Princess of the Midnight Ball - Jessica Day George [19]
“How so?”
But Reiner had sent one of the other under-gardeners to help, and Walter would say no more in front of the man.
All the while they were busy spreading the black mulch, Galen thought of Princess Rose. She was ill, quite possibly because of the dunking she took the day they met, and something was compelling her to dance night after night. How would she ever rest and recover?
His guilt increased when, later that day, he was assigned to clean stray leaves out of the swan fountain and rake the gravel around its base. He set to it with a will, though. Walter had told him that this was one of Princess Rose’s favorite spots, and Galen thought that at the least he could keep it nice for her. Of course, with the weather turning cold and night falling ever earlier, it would likely be some time before the invalid princess could visit.
When Galen was done it was nearly full dark, and he had to make his way slowly to the distant toolshed to return his rake. He nodded to the other gardeners and accepted a lantern to light his way home. Uncle Reiner would stop in briefly at the palace. He and King Gregor were breeding new types of roses in a hothouse on the east side of the gardens, and on days when the king didn’t have time to check on their progress, the head gardener reported to him in person.
Walter was standing just outside the toolshed, a troubled look on his seamed face. His lantern hung loosely from one hand, and Galen thought the older man looked to be in danger of dropping it.
“Walter? Are you all right?” Galen took the lantern from him.
“Another gate is open,” Walter said in a hoarse voice. “I can feel it.”
“What gate?” It was a fifteen-minute walk to the palace gates from the shed. “How can you feel it?”
“Get back in the shed,” Walter said. Another of the gardeners was just stepping out with his own lantern. “All of you! Get back!” In a sudden frenzy, the peg-legged man began shoving them all back inside. He slammed the door on them and barred it from the outside.
“What the devil?” Jakob, who had helped Galen and Walter earlier, stared at Galen. “He’s run mad!”
Galen felt the back of his neck prickle. The wind had picked up, rattling the shed’s small window, and Galen heard dogs howling in the distance.
“Something’s wrong,” Galen said. He put both lanterns on the tool bench and went to the window, swinging it wide. “Walter! What’s happening?” The wind came in and nearly stole his breath, causing Galen to stagger back. From their bed in the corner, Walter’s normally fearless dachshunds huddled together, whimpering.
The window was barely wider than his shoulders, but Galen grabbed the sill and shoved himself through. His belt buckle caught for a moment on the frame, and he ended up landing on one shoulder in a flower bed. He quickly rolled to his feet and brushed off the dirt.
“Walter?”
“Galen!” The older man came stumping around the corner. “Stay inside!”
“No, tell me what’s happening!”
It was dark, and Galen could barely make out Walter’s head shake. “No time, no time! Take this.” And he pressed a switch into Galen’s hands. “Rowan, best I can do in a pinch.”
“For what? The storm?”
The wind was tearing through the gardens, and Galen thought with despair of how many leaves he would have to dredge out of the swan fountain in the morning. Strangely, it didn’t smell of rain or snow, both of which were possible at this time of year, but of mold and stone.
“This is no storm,” Walter said evenly. “Do you know where the windows of the princesses’ sitting room are?”
“The south side? Overlooking the hedge maze?” That he knew this so readily made Galen blush. He hadn’t been trying to peep at the princesses, but he’d seen them at those windows more often than at any of the others.
“That’s right. Come quickly!”
Walter moved off at greater speed than Galen would have thought a man with a false leg could go. Galen was soon trotting to keep up as the wind buffeted them. They skirted wide around the