“When I was only six, my father gave me a potion to make me beautiful. He said that beauty would fetch me a rich husband. The potion did work, of course. I am quite beautiful, perhaps the most beautiful in all The Kingdom, but what my father didn’t tell me was that the beauty potion contained frog tongue. It was the frog tongue that did it, I’m sure.”
“What did the frog tongue do?” I asked.
“It gave me a horrendous craving. I can’t…oh, it’s too awful! I can’t stop eating flies!” And just like that, she snatched up a dead fly from a jeweled candy dish on the dressing table and popped it in her mouth. She closed her eyes, and something like relief washed over her face.
“I can’t stand the taste of anything else,” she went on. “Bread tastes like soap to me. Even a sugar cube turns to ash in my mouth. And to make matters worse, whenever I get nervous or upset, my tongue flicks out like a frog’s. See? I’m doing it now just thinking about it.” The queen flicked out her tongue a few times.
“But he didn’t know, did he?” said Annabella. “Maybe he just wanted you to be pretty so you would be happy.”
“I used to think that,” said the queen. “And perhaps if it had been his only act against me, I would have gone on thinking it. I did become a queen, after all. But you see, the king did not marry me for my beauty. He married me because he thought I could spin straw into gold.” The queen shivered as though remembering something unpleasant.
“Can you?” I asked.
“No,” she replied. “My father lied to the king. I don’t know what made him say it. I could spin, but nothing out of the ordinary—flax and wool and such.”
“What did you do?” Tom asked. He was now sitting on the edge of a silver brush, his face in his chin. Apparently this was no longer boring to him.
“I cried,” said the queen. “I thought I would be put to death for my father’s lies, until a little man appeared, a boy really. A very strange boy. He said he could spin the straw into gold for me, and he did. He spun all the straw into gold, and I was so happy because not only would I live, but now I was rich! The king was so happy, he said he would make me his queen, and I thought we would live happily ever after, just like a princess in a tale.” She shuddered and popped another fly into her mouth. “I was a fool. A fool for ever trusting my father. A fool for believing the king would love me more than his gold, and a fool for allowing that demon to spin the gold. He turned out to be the worst of all, because in exchange for spinning the straw into gold, he made me promise him my firstborn child.”
“Your firstborn child? You mean the demon wanted him?” Tom pointed to the baby prince crawling all over the floor. He was blowing raspberries and sending great globs of spit all over.
“Yes, he wanted Archie. No doubt he wished to eat him!” She licked her lips, snatched another dead fly, and ate it. “I know it’s terrible! But I didn’t know anything about babies. I didn’t even have one then, so I thought, What difference does it make? I can have more children and it won’t ever matter. But it did matter! It did! Archie, forgive me!” The queen lifted her child and held him tight, sobbing into his neck.
The giant baby continued to blow raspberries, only this time the globs of spit came down on us like rain. A slobber shower. Tom ducked behind the brush. Annabella took shelter in a carved wooden box, and I covered myself with a giant lacey handkerchief, until the queen snatched it off me to blow her nose.
“I’m sorry,” said the queen, wiping her tears. “It’s just that somehow you little ones bring me back to that time when Archie was taken, and I thought I’d never get him back. When I felt so afraid and so…so small.”
It seemed a strange thing for a giant to say, but I guess no matter how big you are, there’s always someone or something bigger than you. Even giants must feel small from time to time.
“So how did you get your baby back?” I asked.
“I guessed his name.”
“The baby’s name?”
“No, the demon’s name. It was some kind of talisman, I think, and when I said it aloud, it destroyed him and Archie was safe.”
“Wow,” said Tom. “I wonder if he’s still around somewhere. What’s his name?”
“I do not speak it,” said the queen sharply. “Do elves not know the power of a name? If saying his name made him disappear, what if saying his name again would bring him back? And if he did come back, the king would surely bargain away Archie in return for more gold. And then I would die of misery, for Archie is the only person in the world who truly loves me.”
“Surely not the only person,” said Annabella. “You’re the queen and you’re so beautiful.”
“I used to think being beautiful would make people love me. I thought the king loved me. But he doesn’t. He loves only gold, and when he discovered I could no longer give him any, he cast me off like an old shoe and found another way to get what he wants. Oh how I hate gold! If I could destroy it all, I would!”
I noticed for the first time that there was not a bit of gold in the entire chamber. The blankets and tapestries were blue with silver tassels, and all the furniture was plain wood without a single gold ornament. The table we were sitting on had lots of jars and bottles, the carved wooden box, and a few jewels, but no gold.
The queen loathed gold because it stirred painful memories. She understood what it meant to have people you love taken away from you.
“Your Majesty,” I said, “we love our papa, and he got taken from us. With your help we’d have a better chance of finding him. Won’t you help us?”
“I don’t see how I can.”
“I think you could,” I said. “You see, my papa escaped the cobbler’s shop in a shoe. A golden shoe—”
“Well, it wasn’t mine! The only person in the world who’s fool enough to wear a gold shoe is— Oh…I see. You’re talking about the king, aren’t you?” The queen’s face fell. “Oh, dear.”
“What is it?” Annabella asked.
“Oh, nothing…. Only…”
“Yes?” I asked.
“Well, a day or two ago I heard the servants talking about an elf who was caught stealing the king’s gold—”
“Our papa would never steal!” said Annabella, indignant.
“Of course not. It’s just that…the king found an elf inside his wardrobe…”
We all fell silent. My stomach plummeted.
“What happened to him?” I asked.
“I don’t know. That’s all I heard.”
“Then you must ask the king!” I said. “We must go to him at once and tell him to give our papa back! He’ll listen to you, won’t he?”
“Oh, no. The king doesn’t care what I have to say. I’m afraid it might be too late.”
Annabella gave a strangled sob.
Too late. I swallowed the words like sharp knives and they cut me all the way down.
“Your Highness,” said Tom, “with all due respect, you don’t know that it’s too late. You could at least ask him what he did with the elf, couldn’t you?” I stared at Tom. Was he mocking me again? I didn’t think so. He seemed in earnest.
“Oh, no,” said the queen. “No, oh, no, no, no. I’d have to go to the Golden Court to see His Royal Majesty, and I cannot abide it. Gold, gold, everywhere you look. The sight of it nearly gives me a rash. See? I am starting to itch just thinking of it.” She scratched at her neck and arms, and her tongue flicked out several times.
“All you’d have to do is ask him,” I pleaded.
“No, no. I couldn’t!” The queen was wringing her hands now, working herself into a real tizzy. “You don’t understand! I could make things worse for both of us! The king could suspect something. He could lock me up, or take away Archie! I couldn’t bear it!”
“Your Majesty, please,” I said. “Think what we have lost—someone we love more than anything. You know what that’s like, don’t you? Remember how you felt when Archie was taken? How would you feel if an ogre tore through the ceiling and snatched him right
out of your arms again?”
The queen’s lower lip trembled. She flicked out her tongue and then burst into tears. “Oh, I can’t bear it! Archie!” She hugged the giant baby and kissed his chubby cheeks again and again.
“Fee, fee!” The baby reached his pudgy hand out, and we all ducked. The queen’s tears at last subsided. “Very well, elves. I understand your pain all too well. I will take you to the king.”
“Oh, thank you, Your Majesty!” Annabella fell to her knees and wrapped her arms around the queen’s pinky finger.
“Yes, thank you,” I said. I started to feel my heart rise back into my chest.
“But it will be very dangerous,” the queen warned. “You must stay hidden. If you are seen, you will most certainly be mistaken for pixies and smashed on the spot!” We nodded vigorously. “I will ask the king about your father, but you must understand that I can do nothing more to help you. Please do not ask me to do more.”
“We won’t,” I promised. “We can manage on our own from there.”
The queen sighed and popped three more flies into her mouth. “Now I must change. It displeases the king enough that I never wear gold to dine. He’ll be furious if I enter his Golden Court in anything but gold.”
The queen set Archie on the floor with a silver rattle, then went to change her gown, leaving us to discuss our plan.
“Should we speak to the king directly?” Annabella asked. “Perhaps if he knew our plight, he would take pity on us, like the queen.”
“Not likely,” I said. “From all I’ve seen, the queen is right about him. We’d best stay hidden. Hopefully the king will reveal where Papa is. If not, we should follow him and try to get inside his chambers.”
“Yeah,” said Tom. “We can hang on to the hem of his robes.”
I glared at Tom. “I thought you were going back to Martha to eat cheese.”
Tom’s cheeks reddened, and he mumbled something about wanting to see the Golden Court. I shrugged him off. He could come if he wanted, but I wouldn’t mind if he got spotted as a pixie and swatted away.
The queen emerged from behind her screen dressed in a gown of pure gold with a high collar, embroidered bodice, gaping sleeves that dipped to the floor, and the skirt full and trailing at the back like a golden river.
“How beautiful she is!” said Annabella.
“You could look like that, too,” I said. “You just have to be okay with fly suppers and a frog tongue. Maybe Gusta has a son you can marry.”
“Har har,” said Annabella.
When the queen caught sight of herself in the mirror, she covered her eyes as though she had seen a monster. She scooped up her baby protectively. “Don’t worry, Archie, I won’t let anyone harm you again! Never ever!”
“Fum!” said the baby, and he tugged on his mother’s long braid. The queen then put a gold romper and cap on Archie. I wondered what King Barf would do if they showed up to the court in anything but gold.
“Now, little elves, I think the best way to keep you hidden in the court will be inside my crown.” She took a set of keys from a drawer in the table and unlocked a chest. She pulled out a box and unlocked that, and then unlocked another box and finally pulled out a crown made of gold filigree. It had five points that were high enough to cover us. “It feels like I’m wearing a curse,” said the queen, and she shivered as she placed the crown upon her head. She then lifted us up, and we kneeled behind the three middle gold points. The filigree had enough holes that we could see through, but the giants wouldn’t see us.
“Now, take care, little elves! I hope you do not come to regret asking for my help.”
With Archie still in her arms, the queen exited her chamber and glided down the grand golden staircase. Servants, lords, and ladies stopped to bow as she passed. There were stares and whispers. Clearly the queen did not get out much.
She made several turns and walked down many long corridors. I would never remember the way, but hopefully it wouldn’t matter. We were getting closer to Papa—I could feel it.
CHAPTER TWENTY
The Golden Court
The queen took a deep breath and knocked softly on a giant golden door. It swung open.
The Golden Court was just what you’d expect: golden. The walls were gold, the floors and ceilings were gold, and the tapestries and draperies were woven in gold brocade. The mirrors and the window frames, the tables and chairs and vases, were all gleaming gold, and a golden chandelier hung from the ceiling like an upside-down tree, lit with a hundred twinkling candles. Gold dust must have been mixed into the wax, because the candles were gold, too.
Sentries dressed in gold livery stood at attention by the door with gold spears crossed to bar entrance. They lifted the spears to let us pass and then slashed them back into position.
There was music playing, a harp and a lute. It took me a moment to see who was playing them because the musicians’ gold outfits made them blend in with the rest of the room.
Gold statues lined the walls of the court. There was King Barf perched atop a rearing stallion. King Barf dressed in full armor with a sword raised and ready to strike. King Barf holding sacks of gold coins, tossing them to bowing beggars. Obviously these were not true likenesses. The statues also made the king look taller and stronger than he actually was. The sculptor probably guessed that the king would not be pleased with an exact representation.
The real King Barf sat upon a golden throne on a dais. I nearly mistook him for a statue, since he was covered head to foot in gold. But then he sneezed and his brown hen—quite drab among all the gold—clucked.
The hen looked scrawnier than the last time I’d seen her, but the king still held her in his lap and petted her as though she were the most precious thing in the world.
A pixie with purple hair and wings fluttered up to the hen, chirping excitedly.
“Servant!” shouted the king. “Remove the pixie!”
A servant rushed forward and smacked at the pixie with a gold paddle while the hen squawked and flapped hysterically. The pixie dodged the first few thrashes until finally the servant smacked her squarely from behind. Annabella gasped softly beside me. The pixie shrieked and fell down. She tried desperately to flap her damaged wings, but to no avail. The servant scooped up the pixie and flung her out the window.
The king comforted the hen with gentle strokes. “There, there my Treasure. I won’t let those nasty pixies harm you.”
The queen approached the dais.
“What are you doing here?” The king seemed annoyed. “Why have you brought that…that creature into my court?”
Annabella gasped beside me. “Has he seen us?” she whispered.
“We can jump now if he has,” said Tom. “We can slide down the queen’s gown and make a run for it.”
“No,” I said, remembering how the king had spoken of his son at supper. “He’s talking about the baby.”
The queen sat down on the smaller throne next to the king and held Prince Archie on her lap. “I thought our son should know how a kingdom is ruled,” she said, “since it will be his kingdom one day.”
“That won’t be necessary,” said King Barf, sneering at the baby. “I’ve decided I shall never die.”
“How will you manage that?”
“Magician will see to it.”
Kessler the magician was juggling three golden eggs and singing a song about marrying a bird. His fingers on his left hand were still carrots, though two of them had been nibbled down to normal size.
“All magic comes with a price,” said the queen. “Even gold.”
“Aha! I knew it!” shouted the king. “You are jealous of my gold. Jealous that you can no longer make your own.”
“No! I want nothing to do with your gold,” said the queen.
“You lie!”
The queen trembled. She seemed to have forgotten why she had come at all. I tapped her on the head to remind her that we were here. That seemed to help.
“I only wanted to ask a que
stion,” said the queen. “You see, I heard talk about some elves—”
There was a knock at a door, a different one than we had come through.
“Your Goldness!” said the magician. “It is your loyal subjects, come to bring you more gold!”
“Well, what are you waiting for? Let them in, you fools!”
The guards opened the doors, and a stream of people came into the court. Some looked to be nobility and some ragged peasants, but even the lowliest among them had some gold stitched or embroidered on their clothing in honor of the king. They all carried sacks and baskets full of gold—gold coins, gold trinkets and chains, gold boxes and statues and tea sets. The guards sorted the people according to who had the most gold.
The first to approach the king was a nobleman wearing blue velvet robes with gold embroidery and a poufy golden hat. He snapped his fingers, and two servants brought forth sacks of gold. They dropped them at the king’s feet and some coins spilled out. The king smiled.
“Very good. Next!”
“But—but, Your Highness,” stammered the man.
“Your Goldness,” corrected the magician.
“Your Goldness. Some food, perhaps? I’ve eaten nothing but watery gruel for months.”
“Whatever for? You look rich to me,” said the king.
“I am,” said the man. “I mean I think I am, but in all my acres of land—”
“You mean my land,” said the king.
“Yes, of course, Your Goldness. In all the acres of your land that I oversee, I can’t grow a single stalk of kale.”
“What is kale?” asked the king.
“You know,” said the farmer. “A leafy green vegetable.”
“Oh, how horrid!” The king shuddered. “Why do people eat leaves? And green ones, too. It’s disgusting!”
“Well, in any case, the kale is dead,” said the man. “Shriveled up as though poisoned!”
The king sighed in relief. “Well, of course it’s dead! This is a golden kingdom! Not a green one. Plant something gold next time.”