Princess of the Midnight Ball - Jessica Day George [70]
Galen went, but he didn’t lie down. He changed out of his suit and back into his army uniform. On a heavy belt buckled over his blue soldier’s coat he wore a pair of pistols and a long knife. Another knife was concealed in his right boot. He emptied out his satchel and then repacked it with the silver needles, the goblet, and the bag of black sand. On top of that he put extra powder and shot for the pistols and his rifle.
He put on the satchel, making sure that it didn’t interfere with the pistols. Then he shouldered his rifle and swung the cape over it all. Invisible again, he went down the stairs and along the front hall. As he passed the sitting room, he could hear the rumble of Reiner’s voice and caught his own name.
“He’s gotten himself into trouble, Liesel,” Reiner was saying. “If he wasn’t family—”
“But he is,” came Tante Liesel’s fluting voice. “And we have to help him.”
“Who said he was in trouble? He’s just trying to help his friends.” That was Ulrike.
“You don’t understand,” Reiner said. “It’s Heinrich all over again. Galen and the eldest princess—”
But Galen didn’t wait to hear any more. There was nothing he could say that would convince Reiner that Rose was innocent, and that Galen was just trying to help her. The only thing to do was to stop this and free the princesses of their curse. Galen slipped out the front door and made his way down the street.
Angier
From the gardens, all at the palace appeared to be in order. There was no sign of the mob, or anyone else for that matter. Galen hoped to see Walter come stumping down one of the paths with a wheelbarrow, whistling a jaunty tune. But the old man appeared to have taken Reiner’s advice and stayed home.
Galen stowed his cape and went through the kitchen door, with a nod and a smile for the head cook, then up the stairs to the princesses’ sitting room. If the rug truly wouldn’t turn into a stair during the day, he was going to seek out Walter at his home.
There was a guard blocking the sitting room door.
Galen stuffed his hands in his pockets, hiding the pistols at his hips. “Mind if I go in and have a look around?”
“No one is allowed in,” the guard said, staring at Galen’s musket and uniform.
“The princesses haven’t returned, have they?” Galen didn’t think this likely, but he wanted to know why someone was guarding an empty room.
“No, they have not,” the man said, and a touch of concern colored his voice. “Look, young gardener… or whatever you are: just be on your way. There’s nothing you can do here.”
“All right,” Galen said, showing reluctance. He went back out through the kitchens, and then to the south side of the palace. Putting on his cloak yet again, he carefully climbed the ivy trellis and made his way into the sitting room through an unlatched window.
Where he found Bishop Angier spreading out the princesses’ jewelry on the card table. The scraping of Galen’s boots on the windowsill, and the thump he made as he landed on the floor, made the bishop look up.
Directly at Galen.
“Ah, the soldier-turned-gardener. I should have known,” the bishop said.
Shocked, Galen froze.
Even more bizarre, the bishop drew a pistol from his robes and aimed it at Galen’s heart. “Please take it off.”
Seeing Galen’s consternation, Bishop Angier held up his left hand to display a large ring set with a deep purple stone. He smiled at Galen. “A witch-hunter’s tools are many and varied. For instance, amethyst enables me to see through enchantment. I haven’t bothered with it before now, though. The princesses seemed more stubborn than clever. But you, with your foolish grin and your endlessly clicking knitting needles, I knew that you could not possibly be as dim as you appear.”
“Oh,” Galen said. It was all he could think to say.
“Your cloak,” Angier reminded him. “I’d like to be able to look you in the eyes more comfortably.”
Galen took it off and draped it over one arm.
“Come along,” Angier said.
Galen went where he was ordered: down the hall, past the startled guard who Galen now realized was