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  Cecilia did the same.

  It does taste a little like a strawberry, she thought, but it fizzes in my mouth like a soft drink. It was the most extraordinary sensation.

  “They’re delicious!” she exclaimed.

  A bony-looking woman was tending the vines at the back of the strawbubble field. She looked over and waved, and Cecilia waved back.

  Avery said, “That’s Mom. You can meet her later. There are lots more things to show you.”

  Cecilia was dying to tell Avery and Evan about her plan, but she decided to wait until that night, so she could tell the King first.

  Two men walked past them, heading toward a beech forest that covered both sides of the riverbanks a little farther downstream. They had bows and arrows slung over their shoulders.

  “Jack and Jerry,” Avery said. “They’re our hunters.”

  “They’re really good,” Evan said. “They can hit a target three hundred feet away.”

  “When I grow up I want to be a hunter,” Avery said.

  “You’d be useless,” Evan said.

  “I’d be better than you,” Avery said.

  The hunters smiled and waved at Cecilia.

  Past the twins’ house she saw a fisherman waist-deep in the river checking his nets.

  She watched him for a while and a warm glow washed over her. She was surprisingly happy in this strange, old-fashioned world.

  15

  THE HAPPY HIPPY

  CECILIA COULDN'T WAIT to meet the King and tell him her idea.

  She waited patiently with the others in the throne room. It was a grand hall deep in the castle. It looked like it might have once been a large cave and had been extended by the original builders of the castle.

  The throne itself was very impressive, carved from the rear wall of the room and patterned with ornate designs of clouds and birds. In the center were the two crossed lightning bolts she had seen on the mug. These bolts were made of gold and they glittered in the light from the lanterns that lined the walls.

  There was a kind of a trumpeting sound, which was really just old Gimpy, the court musician, blowing raspberries into a hollow tube of wood. Next, four large men entered, in two rows of two. One of the leading guards, a big bearlike man, called out in a pompous voice, “All hail the King.”

  “Long live the King,” everybody else chorused, except for Cecilia who hadn’t known what was expected.

  “All hail the King,” the guard called out again.

  This time Cecilia joined in. “Long live the King!”

  Once more he called it out, and once more they repeated the answer.

  Cecilia was starting to worry that this might go on all night, but then the King came striding into the room.

  Cecilia’s first thought when she saw him was that he didn’t look like a king at all. At least not like the kings in picture books. Those kings were always wise and regal, and usually quite handsome too, with a short beard or a goatee. And they were usually tall and wore long, flowing robes and a golden crown.

  The only thing about the King of Storm that matched that description was that he wore a crown — a large golden one that glittered with jewels. Her heart beat faster when she saw it. But the great man himself was quite a disappointment for a girl who had been brought up on tales of King Arthur.

  To begin with, he wasn’t very tall. In fact, he wasn’t that much taller than Cecilia. And he was quite round, if it can be put that way politely. This was strange because all the other residents of Storm were thin from working hard and always having only just enough to eat.

  He didn’t wear long, flowing robes either — quite the opposite. He wore short pants and leather sandals, and his hairy little legs looked to Cecilia like two furry otters crawling up poles.

  His top half was covered — well, almost covered — by a shapeless shirt with long sleeves and tassels. The shirt was multicolored, with overlapping circles that made Cecilia’s eyes water if she gazed at them too long. It wasn’t quite long enough to cover his round stomach, which was also hairy and stuck out at the bottom of the shirt. Cecilia did not think this was a pretty sight, but was careful not to show this on her face.

  His hair was long and held back in a ponytail. His beard was just as long and also tied in a ponytail.

  He was a most unique-looking gentleman. When Cecilia thought about it, she realized he looked like the hippies from the 1960s that she had seen pictures of in books . . . except he was a king.

  His name was King Harry.

  Well, officially his name was Harold the Merciful, King of Storm and all its Environs, but nobody ever called him that and he had given up trying to get them to.

  So most people just called him King Harry, or King for short. Except for Avery who called him King Hairy the Marsupial, but not to his face.

  King Harry sat on the carved rock throne. Well, let’s be honest — he hopped up onto the throne, which was much too high for him, and wiggled his wobbly bottom backward until he was sitting squarely. His feet stuck straight out in the air in front of him. They were hairy, too, and not very clean. He took a handful of nuts from a bowl, stuffing them into his mouth.

  Mrs. Proctor stepped forward. “Your Highness. May I present to you your newest loyal subject, Ms. Cecilia Undergarment, formerly of Brookfield.”

  King Harry gave her a crunchy smile. “Come forward, little one.”

  Cecilia strode obediently forward, although she didn’t really like being called little one, especially by an adult who was not much taller than she was. But she didn’t say anything. He was the King, after all.

  Guards sat on either side of him. They seemed quite tough, and not particularly friendly — especially the man closest to the King, who looked like a big, growly bear.

  Evan had told her the guards were soldiers, part of a huge rescue party sent in after the three astronomers had gone missing.

  Cecilia approached the throne and bowed her head, as one should always do when meeting a king.

  King Harry seemed quite pleased with that gesture.

  “Welcome to Storm,” he said in a booming voice, and his smile widened. “I am happy to meet thee. I trust thou hast been treated well.”

  The way he said “thou” and “hast” sounded quite silly, Cecilia thought. It was as if he was trying to sound royal by saying old-fashioned words.

  “Yes, very well,” she said brightly. “May I also say —”

  She stopped, seeing the looks on the guards’ faces and hearing the drawing in of breath from around the room.

  “No,” the King said, shaking his head. “No thou may not.”

  One of the guards, who looked a little like a weasel, pointed a finger at Cecilia and said, “Speak only when spoken to, and if asked a question, just answer it.”

  She nodded, a little frightened, and glanced at Mrs. Proctor, who kept her face expressionless.

  “Thou may kiss the royal hand,” King Harry said, extending that royal hand out in front of him, palm down.

  Cecilia peered at his hand. It was just as hairy as the rest of him, and not particularly clean, and certainly not very royal.

  “That’s okay. Thanks anyway,” she said.

  “It wasn’t a suggestion; it was a royal command,” growled the big bear guard.

  “I’d really rather not,” Cecilia said, trying not to let her nose turn up at the slightly unkempt paw.

  From the frowns on the guards’ faces, and the horrified looks around the room, it was pretty clear to Cecilia that this was not the way to talk to a king — not this king at least.

  “Do it or I’ll make you do it,” the big bear guard said in a low rasp.

  “Make me? What are you going to do?” she asked, starting to get angry. “Throw me in a dungeon? I’m only ten. That wouldn’t be very nice. I’m sure the King is a wise and benevolent rul
er who would never let you do something like that,” she finished.

  Those were words she had often read in her books about kings and queens, and she guessed, correctly, that King Harry would be pleased to hear them.

  Two of the guards, including the big bear man, rose up out of their seats, but King Hairy the Marsupial raised a hand to stop them. He sat up a little straighter in his chair and brushed some imaginary fluff off one sleeve.

  “Wise and benevolent,” he said, rolling the words around in his mouth. “Thou art a good judge of people, my dear, and of course I would never send a small child to the dungeons.” He sounded sincere, although there was a flash of something in his eye that made Cecilia wonder if he was telling the truth.

  “On this occasion, as thou art new,” the King said, “thou will be excused for thine insult to thy King. I am not only wise and benevolent, but I am also Harry the Merciful.”

  Cecilia looked around in time to see Avery do one of her famous eye rolls.

  King Harry continued. “But in the future, thou will respect the laws and rules of Storm. The only way a community can live together peacefully is by having rules that everybody follows — the small rules as well as the big rules.”

  “Well actually, I don’t really intend to live here,” Cecilia said. “I have been thinking about how we might be able to get out of here, and I have come up with quite a good plan.”

  16

  CECILIA’S PLAN

  “A PLAN?” KING HARRY sounded excited. Or was he just being sarcastic? Cecilia couldn’t be sure. She didn’t like people who were sarcastic. “A plan?!” King Harry sat back in his chair and pressed his fingertips together, raising his eyebrows at the same time. Now Cecilia was quite sure he was being sarcastic. “A ten-year-old girl, a chick barely out of her nest, on just her second day in Storm, hath come up with a plan?”

  The big beary guard snorted, and the others laughed.

  Around the rest of the room there was silence.

  “Yes, I really have,” Cecilia said. “Would you like to hear it?”

  “Would I like to hear thy plan?” King Harry was playing to an audience, although most of them didn’t appear very impressed with his acting. “Why would I not want to hear a plan from such a little chick, when all the rest of us, who have been racking our brains for years looking for a way to escape, could not think of anything? Nay, on second thought, I do not desire to heareth of your plan.”

  “Maybe some of the others do,” Cecilia said in a small but determined voice.

  “No doubt!” King Harry thundered. “Why would they not? Who here would like to hear a little chick show us all how stupid we are?”

  King Harry, who by now Cecilia quite disliked, opened his mouth to speak again, but before he could do so, a voice intruded.

  “Actually, I would.” It was Avery.

  There was a stunned silence. Cecilia saw a quick glance flick from the King to the burly bearlike guard. The next thing Cecilia knew, the guard was over by Avery, grabbing her by the ear and dragging her to the center of the room.

  “I would too,” Mrs. Proctor said.

  “Let her speak,” the twins’ mother said, although it earned her a warning glance from her husband.

  The guard let go of Avery’s ear and turned to look at her, but there was a chorus of murmurs around the room and lots of nodding. King Harry shut his mouth. All the words he was about to say must have got caught in his throat, because his face turned quite red and looked like it was swelling up and might pop.

  “Then let us hear thy ‘plan,’” he said finally. “After all, I am a wise and benevolent king, and a wise king will always listen to the advice of others.”

  Saying you are wise and benevolent doesn’t make it true, Cecilia thought.

  Avery quietly slipped back to her place, rubbing her ear and scowling at the guard.

  “Well,” Cecilia began. “First, I don’t for a moment think that I am more clever than any of you. Especially you, Your Royal Highness.”

  That small piece of flattery seemed to mollify the King somewhat, because he relaxed a little in his throne and indicated with a wave of a finger that she should continue.

  “But I didn’t walk here, through the forest, through the maze, like most of you did. I flew here in a helium balloon, which is now lodged in a tree not far from the castle.”

  There were some gasps of astonishment from the crowd.

  “A balloon,” somebody whispered loudly.

  “It got loose accidentally,” Cecilia said, being careful not to look at Mrs. Proctor. “And the wind blew me into the forest.”

  “Thou cannot expect to put every one of us in a balloon and fly us out,” King Harry said. “There are far too many of us. That is the most stupid . . .”

  “No, that’s not it,” Cecilia said, feeling quite proud of herself. “You all saw or heard that helicopter flying around yesterday. They were looking for me. My daddy is really rich, and he could hire a helicopter for weeks to keep searching if he thought there was a chance of finding me.”

  “He’s probably happy to see you go, you know-it-all little brat,” she heard the King mutter under his breath.

  Cecilia didn’t let it stop her.

  “Inside that big balloon there’s a box of smaller balloons and a tank of helium gas. We could go and get them, bring them back to the castle, inflate a bunch of the balloons and tie them to a long rope. Maybe in the courtyard. Then we could let it float up into the sky above the trees and the mist. It would be like a beacon. It could signal to the helicopter, or any planes that fly overhead, to let them know where we are.”

  She finished proudly and saw many wide eyes and the beginnings of smiles. It’s a very clever idea, she thought. There was a strange electricity in the room and Cecilia recognized it immediately. Hope.

  She turned back to King Harry to find him nodding.

  “Indeed I am surprised. That is a good plan, little chick,” he said. “Art thou sure thou would be able to find thy way back to this balloon of yours?” Cecilia thought about that. There had been a lot of twists and turns, and a black lion had been chasing them.

  “I can find it,” Rocky woofed, sitting next to Mrs. Proctor.

  King Harry looked at him, noticing the dog for the first time. “Whose dog is this?” he asked. “I do not allow dogs in my throne room.”

  “It’s my dog,” Mrs. Proctor said. “But he seems to have taken quite a liking to Cecilia.”

  King Harry stared at Rocky for a moment, then back at Cecilia, apparently deciding not to start another argument.

  “I was asking if thou could find this balloon of thine,” he asked.

  “Yes, I think so,” Cecilia said.

  “But art thou sure, little chick?”

  Cecilia thought that if the King called her a little chick one more time she would set fire to his beard. But she swallowed that thought.

  “Am I sure I can find it?” she asked, as if to herself, but she was looking straight at Rocky.

  Rocky nodded, but pretended to be scratching his ear so nobody would notice.

  “Yes, I’m quite positive,” she said.

  “Well then, that makes it a matter of some rejoicing,” King Harry said. “All our problems are solved.”

  “We should go soon,” Cecilia said. “The sooner we fly the balloons, the sooner they can find us.”

  King Harry shook his head. “It will take us a day to prepare the rope, and tomorrow we start the spring harvest. We need every hand to help us bring it in. So it will have to wait until next week.”

  “Next week!” Cecilia exclaimed. “But if we get rescued, you won’t need your spring harvest. We can all dine out at Longfellow’s restaurant and buy groceries from ProctorMart.”

  “And if thy plan does not work, and we do not get rescued? How will we survive next winter without
our spring harvest safely in the storerooms? We will starve, and it will be thy fault!” He glared at her as if she was responsible for something that hadn’t even happened yet.

  “But if we wait for a whole week, the helicopter might be gone. They might have given up!”

  “Aha!” King Harry pounced on her words. “Thou said thy father was so rich that he would hire a helicopter for weeks. So they will still be searching. We can bring in our harvest, just in case, and then fly thy balloons, and if it all works and we get rescued it will have only cost us a week.”

  “Yes, but . . .” Cecilia trailed off, realizing that she was not going to win. In her heart she knew that if they waited a week, it would be too late. The helicopter was searching now. In a week they would probably have given up and moved on to some other part of the huge forest.

  “Then it is decided,” King Harry proclaimed from his throne. “We will bring in the harvest, then go look for the girl’s balloon.” He clapped his hands together twice. “Let us now adjourn for the welcome feast.”

  Several people disappeared and returned with huge plates of food, which they placed on the long central table that ran down the great hall.

  It smelled good, but Cecilia found she wasn’t feeling very hungry.

  17

  JAZZ

  THE NEXT DAY, as decreed, Cecilia started work. Not with the animals, as she had hoped, but in the mill room, helping Jasmine Proctor grind grain to make bread.

  Nobody except her mother called her Jasmine, Cecilia discovered. To everyone else, she was simply Jazz.

  It was harder work than Cecilia thought, and quite boring. But when she thought about it, she figured most of the jobs in this world probably were hard and boring.

  In fact, life itself was quite boring. There was no TV to watch and no computer games to play. Not even solitaire. There were no books to read besides the one about Princess Annachanel, and that was just two pages long.