your decision. At least not entirely. How about if we talk to young Oliver and see what he has to say?"

Deanna tried to calm her down again, to get the ice out of her voice. "You don't understand. We're not coming back here. Ever. Where we're going, it's a different world entirely."

"I do understand."

"But you don't understand about Oliver."
She hadn't wanted to say that, to hurt Lady Marguerite's feelings, to sting her pride.

But then Lady Marguerite said, "Please don't get impertinent, Lady Deanna. I know you're from Bretagne and all, but—"

"Lady Marguerite, he's not what he seems."

"What he seems, my dear—"

"He's a cat."

"He's...?" Lady Marguerite laughed.

Deanna just stood there and watched.

Lady Marguerite's laughter petered off. "No, he's not," she said, very quietly.

"I'm sorry. But think about it. Think about what you've seen, what you've heard."

"No, he's not," Lady Marguerite repeated. But she sat heavily on the bed. Slowly, she untied her sun hat. She took it off and stared dully at it. "He's not." She looked up at Deanna.

"I'm sorry. He's under a spell. When we get back home, he'll be a cat again. I should have told you before."

Lady Marguerite sniffled. "Well," she said. "My goodness."

Deanna sat next to her and put her arm around her shoulders. "I'm sure he's very fond of you, in his own way. He'll miss you, I'm certain. Here—" She stood up. "—let me get you a handkerchief."

"No, that's all right." Lady Marguerite gave another dainty sniffle and started to remove her gloves. "I'm not going to cry."

"Oh," said Deanna. "Well. Good."

"I never cry." She unlaced her boots. "It's bad for the complexion. Leaves one all damp and red and puffy. Causes wrinkles around the eyes. It's even worse for the face than laughing." She slipped her feet under the covers, without having taken off her dress. "I never laugh if I can help it," she said coolly. "And I never cry at all."

"I see," Deanna said.

"Have a good quest," Lady Marguerite said, not even looking at her, "You and What's-his-name."

"Thank you," Deanna said, backing away. "Good-bye."

Lady Marguerite removed two spoons from her night table and placed them over her eyes.

Deanna hesitated, but then closed the door quietly.

In the hallway, the goosegirl had gone, busy about whatever her morning tasks were. However, Deanna almost collided with another servant, who was coming out of Baylen's room. That girl was carrying a water bucket. When Deanna glanced in the room, she saw Leonard sitting on the edge of his brother's bed, a fur skin wrapped
around his shoulders, his feet once again in a bucket of steaming water. He looked up at that same moment and saw her.

"Leonard," she said.

"A-a-
choo!
" His sneeze shook his whole body, and water slopped out of the bucket onto the floor.

"Leonard—"

He snorted and turned his back to her.

She sighed. Well, perhaps that was all for the best.

She went down the stairs, around the back way to avoid the Great Hall, and into the courtyard. The pigman was there, walking the pigs.

She went up to him and said, "Thank you for your help."

"Well," he answered, "pigs, they like music. I whistle to them every day and they get used to things real fast, pigs do. They connect music with slops in the evening and walk time in the morning. They thought the wizard, there, was going to lead them around the courtyard, they did. And they was ready."

Algernon wouldn't have liked to hear that "Yes, but you encouraged them. I hope you don't get into trouble."

The little man scuffed his feet in the dirt, bringing a flurry of feathers left over from the earlier scuffle and a scowl from the exhausted-looking Torrance who was still chasing after them. "Well, Sir Henri, he's a good man. You trust him, Lady, he won't lead you far wrong."

She showed him the watch. "Algernon's not so bad, either," she said.

The pigman's eyes widened, but then he gave a shrug as though to indicate he shouldn't have been surprised. "Well, pigs always kind of took to him even before this morning. And pigs, they usually know."

Deanna curtsied and he bowed, slapping his dusty hat against his dusty pants leg.

Coughing, she went to the stable to see if Baylen and Oliver were there yet.

Oliver had made it there before her, but he hadn't gone in. He was half sitting, half crouching near the entrance, his arms around his knees, his back against the wall, which seemed made of little more than woven hay with a few wooden beams for support. If he was trying to make himself small and pathetic, he was doing a fine job of it He didn't look up as she approached, and she stopped beside him.

"Are you all right?" she asked.

He nodded, never turning toward her.

"They getting the horses ready?" She was beginning to worry about the bishop and what could happen if they didn't get out of here fast enough. Too close to fail now.

He shrugged.

"Well, did you tell them?"

"No," he said.

"Why not?"

"Sir Henri told you to."

"Well then, I guess they aren't getting the horses ready." She stood up, annoyed. Then she stooped down again. "Oliver." She put her hand on his arm. "What's—"

He jerked away from her touch and whipped around to glare at her. His eyes were full of pain and reproach.

And were slit-pupiled, like a cat's.

He must have seen from her face that the transformation was becoming visible. He bit off whatever he had been about to say and turned his back to her again.

"Oh, Oliver," she said, sitting in the dirt beside him. She put her arm around him. He didn't like it, she could tell by the way his back and shoulders tensed. "Oliver, I'm sorry." Was she going to spend the rest of her life apologizing for things that were beyond her control? "If there was anything I could do, you know I would."

Did he feel what she felt? Were his concerns and needs and hopes the same as hers? Or was she superimposing her wishes onto him, making a problem where none—or one totally alien to her perspective—existed?

He gave her a sidelong glance and said nothing.

"Oliver," she said, shaking him. "What is it?" And, oh how this hurt: "You're a cat."

"I know that." He rested his chin on his arms.

"Do you want to talk about it?"