“Where else then, if not here?” Franco said.
Audible gasps swept through the small gathering, passed from one to another around the circle.
“You’ve heard about the old woman Ferrelli?” Franco said.
“No, what?”
“They’ve taken her.”
“Who has taken her?”
Franco munched at his bread. “Them, of course. The King’s Men.”
“No!”
“Not the Signora!”
“But why?”
Franco leaned forward, conspiratorially. “I hear she might be one of the thieves.”
“No!”
“Never!”
“Impossible!”
Franco chomped into his bread. “I do not know if it is true. It is what I hear, that’s all I can say.”
“But where has she been taken?”
Franco chewed his bread slowly, swallowed, and leaned even farther forward, so that his great bulk was precariously perched on the small stool. “Where else?” he said. “To the dungeon. The castle dungeon.”
“No!”
“Never!”
“Is there a dungeon at the castle?”
Franco shrugged. “Isn’t there a dungeon at every castle?”
Pia and Enzio left the market and slowly made their way home.
“The Signora?” Enzio said. “You think she’s a thief?”
“No. Can’t be so. But then—”
“What?”
Pia stopped to tap her foot in a puddle. The water soaked through her straw sandal as she stared at the water. “She is mysterious, you agree?”
Enzio leaned down to retrieve a round pebble from the puddle. “Spooky, too.”
“But why would she give us these?” Pia tapped at the corno beneath her smock.
Enzio examined the pebble, black from the water, with a single sparkling fleck embedded in one side. “Maybe she stole them. Maybe she had to get rid of them.”
Pia reached for the sack at her side. “Then—ack— then we have more stolen things. I don’t like it.”
Nearing Pangini’s cottage, they heard deep voices. Outside stood two King’s Men, talking to an old man. Spotting Pia and Enzio, the old man shook his head vigorously and said loudly, “No, I don’t know where Pangini is, or the children.”
“No need to shout, old man.”
“I am sorry, I do not hear so good, and so I talk loud.”
Pia and Enzio backed away, and they might have escaped entirely had they not retreated directly into the path of two more King’s Men.
Chapter Thirty
Kidnapped
The King’s Men swooped up Pia and Enzio in the lane outside Master Pangini’s hut and placed them high up on horses, a King’s Man grasping each child as they raced through the village. Pia trembled as she caught the look on Enzio’s face: pure terror. She was not able to comfort him, either in look or word, so terrified was she, too. She was certain they were being taken to the dungeon, certain they would be accused of being the thieves—and why not? At her waist was the sack which held the leather pouch.
On that terrifying ride through the village and over the bridge across the winding Winono River and up the hillside toward the towering castle, she was certain, too, that it was Signora Ferrelli who had betrayed them. Pia wished she had not sought her out, wished she had never heard of the terrible woman. Her heart beat wildly, as if it were straining to escape and fly off into the sky. She wished she could release the sack, drop it, but how could she do so without the King’s Men noticing? They were doomed. Doomed.
On they rode, the horses’ hooves pounding loudly, the smell of their sweat rising from their straining bodies, and the grasp of a King’s Man tightly wound around each child, not, Pia knew, for protection, but so the King’s Men would keep their bounty—the thieves!—firmly in their grasp. They passed through the mist hovering over the river and burst into sunlit meadows and saw—the closest Pia and Enzio had ever been to it—the enormous Castle Corona looming ahead, coming closer and closer, and they were sure they were riding to their deaths.
When the King’s Men surged through the gate in the wall that encircled the castle and its grounds, Pia felt she was shrinking, so vast were the walls through which they entered, so grand was the hillside enclosed by the walls, so tall was the castle. She could barely breathe.
The King’s Men halted beside a stone building, from which an old, bent man emerged. “These the ones?” asked a King’s Man. The old man nodded, and the King’s Men rode on, skirting lush gardens bustling with servants and guards. A chicken flapping noisily was snatched up by the neck and flung over the shoulder of a man carrying a hatchet. Catching Enzio’s eye, Pia rubbed her throat and smiled weakly, in a vain attempt to reassure him.
The King’s Men dismounted, pulling Enzio and Pia roughly from the horses, and led them through a tall entryway, a vast stone arch, beyond which was another courtyard. Enzio and Pia gaped. It looked like a luxurious miniature village, with swept paths and a vast circle of buildings all joined together by the castle walls rising high overhead. Servants darted here and there, in and out of dark entries. Midway up one side, gold-and-red flags flew above balconies draped with trailing flowers.
“To the King!” a King’s Man shouted as he dragged Pia past servants who had stopped to observe the two scruffy children being pulled along. Pia strained to look back at Enzio. He looked so frightened. She pulled her arm loose from the King’s Man and rushed to her brother, hugging him tightly, clinging to him.
“Come on, come on, move along!”
They were shoved and dragged through a long, dark hall and up stone steps to a dark, massive wooden door studded with iron. One of the King’s Men disappeared inside, then returned several minutes later for Enzio and Pia.
“Go on, then, stand at the back.”
They were pushed through the door and into a vast chamber with gleaming marble floors and tall, narrow windows draped with masses of rich cloth, and there, at the far end, on a raised platform were two thrones, and on them sat the King and Queen.
Enzio thought he might be sick, right there on the marble floor, so shocked was he to be in the presence of the King and Queen. Pia’s spirits, however, lifted. “The King!” she whispered. “The Queen!”
“Stand here,” ordered a King’s Man, as he marched up to the thrones. Pia and Enzio could hear the buzz of his words but could not make out what he said. They saw the King’s Man step aside as the King and Queen observed them. The King mumbled something, and the King’s Man returned to where the children were standing.
“Follow me,” he ordered, leading them out of the chamber.
Pia’s anger flared. “He should at least have spoken with us!”
One of the King’s Men chuckled. “Spoken? With you?”
“Yes,” she said. “With us. He shouldn’t send us to the dungeon without a word!”
“Ha! The dungeon! Ha, ha, ha!” The other King’s Men joined him in his hearty laughter. “Ha, ha, ha!”
“What amuses you so?” Pia demanded.
The King’s Man held her arm tightly. “And who are you, child, to be talking so freely with the King’s Men?”
“I am Pia, and I want to go home.”
“Oh, I know your name, child.” To the other men, he said, “Did you hear that? She wants to go home, to that hovel with the gruff Pangini!”
The men all laughed. “Ho!” one of the men said. “Ho, that’s good, that one. Home to the hovel of the gruff Pangini!”
“Don’t scoff at my sister,” Enzio exploded. “We do want to go home.”
“Ha, ha, ha. Ha, ha, ha.” The men laughed on and on as they ushered the children down the stone steps and across the courtyard.
Just before entering a darkened doorway, Enzio called to Pia. “There!”
Pia followed his glance. Crossing the courtyard was Signora Ferrelli with her two cats.
In a Towering Castle…
Chapter Thirty-o
ne
The New Hermit
Some people relish change, welcoming the excitement it brings to otherwise predictable days. Others, however, are unsettled by change, unable to relinquish safe and familiar habits. Prince Gianni, heir to the throne, was one of the former, delighted that there were new people about, beyond the usual string of visiting diplomats and tiresome tutors.
His mother’s new hermit was residing in the castle for a few days while her dwelling, the storehouse at the end of the hornbeam tunnel, was being readied. What a curious woman: lean and wrinkled, with eyes that seemed to take in everything at once—from a person’s clothing and stature and even, somehow, his thoughts, to the light, the marble floors, the rich tapestries. The new hermit was followed everywhere by her two cats, a plump calico and a mysterious black one. The black one crept along in a stately way, a king among cats.
On one of these mornings when the new hermit was residing in the castle, the Prince saw her in the hall as he left the breakfast chamber. The calico cat was winding in and out between the old woman’s ankles, mewing. The black one sat beside her. The hermit had stopped one of the servants, who was carrying a silver tray laden with leftover food.
“What’s this?” the hermit said. “Pheasant eggs? Pork? Where will it go now?”
“Shh,” the servant girl said, “the Prince will hear you.”
“So? So he hears me.” The old woman took a slice of pork from the tray and popped it into her mouth. “Mmm, tasty.”
The servant girl flushed. “Prince Gianni, heir to the throne, I am so sorry, I didn’t—I couldn’t—”
Prince Gianni smiled benevolently. “Let her have as much food as she likes.” He expected the hermit to thank him profusely, but she did not. She reached for a pheasant egg and tucked it into her mouth. “Mmm!”
The Prince longed to offer a poetic image, to impress the hermit. “A pheasant egg is like a—a—” His mind wobbled, searching for the right word. A stone? A cloud? A pear?
The hermit swallowed and finished the Prince’s sentence, bluntly. “It’s like a chicken egg.”
Prince Vito emerged from the breakfast chamber as the hermit reached for another egg. “You there!” he bellowed. “Stop that!”
The hermit did not stop. The black cat at her side put one paw forward, preparing to pounce.
The servant girl quivered, rattling the dishes on the tray. “I am so sorry, Prince Vito, I—”
“Stop! Do you hear me?”
“Vito,” his brother said, “I have given the hermit permission to eat.”
“Why did you do that?”
Prince Gianni straightened his back, unconsciously adopting a kingly stance. “Because,” he replied, “I wanted to.”
“Permission?” the hermit said. “I have never before expected permission to eat.”
Prince Vito glared. “You are in the Castle Corona now, and you must—”
Prince Gianni put a hand on his brother’s shoulder, restraining him. “I will take care of this, Vito.”
As Prince Vito stomped off, Princess Fabrizia emerged, followed by her Lady-in-Waiting, who was brushing crumbs from the Princess’s gown. Regarding the hermit’s tattered black dress, the Princess said to her brother, “Is that what she is going to wear?” She spoke as if the hermit were invisible. “And is she not going to comb her hair?”
The old woman swallowed the remains of a sweet roll and said, “These are my clothes. They have served me fine these many years. And this”—she reached up to pat her hair—“I am glad I have hair on my head to keep it warm, and whether it be smooth or tangled is no matter to me.” She plucked the last remaining pheasant egg from the tray and slipped it into the mouth of the calico cat.
The King emerged next. He was not one who enjoyed change. It irritated him. He was glad that the Queen now had her own hermit and was so happy as a result, but he wished the old hermit woman would be out of his sight, for she flustered him. She was so unlike his own silent, calm hermit. This woman, this hermit, was a prickly presence, speaking whenever and whatever she liked.
The King regarded his son and daughter, the servant girl, and the hermit. Preferring to avoid the hermit altogether, he mumbled, “Have to—matters to attend—hrmph—” and, giving the group a wide berth, he strode down the hall in a kingly and preoccupied manner.
The Queen, last to leave the breakfast chamber, was thrilled to see her hermit. “Oh, hermit!” she gushed, rushing to the old woman’s side. “Today your lodgings will be ready. I am so eager to show you!” She waved her hand at her children and the servant girl, dismissing them, and, taking the hermit’s elbow, led her away.
Chapter Thirty-two
The Tasters
Even more intriguing to Prince Gianni than the new hermit were the tasters, who had been brought to the castle shortly after the Queen’s hermit had arrived. Prince Gianni did not understand the need for tasters, but then he had not been particularly attentive when his father, the King, had mumbled an explanation for their presence. All Prince Gianni knew was that the sole duty of these tasters was to taste the food of the royal family before they ate it. It sounded absurd to the Prince, but he was not one to dwell on such things.
During the King’s last visit to his hermit, the hermit had listened silently to the King’s explanation of the inventory results and the new thief-in-the-night and the Count’s tale of the poisoned Malpezzi and the suggestion for a taster. To the account of the inventory results, the hermit had replied, after considering the information, “When one has nothing, nothing disappears.”
“Mm, wise,” the King had said. He did not know how this affected his own dilemma, with the missing cow and cabbages and whatnot, but it comforted him nonetheless.
To the account of the new thief in the night, the hermit said, “The mouse may say to the nut, ‘In time, I will open you.’”
“Oh,” said the King. “Oh. Mm.” He tried to envision a mouse talking to a nut. He wondered what the hermit’s words meant. In time I will open you. The King nodded sagely, disguising his bewilderment. These were surely wise words, he thought, so wise that he would need some time to understand them.
To the King’s account of the tale of the poisoned Malpezzi and the need for a taster, the hermit said, “He who sleeps catches no fish.”
“Why, yes, yes, mm.” The King could not fathom what these words meant. He who sleeps catches no fish? Well, of course, if one is sleeping one can’t be catching fish, but what on earth did the hermit mean? Did he mean the King shouldn’t sleep? Did he mean the King should go fishing? It was extremely perplexing.
As the King sat there trying to make sense of the hermit’s words, he spied a black lump on the window ledge. Fearing it might be a snake, the King pointed to the object. “That—that—what is that?”
“Someone must have dropped it. I found it outside.”
“It’s not—it’s not—a snake, then?”
“No, it is not a snake.”
“It looks like—on closer inspection—” The King stood and approached the object with some caution. “Why, it is the Wordsmith’s bag, is it not?” He touched the velvet bag, and although he wanted to lift it and even peer inside, he thought he shouldn’t, that this would not be kingly.
The hermit remained seated on the floor. “Is it?”
“Yes, I think it is,” replied the King. He was not sure what to do. Should he sit again, in case the hermit had more wisdom to offer? Should he offer to return the pouch to the Wordsmith? The King was reluctant to leave the calm hermitage. Wait, he thought. I am the King. I can do whatever I please! And I am no errand boy. Let someone else return that pouch. And so he sat. “You will sort that out, the Wordsmith’s bag, getting it back to him?”
The hermit nodded.
“And the taster? What was that you said? About the fish?”
“He who sleeps catches no fish.”
“Oh. Yes. Enormously wise. But do you think—would it be wise—should I acquire a taster?”
/> The hermit put his hands together, as if he were praying, lifted his hands to his lips, and closed his eyes. He sat in silence like that for several minutes, while the King tried his best to remain still. At last the hermit said, “Two.”
The King was not sure he had heard correctly. “Two or too or to?”
“Two.”
The King felt a throbbing in his head, behind his left eye. “To—too—two—?”
“Two tasters.”
“Oh. I see. Two. Two tasters?” The King, at first relieved that he at last understood the hermit, was then stumped. “But why two?”
“Two are better than one,” the hermit replied.
“Ah, of course.”
The hermit placed his hands calmly on his knees. “Sire, would you like me to make the arrangements?”
“Yes! Why, that would be—yes, by all means.”
The King left the hermitage feeling he was free of burdens. Of course, he would have to contemplate the hermit’s words about the mouse and the nut and the sleeping person who catches no fish and all that, but at least the taster problem was resolved. It was only when the King was back in the castle that he wondered, but only briefly, how the hermit would make these arrangements. As far as the King knew, he was the only one the hermit ever spoke with. The King did not like the idea that his hermit would be speaking with someone else. Who would that be?
These thoughts evaporated when he reached his chamber and saw the empty bed which awaited him. A nap! He needed a nap.
Chapter Thirty-three
Duty Calls
When Pia and Enzio first met the Mistress of Food in the hot and dimly lit kitchen, they were understandably confused. They had been abruptly kidnapped from their village and hurried to the castle, fearing for their lives all the while, roughly shoved here and there, and, just before meeting the Mistress of Food, they had seen Signora Ferrelli crossing the castle courtyard. The Signora was not in a dungeon; she was not in chains. In fact, she seemed to be wandering freely.