“I don’t think you can see it from the outside,” Celie said, though it dawned on her that she hadn’t tried to look. “You shouldn’t have been able to come into my room, either. Bran put a spell on the door to turn people away.”
“Huh. Maybe it didn’t work because Bran is the one who sent me.”
“I suppose,” Celie said. “Or maybe the Castle is okay with people finding out about Rufus now.”
She looked around hopefully. The door at the top of the stairs swung shut, and she sighed.
“I guess not.”
Pogue looked alarmed. “Did the Castle just slam that door?”
“Yes,” Celie grumped. “It gets upset if I even hint about telling someone.”
“I’ve never actually seen the Castle do something …” Pogue’s voice trailed away. “Well, I suppose, with Khelsh and all that. But I have never seen it make something move.” He was now looking at the door with the same fixation that he’d given Rufus.
“It’s been very loud about what it wants and doesn’t want me to do with Rufus,” Celie said absently.
She had picked up the other books. In addition to the bestiary, there was a book of poetry and one of history. She remembered the poet that Wizard Arkwright had mentioned the night before, but couldn’t think of the name. It had been a foreign name, certainly not one from Sleyne.
“Pogue, what do you think of Wizard Arkwright?” Celie asked.
“He’s clearly very skilled, and very respected,” Pogue said, but he was scowling despite his diplomatic tone.
“You don’t like him, either?”
“No,” Pogue said, shaking his head. “No, I don’t. He’s not here to help Bran, he’s here to check up on him, and I don’t know if the Council of Wizards knows it.”
“Why would he want to check up on Bran, then?” Celie was mystified. “Bran hasn’t done anything wrong. He hasn’t even been Royal Wizard long enough to do … anything.”
She felt disloyal saying it, but it was true. Bran mostly read books, and occasionally made up healing potions for people in the Castle or the village who needed something stronger than the local physician could provide.
“Maybe Arkwright wants to be the Royal Wizard,” Pogue said, shrugging. “Or maybe he wants to be the one to find out all the secrets of mysterious Castle Glower. It’s too early to tell.”
“What will we do?” Celie felt a cold lump in her stomach. She had enough to worry about already, and now this!
“Celie,” Pogue said, tearing his attention away from Rufus and getting a good look at her face, “it’s fine!” He gripped her arm with one large hand. “Don’t worry. Bran can take care of himself, and besides, so far Arkwright hasn’t done anything but be slightly rude at dinner. Maybe he’s just making sure Bran succeeds as the new Royal Wizard. Bran’s a little nervous about having him here, because Arkwright is one of the finest wizards alive. But he’s not worried about Arkwright trying to do something nefarious.”
“Nefarious?”
Pogue blushed. “It’s a good word,” he said, defensive.
“It is a good word,” Celie said.
She felt awkward, and it was plain that Pogue did, too. He took his hand off her arm and cleared his throat. He took the heavy stack of books from her and started to carry them down the stairs. It was almost too much for Celie to take in. Rufus, Wizard Arkwright, the strange behavior of the Castle, and now here was Pogue Parry, the village flirt and troublemaker, using words that Bran would use. Words that Bran would use, and that Rolf would then mock Bran for using.
But Pogue had been spending a great deal of time with Bran lately …
“Pogue,” she said, following him down the stairs. She snapped her fingers, and Rufus came at her heels. “What do you think about all these new rooms? Like the holiday feasting hall, just sitting there all the time. Where do you think they come from?”
Pogue put the books on her table. He stood with his back to her, flipping idly through the bestiary, and for a moment Celie wasn’t sure that he’d heard her. Then he turned around, and his face was grave.
“I don’t know,” he said. “But I have a terrible feeling that if we don’t find some answers soon, things could get very, very bad.”
Chapter
14
After Pogue found out about the griffin, Celie continued to test the Castle’s commitment to keeping Rufus a secret, especially around Rolf. After all, Rolf was the one interested in finding any stories about or pictures of griffins. Twice she said the name Rufus in front of Rolf, but both times, a door slammed loudly nearby, and he thought she was talking about her old toy anyway. This was both good and bad, as it protected the new, living Rufus, but it also made Celie seem to be childishly obsessed with her lost stuffed lion.
She was standing with Rolf in a long, little-used corridor with a couple of lamps, looking at the tapestries on the wall. They depicted a trio of hunting scenes, and the tapestry in the middle had griffins hunting deer while a group of women in faded gowns looked on. Celie had said, without thinking, that the largest of the griffins looked like Rufus.
“You know, Cel, you could get one of the seamstresses to make you a new one,” Rolf said at this third mention. “I bet they could use some of those fancy fabrics in the new room, and even put wings on him for you.”
“What? Nooooo,” she said. “I’m, um, fine.” She had a sudden vision of the real Rufus taking one look at the new toy and tearing it to shreds in a jealous rage.
“No shame in wanting Rufus back,” Rolf said. “After all, he did save all our skins, when it came right down to it.”
“Yes, yes, he did,” she said, and found herself smiling at the memory for the first time. All the same, she hurried to change the subject. “We should have Lilah look at these gowns and tell us what century they’re from.” She held her lamp higher, squinting at the faded images.
“True,” Rolf agreed. “She’ll probably know exactly what year that weird veil thing on her head was the fashion.” He indicated one of the women, who had something that looked like a large, ermine-trimmed butterfly perched atop her yellow hair. “I think our sister is trying to make a name for herself as a clothing historian, though I’m not sure there is such a thing.”
“Well, at least she’s doing something,” Celie said, then immediately felt a pang of sisterly guilt.
Celie was feeling unusually grumpy. At breakfast on Monday her father had asked her to turn the latest of her maps over to the court scribes, and she had reluctantly done so. Her father had told her not to worry about making any more. Because of the strange alterations to the Castle in recent months, the king had decided to summon the royal cartographer from whatever remote corner of the kingdom he had been working in to focus solely on the Castle until things “settled in.”
Celie knew that her father had not meant to make her feel bad: the cartographer had already sought her out to commend her on her maps thus far. But all the same, she was feeling a bit confused. If she wasn’t to be the official cartographer of the Castle, then what? As a princess—and a second princess, besides—she didn’t have an important role in the court, and she’d been trying to make a name for herself with her atlas. Sensing her distress, Bran had quietly taken her aside after that breakfast and reminded her that this gave her more time to spend with Rufus. But no one was allowed to know about Rufus, which left her feeling fairly useless whenever she stepped out of her rooms.
“So, should we bring Bran and Lilah up here to see it, or should we try to take it to them?” Rolf asked.
Celie snapped out of her reverie and studied the tapestry. It was huge, and fastened up near the high ceiling, which would make it difficult to detach and carry around. But while bringing Bran up to look at the tapestry would work out fine, it meant that they wouldn’t be able to lay the tapestry alongside the cushions to compare them.
“Let’s take it down,” she decided.
“How?” Rolf said. “I mean, I agree with you, but this is a pretty
big tapestry.”
“Well,” Celie said, refusing to be daunted, “Bran is a wizard, after all. Let’s see if he can find a way.”
They made their way to the Armor Gallery, which was now quite a feat. Several of the main corridors no longer connected to each other, and one had to go around both the room full of fabrics and another large room that contained nothing but tables full of maps of strange places no one had ever heard of. Pogue had been right in predicting that room’s location, and they were all hoping that the adjoining corridors he’d also spoken of would arrive soon. They would make moving through the Castle a great deal more convenient.
“Rolf,” Celie said as they went down a short flight of stairs and then immediately up another set. “What do you think the Castle is doing with all these weird new rooms?”
“I don’t know,” Rolf said. “I’m sure it has its reasons, though.”
“Yes, but what are they?”
They were on their way through the portrait gallery now, and Celie paused to scowl at one of their ancestors. Lilah had tried to tell her that she looked just like King Glower the Seventy-first, but Celie didn’t see the resemblance, especially as Glower the Seventy-first had a large mole on his left cheek.
“Well, if it hasn’t told you, it’s certainly not going to tell me,” Rolf said, shaking his head and laughing a little. “Let’s just hope Bran figures it out before it becomes too difficult to navigate the corridors.”
She had moved on to the next portrait, and was now studying Glower the Seventy-first’s wife, Queen Elin. There was something about their faces that had caught Celie’s eye, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on what was so fascinating.
“You know, Cel, if you’re interested in art, you should have Father find you a painting teacher. You’ve done an amazing job with your maps and sketches of the Castle with no training but what Master Humphries can provide. He’s wonderful and all, but he’s no artist. You’re really good; you should get some better instruction.”
“Thank you,” Celie said, turning away from the portraits to smile at Rolf.
“I never can draw anything,” Rolf said, shoving his hands in his pockets and continuing on through the long, narrow gallery. “My lines aren’t straight, my circles are lopsided, and any time I draw a person’s face it comes out looking like a duck.”
“That’s because you’re trying to draw their eyes in the middle of their face,” Celie said. She’d read several books on drawing. “Everyone thinks that you make an oval for a person’s face, and then put the features evenly in the middle. But in reality, people’s eyes and everything else are in the lower half of their— Oh!”
She stopped in the doorway of the gallery. Now she knew what had been bothering her about the portraits, and the tapestry as well. The people’s faces. Or, more importantly, the fact that the people on the tapestry weren’t.
“Weren’t what?” Rolf gave her a baffled look as she said this last bit aloud.
“They weren’t people at all,” Celie said. “They were too tall and too skinny, and their faces weren’t right. I don’t think they’re people like us.”
“Hmm,” Rolf said, leading the way down the corridor. They were almost to the Armor Gallery now. “You may have a point, Cel. The people on the cushions are a little weird as well. I’m curious to see what Bran thinks.”
They would have to wait to talk to Bran, however. Pogue was there taking notes, which wouldn’t have kept them from talking to Bran, but Arkwright was also with him, which did.
“Oh, er,” Rolf said, “hullo there, Bran. Wizard Arkwright. Pogue. Just wanted to know if Bran had any spells for … tapestry removal.”
“Tapestry removal?” Wizard Arkwright’s eyebrows climbed his high forehead yet again. Celie reflected that he was almost as tall and strange-looking as the tapestry people. “Do you mean removing stains from a tapestry?”
“No, we, ah, need to move the tapestry itself, and it’s rather large,” Rolf said. He put his hands behind his back and grinned his most charming grin.
“Ah, the cushion project,” Wizard Arkwright said.
“The cushion project?” Bran looked irritable. “What are you talking about?”
“Just wanted a bit of wizardry,” Rolf said, still trying to look disingenuous.
Celie, however, was looking at Pogue. He was wiggling his eyebrows at her and seemed to be signaling for them to stop talking. Pogue jerked his head at Arkwright, whose back was to the young man, and then shook his head slightly. Then he cleared his throat.
“My sister, Jane Marie, would be glad to help,” Pogue said when everyone looked at him.
“Oh, that’s right!” Celie said, snapping her fingers.
Celie remembered that Jane Marie, who was roughly Lilah’s age, was one of the finest embroiderers for miles around. She occasionally came to the Castle and helped to repair and restore the tapestries under Ma’am Housekeeper’s watchful eye. Jane Marie knew a great deal about the symbolism that was often used in tapestries, like which flowers meant love or deceit, and other such things. Celie wondered what Jane Marie would make of the tall, strange people in the griffin tapestries. She grabbed Rolf’s arm.
“Yes, we’ll find Jane Marie,” she said.
“We will?” Rolf looked surprised.
“We will,” Celie said firmly. “And Ma’am Housekeeper. She knows how to remove the tapestries for cleaning.”
They hurried out of the Armor Gallery, breathing similar sighs of relief when they were away from the beady gaze of Wizard Arkwright. Rolf sent a message for Jane Marie to come to the Castle at her earliest convenience, and Celie appealed Ma’am Housekeeper, begging the stern head of the household staff to have a crew of footmen remove the griffin hunting tapestry and spread it on the floor of the holiday feasting hall.
Jane Marie arrived while Celie and Rolf were overseeing the rolling up of the dusty tapestry so that it could more easily be carried down the stairs and through the confusion of corridors to the holiday feasting hall. She appeared at Celie’s elbow, giving a little cough over the dust clouding up from the tapestry, and startling Celie.
“Oh, goodness! Hello!” Celie turned red in embarrassment. Jane Marie was twice as particular as Lilah about her clothes and hair, if that were even possible. She smiled warmly enough at Celie, however.
“Hello, Princess Cecelia,” she said in her soft voice. “Did you need me for something?”
“Why, yes!” Rolf came forward and bowed to Jane Marie. Celie felt her own eyebrows rising, and noticed that Rolf—Rolf!—appeared to be blushing slightly. “We’ve found the most beautiful tapestry, depicting a hunting scene with a griffin in it. It’s the heraldic beast of Castle Glower, you know, and we wondered what insights you might offer us into the … er … sewing … and symbols … of the … item.” He had begun rather grandly but petered out at the end, and Celie stifled a giggle.
“Oh, certainly,” Jane Marie said, as if this were the most ordinary request in the world. “Where can I look at it?”
“We’re moving it to the holiday feasting hall,” Celie said, afraid that Rolf would get lost in his own words again. “We can lay it out across the floor there and have a look. We also have some embroidered cushions with griffins on them, if you wouldn’t mind.”
“That sounds very interesting,” Jane Marie said, and she showed her dimples to Rolf. “And if you’re interested in griffins, you ought to come to the smithy sometime,” she said, taking Rolf’s proffered arm.
“Oh, really? Why is that?” Rolf asked, leading Jane Marie down the stairs. Celie came behind, feeling like a tagalong.
“Because there’s the most beautiful image of a griffin carved into the side of the anvil,” Jane Marie said. “And the anvil used to belong to the Castle, you know.”
Chapter
15
The next day, Celie found the royal cartographer pacing outside her room. It was Saturday, and she didn’t have lessons, so she’d been poring over the books Pogue ha
d brought her. Rufus had been nipping at her for attention, and she’d decided to get them both a snack.
When she stepped into the passageway, the cartographer jumped a little, looking curiously at her door. Celie prayed that Rufus wouldn’t scratch at it or let loose with his creaking war cry.
“I didn’t notice that door,” the man muttered. “Sorry, Your Highness.” He bowed his head to Celie. “I have been looking for you, and I didn’t know where—that is, I couldn’t seem to find your room.”
He looked embarrassed, and Celie reflected that it would be awkward to be the royal cartographer and have to admit that you couldn’t find the first door on the right from the main hall. Of course, that was because of Bran’s spell and not because the cartographer was in any way to blame, but she couldn’t let him know that.
“How can I help you, sir?”
“Ah, yes.” He looked even more embarrassed. “It’s just that I wanted to have some sketches of the top of the Castle. The view from the highest tower, as it were.”
“Yes?” Celie also thought this was a good idea—in fact, she thought it was a wonderful idea.
She had sketched the view of the rooftops from the Spyglass Tower during her long hours there the previous summer. But by now things were very different, and a map of the rooftops could prove useful. Particularly if one had to climb across them, as Celie had also had to do last summer.
“It’s just that,” the royal cartographer hedged, “normally, in my line of work, there are mountains, perhaps, but they’re much larger and more … secure.”
“Yes?” Celie was confused.
“Well, I know that you are more familiar with the roofs, and the towers, and I thought that you might …” At which point the royal cartographer’s voice became so small and low that Celie couldn’t understand him.