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Queen Etheldredda flung her tapestry to the floor in peration. "Oh, for goodness'
sake, man, cease your brainless wittering, else I will have your head perched upon the Palace Gate this nightfall.“ The Knight of the Day turned ashen and subsided into a fit of coughing. ”And cease your foul splutterings— what is this? " Queen Etheldredda had at last seen Jenna.
“I-It is your lost daughter, Your Majesty,” the Knight of the Day ventured timidly, unsure whether this would be considered brainless wittering or not.
“I can see that,” said Etheldredda sourly, peering down the length of the Throne Room, seeming for once almost lost for words. “But ... how?”
“These two fine guards, Your Majesty”—the Knight of the Day waved an expansive arm at the two Palace Guards who were now standing respectfully to attention on either side of Jenna—“found your Heart's Delight a-wandering, lost and a-wailing in the depths of the Palace.”
Jenna was annoyed but said nothing. She most definitely had not been wailing.
“Then take them away to the dungeon!” Etheldredda barked. Two burly soldiers stepped from the shadows and grabbed the two guards. Before they had time to catch their breath, they were frog-marched from the Queen's presence, whisked down to the Palace basement and thrown into the dungeon—a nasty damp pit below the offal kitchens, dripping with rancid fat and filthy water from the wash-up overflow.
Without the strangely reassuring presence of Will and John, Jenna suddenly felt very alone. The physical presence of Queen Etheldredda as flesh and blood was horribly intimidating in a way that her ghost had not been. And the snake-tailed creature that clung to the Queen's skirts, staring at Jenna with its malevolent red eyes while it clicked its retractable single tooth in and out of its pointy jaw, made her want to turn and run. But there was no escape. Jenna could feel the meaty breath of the Knight of the Day on the back of her neck.
“And you,” said Queen Etheldredda, addressing the anxious Knight, “ you can take Esmeralda to her room and lock her in until suppertime tomorrow. She will know not to run away from her mama in the future.”
The Knight of the Day bowed to the Queen; then he gently took Jenna by the arm, murmuring, “Allow me, Princess, to accompany you to your Chamber. I will instruct the Cooke to provide you well with victuals.” Jenna had no choice but to let the Knight of the Day escort her along the corridor and take the familiar route to her own room.
The ghost of Sir Hereward was leaning against the wall gazing into space, looking bored and listless. At the sight of Jenna he looked amazed. He snapped to attention, bowed respectfully and then, smiling broadly, said, “Welcome home, Esmeralda. 'Tis a most Happy Outcome, for we did Fear thee Drowned. Now, I have some merriment for thee, for thou seemest to mine eyes a little pale and distressed. What, pray, be the difference betwixt the Griffin and the Pomegranate?”
“I don't know, Sir Hereward. What is the difference between a Griffin and a Pomegranate?” Jenna smiled.
“Ah, I shall not send tbee forth upon my marketing. Hur hur!”
“Oh. Oh, I see. Very funny, Sir Hereward.”
As the Knight of the Day ushered Jenna into her room, Sir Hereward peered at her.
“Thou art changed, Esmeralda. Changed in thy speech. 'Tis the shock, no doubt. Rest well, Princess. I shall guard thee from harm. Thy mama shall not enter.” The ghost bowed, the Knight of the Day closed the great doors to Jenna's room, and Jenna found herself alone in her room—or rather, alone in the drowned Esmeralda's room.
Princess Esmeralda's room had a creepy feeling to it. Not only was it cold, damp and growing interesting crops of furry green spots in various places, but there was a miserable, even malevolent, atmosphere about the place. Jenna wandered around the room, which was surprisingly decrepit for a Princess's bedchamber. The floors were rough and bare, with splintery pieces of wood coming off the boards. The meager curtains were threadbare and did not even reach to the bottom of the tall windows.
Great chunks of plaster were missing from the ceiling. There was only one small candle beside the bed, and of course there was no fire in the grate.
Jenna shivered—and not just from the deep chill in the musty air. She sat on what she thought of as her bed, and discovered that it felt nothing at all like her own bed.
But Jenna hardly noticed the lumps; she was too busy thinking about Septimus. How was she going to find him? She had somehow expected him to be waiting for her as soon as she had come through the Glass, but now she saw how foolish that had been.
She was in a whole new world and Septimus could be anywhere in it, anywhere at all. He could even be much older—so much older that she would not recognize him.
In fact, he could even be ... dead. Jenna shook her head to try to get rid of such pointless thoughts. Alther had been quite clear about this—the Glass she had Gone Through was completed one hundred and sixty-nine days after the Glass that Septimus had Gone Through. One hundred and sixty-nine was an important Alchemical number, being thirteen times thirteen. Jenna was good at math and soon she had worked out that Septimus would already have been in this Time for about five and a half months—if Alther was right. But where was he?
She lay back on the bed and tried to figure out how to find Septimus while she watched a large spider rappel down one of the bedposts. Being the true Princess that she was, Jenna was quick to feel something sharp digging into her back, and she wondered how Princess Esmeralda had ever got any sleep at all in such a lumpy bed.
What could possibly be causing it? Exasperated, Jenna tipped the mattress up to see if she could find the problem.
Underneath the damp old feather mattress, which smelled strongly of chickens, there was a large leather-bound book with sharp metal corners. On the cover was written:
THE VERIE PRIVATE AND PERSONALLE DIARIE OF PRINCESS ESMERALDA. NOT TO BE OPENED OR READE BY ANY PERSON. ESPECIALLY MAMA.
Jenna picked up the diary and let the mattress go with a thud, sending up a cloud of dust and mold spores. “Atchoo!” she sneezed. “Atchoo, atchoo, atchoo! ” Eyes streaming, Jenna sat down on the now considerably less lumpy bed and, ignoring the instructions on the cover, began to read Princess Esmeralda's diary.
34
Princess Esmeralda's Diary
Princess Esmeralda's diary was written in the same flowing, old-fashioned script that adorned the cover.
The ink was black and clear—as was the awful story it had to tell.
MoonDay Today has been a most Foul and Fearful Day.
Upon the orders of Mama (who maketh me to toil in all the lowly places of Our Palace so that “You will knowe, Esmeralda, what it is to Work”), I didst go to the Meate Kitchens today. I was set to work to pull all manner of Innards and Gizzards for the Meate Cooke, who is a foul-mouthed Manne who doth sweat like an overripe Cheese. He hath a Face like unto a Cheese also, the kind that Mama doth eat: white and pitted with blue Veins upon his Nose. Methinks that if Mama didst eat the Meate Cooke's Nose she would not knowe the difference. And if she didst knowe it to be the Meate Cooke's Nose, methinks Mama wouldst still eat of it. But I must not write of Mama, for it is dangerous Business so to do.
When I didst return to my Chamber from the Meate Kitchens, and the Servant had given me a Bowle of sweete cleene Water to take the Blood and Gristle from under my Fingertips, then Mary didst come a'knocking at my Door as frantically as if the Wendron Witches of the Forest were hard upon her Heels. Mary, whom I love dearly, near as much as I do love my little baby Sisters, was in the most Distressed State.
I didst ask her, as I always do (for Mama does not allow me to see my dear Sisters near as oft as I wouldst like), how fared my littk Cherubbs this day. Whereupon Mary didst wail like the Pigs do wail when they see the Meate Cooke's Cleaver. I sat her down beside my small Fyre (for which my Servant doth steal me a few Coals upon frosty Nights) and I heated some Water over it, for poore Mary's Teeth were a-chattering like a loose Windowpane in the Winde.
I put my question about my little twinne Sisters once again with, I confess, some Feare in my Heart. “They are Gonne!” Mary didst cry with such heart-wrenching grief that deare Sir Hereward did come a-running (or a-floating, rather, I shouldst say) and didst aske of us “Wherefore the Teares?” For by the time the deare Ghoste was by our side I knew the true tale of my Sisters' Fate. They were Gonne.
Early this Morn, Mary didst take my baby Sisters to see our mama, for Mama had ordered that it be so. Mary was told by the Bumptiouse Barrelle of Larde to leave the Babies in the Throne Room to await Mama.
