How serious is it?” King Glower asked.
The family, plus Lulath and Pogue, were sitting around the table in the winter dining hall. They’d just finished dinner, and Bran had asked to address them all. Celie had hurriedly sketched the newest changes to the Castle and had copies made that afternoon, which she was passing around.
“Well,” Bran hedged. “There are a lot of factors to consider, and we’re still gathering information.”
He tried to put on his mysterious wizard voice to make it seem like he wasn’t concerned, but none of the family was fooled. That was the trouble with being both the Royal Wizard and a member of the Glower family, Celie thought.
Bran continued. “But the truth of the matter is … we just don’t know.”
Everyone blinked at him.
Celie, who was just behind Pogue, stopped in her tracks. Pogue froze, too, with his hand up for the map she was giving him. After a moment she remembered herself and gave him the parchment before hurrying to take her place beside Rolf once more.
“What has surprised me since I was old enough to care,” Bran continued, “is that in all the years the Castle has been sitting in this valley, almost nothing has been written about it.
“We know the original name of every King Glower, but little to nothing about their lives, and certainly nothing about their dealings with the Castle, other than legends and rumors. There are no maps of the Castle but Celie’s, no record of the rooms that have come and gone. The only clues are small mentions here and there in journals or histories, notes about having lunch in the new solar, or holding court in the round tower, that seem to indicate there are rooms that are no longer here.”
“We’ve all seen rooms come and go,” King Glower said, but the uneasiness in his voice belied his casual words. “It’s the nature of the Castle.”
“Of course,” Bran said. “But what worries me, other than the lack of information on the Castle—which is strange enough—is that in the last few months the nature of the Castle has changed. We can’t vouch for the Castle’s behavior prior to, say, fifty years ago, but we can say that within those fifty years, this is the longest the Castle has gone without removing a room.”
“How long has it been?” Queen Celina asked, frowning. She tapped her fingers on the table as if counting.
“Two months,” Celie said.
Bran nodded. “The last rooms to disappear were the guest rooms used for the winter holidays,” he reported. “According to Ma’am Housekeeper, the guest rooms used by Uncle Rupert and Aunt Zelda disappeared the morning after they left for Sleyne City. The maids cleaned them the evening before, put dust covers on the furniture, and the next morning they were gone. Just like they always are.”
Celie knew that she couldn’t tell them about the hatching tower, which came and went depending on whether she was alone, but she raised her hand as she slid back into her seat. When everyone looked at her, she pointed out that the nursery was gone.
“Actually,” Bran said, “it’s still here. It’s behind the schoolroom; it’s just hard to get to.”
Celie made a face. She hadn’t known that.
“For several months after the unpleasantness last summer with Prince Khelsh,” Queen Celina said, “I noticed that the Castle was a great deal more responsive. But that seems to have changed again.” Her brows drew together in a frown.
“It’s true,” King Glower said. “I definitely felt that it was listening to me. It moved things around when Ma’am Housekeeper or I asked. But not only are the odd little rooms and corridors building up, but they seem to be much more … inconvenient than before.”
“That room full of fabric isn’t inconvenient,” Lilah interrupted. “It’s fantastic.”
“But it’s essentially bisecting the Castle,” Pogue argued. “And from the way it’s situated, I’m expecting two more rooms and possibly another corridor to join it, making what’s now the central part of the Castle into two distinct sections.”
Everyone looked at Pogue in surprise, and his brown cheeks turned pink. Lilah gave him a skeptical look, but the king’s expression was thoughtful.
“I’ve been helping Bran,” Pogue muttered.
“He’s been invaluable,” Bran said, shuffling through some notes. “He remembers everything. And from the way that sewing room is situated, and the way the corridor shifted around it, he’s right.” Bran made some marks on one of Celie’s maps with a charcoal pencil and held it up to show them where they could expect the new rooms. “Pogue thinks they’ll be here and here, and I agree.”
Pogue turned even pinker under his tan.
“And you’ve looked in my father’s journals?” Queen Celina asked. Her father had been the Royal Wizard before Bran. She looked from Bran to Pogue, as though she valued both their opinions equally, to Celie’s surprise.
“Many times. He comes the closest to recording the Castle’s history,” Bran said. “That’s why I say we can go back fifty years: Grandfather’s journal is our main source of information. But even so, he only makes casual mention of new rooms, though he does note the date.” He made a face. “But I still find it very strange that a wizard, living in this Castle, didn’t think to make clearer notes.”
Celie blurted out what had been worrying her about the holiday feasting hall.
“Are there other people living in the other rooms of the Castle? What do they do when the Castle gives those rooms to us?” she asked. She could tell by the shock on her father’s face that he had never considered this before.
Bran nodded, but not to say yes: more to say that her question was a good one. “The extra kitchen, the extra stables, and the sewing room haven’t been touched in years. So far as we know, none of these things have appeared in the last fifty years. Which would indicate that there aren’t other people living in them, worrying about where their kitchen or feasting hall has gone.”
Celie relaxed slightly. A more pressing question rose in her mind: If there weren’t people living there, then who put away the decorations? And who had they all belonged to to begin with? But before she could ask, Lilah spoke.
“The fabric hasn’t been touched in at least two hundred years,” she put in.
“It hasn’t? How can you tell?”
Lilah shrugged. “There were sketches for new gowns on the table, covered in dust. The fashions were at least two hundred years old. Though it’s odd that the only fabric that got spoiled was that stored by the open window.”
“How is that odd?” Bran had his pencil poised above his notebook.
“Fabric rots,” Queen Celina answered him. “It gets faded or worn or … well, rotten, even if it isn’t being worn. But that is in the nature of the Castle, as you know. Sometimes there’s even food on the tables, but it’s not moldy, just dried out and dusty. That fabric could very well be five hundred years old, but it’s still usable. Anywhere else in the world it wouldn’t be.”
“Interesting.” Bran hastily wrote that in his notes. “I may have to do more tests on it.”
“Don’t you dare,” Lilah warned. “You said the fabric wasn’t enchanted, and I’m having several gowns made out of it right now. If you ruin any of my new gowns, Bran, then so help me—” She shook a finger at him.
“But we are having the answer to it all right here!” Lulath patted the table lightly and beamed. Everyone turned abruptly to stare at him. “Why are we not asking the Celie to ask the Castle what it means?” He looked at Celie eagerly. “It will surely be having the telling of her!”
Now everyone was looking expectantly at Celie, who stared back. Did they really think the Castle could talk to her? Judging by their expressions, they did.
“I, er, I don’t always know what it wants,” Celie began, feeling the color rise in her own cheeks.
“Of course not, darling,” Queen Celina said. “But perhaps there’s some way you could talk to it?”
King Glower was nodding. “There must be some way it could signal to you what it wants,” he said. “We must think of something; this is all becoming extremely odd. The fabric might have been a lovely gift from the Castle, but the holiday feasting hall? There’s no reason for that to be here now, is there? And empty linen closets serve no purpose, nor does the extra kitchen or the new stables! The stalls aren’t even a good size for horses. I don’t know what they used to keep in there … large goats, maybe?”
“I, er, haven’t looked at them,” Celie said, feeling a little sweat bead on her upper lip.
“Don’t let it worry you, dear,” Queen Celina said. “It’s not your job to interpret everything the Castle does! We’ll figure something out.”
But before they could, Ma’am Housekeeper came to the door and cleared her throat. The king stood and waved her in, inviting her to sit down.
“No, Your Majesty, I’m afraid there’s quite a to-do in the bedrooms,” she said, looking sour. “The maids doing the turndown tonight claim there’s a wild animal loose in the Castle. Most likely it’s another case of the sheep getting in, but—”
Bran and Celie were already past the housekeeper and headed down the corridor toward the family’s bedchambers, which the Castle had conveniently put in a row.
Barely five minutes later Celie and Bran were standing in Bran’s rooms, surveying the wreckage of his private study. They’d found Rufus before anyone else saw him, but they’d also found the horrible mess he’d made. A mess that, unfortunately, extended all the way down the corridor.
“How did he even get in my rooms?” Bran wanted to know. “The door was locked—it’s always locked!”
Like the other rooms they had passed, Bran’s was covered in feathers from shredded pillows. Occasional tables had been overturned, books lay on the floor with covers chewed and pages ripped out, and the leg of Bran’s large worktable had been thoroughly gnawed.
Rufus was in the corner, looking subdued but not at all contrite. He was utterly filthy, his fur and feathers ruffled, pillow feathers stuck to him with clumps of what looked like Lilah’s expensive Grathian hair pomade. He’d gotten into some of Bran’s potions as well, and there was something blue and gooey all down his one side.
“That won’t hurt him, will it?” Celie pointed to the blue goo.
“No, but it was expensive.” Bran sighed. “You little brat,” he said to Rufus. “How did you get in here?”
“Do you think the Castle let him in?” Celie looked around. There was no other way but the door, and that, as Bran said, had been locked.
“Why?” The single word held all Bran’s frustration and irritation.
“Maybe to protect him?” Celie shrugged. “So that he wouldn’t be discovered by Lilah or one of the maids?”
“If all of my orchid tears are gone, he’ll need to be protected from me,” Bran said.
Bran’s jaw was jutting out, and Celie half believed him. She went over to Rufus and tried to pull him away from the bottles on the floor, wondering if there was some way to have a collar made without specifying what type of animal it was for, when she heard voices in the corridor. She started to throw her hands up in despair at getting Rufus to her room undetected, but she stopped herself, not wanting to lose her tenuous grip on the matted and sticky fur of his shoulders.
“This is ridiculous,” Bran said, surveying the mess of his room. “I’m sorry, Celie, but I’m going to tell Father.” They could hear their father in the corridor, calling out orders to the servants. “Hiding Rufus is just going to get more complicated, and it honestly makes no sense.”
“All right,” Celie agreed in a small voice. “I’ll tell him. If I can.”
“I’ll support you,” Bran said, putting a hand on her shoulder. “If both of us insist on telling him …” Bran trailed off.
Celie felt a funny twist in her head. They turned to the door, Celie still trying to get Rufus under control. But the door had no latch. It had no hinges. It was a solid construction of wood, bound with iron, that blended seamlessly into the stone wall and was completely without a way of being opened.
“Are you joking?” Bran took his hand off Celie’s shoulder to rub his face in frustration.
“There’s clearly some reason the Castle wants us to keep Rufus a secret,” Celie said. “I mean, I’d love to let Mummy and Daddy take over, and not have to worry about him all alone in my room, chewing up my shoes every day. But this happens whenever I think about telling someone.”
She gave a little hiccup. She had wondered if she was just imagining that the Castle wanted her to keep Rufus secret because she didn’t want him to be taken away from her, but here was proof. She felt a twinge of relief: Rufus was still all hers.
“I don’t understand,” Bran said slowly. “What does the Castle have to lose if Rufus is seen by our parents? Mother has a great deal of experience with magic, and both she and Father are supporters of all the Castle does … of course.”
Rufus shook himself, and blue goo and feathers went flying. Bran’s mouth tightened into a line. They could still hear their father and others in the corridor, calling out instructions and searching for whatever had done all the damage to the bedrooms.
Celie’s mouth also settled into a straight line. She marched over to the wall beside the door and laid one hand on the stones with a flourish.
“What are you—” Bran began.
“Shh!” Celie silenced him. She held up one finger on her free hand. “Listen.”
“I am!” Bran said.
“Not you! I’m talking to the Castle,” Celie explained. She closed her eyes and tried to ignore her oldest brother.
“I’m trying to take care of Rufus, really I am,” she told the Castle, making her voice firm. “And I’m trying to be mindful of your wishes and not tell anyone but Bran about him. But you have got to work with me. I need help. If I don’t get it from you, then I will climb out this window and get it from my parents. Do you understand?”
Celie was engulfed in a whirlwind. There was a funny twist in her head again. It seemed familiar, but she couldn’t remember when she’d felt it before. When both the feeling and the whirlwind passed, she staggered up against a table to catch her balance, her hair hanging in her eyes. She blinked around. She was in her own bedchamber now.
The room was sparkling clean. There was fresh water and food for Rufus. The rug had not only been swept, but the snags from Rufus’s claws had been repaired. There were fat, silk-covered pillows lying atop the fat, silk-covered new featherbed, and a velvet coverlet was folded across it.
Rufus, sitting in the middle of the rug, looked alarmed. He, too, had been cleaned. His fur was fluffy, his feathers gleamed, and the tassel at the end of his tail had been combed and curled. He sneezed, and a few soap bubbles came out of his nostrils.
Celie walked over to Rufus and stroked his sleek head to reassure him. When she straightened up she saw the door next to her wardrobe.
It was tall, and bound with iron, and Celie had never seen it before in her life.
She opened it with caution, and found a spiraling flight of stairs that led to a large tower room. The new room was empty except for tightly woven straw floor mats and assorted toys. It had broad, tightly shuttered windows on all sides, and a high, peaked roof. There was even a second water dish and box of sawdust.
“Oh, Rufus!” Celie called down the stairs to where the little griffin was doing his best to follow, but his freshly shined claws were slipping on the stone steps. “Come and see your new exercise room!”