Where’s the Count?

“Montesanto!” Mirabelle exclaimed. “Is he here?”

Annabelle kicked the Queen’s fountain. “As if we weren’t in enough danger from that crazy tomato head!”

“We haven’t seen him,” Adolphus said, “just a metal knife that may or may not be his – but I don’t see how it can be anyone else’s.”

“We didn’t see him with the Guard. Maybe he dropped it out there somewhere,” Gerhardt waived a hand at the land outside the royal compound. “The Guards might have found it on patrol, while they’re out bullying the peasants.”

“We’d better find out,” Mirabelle said. “Split up and search, but don’t let him see you.”

They heard a scuffing in the path. It had to be Claire – whichever of them was saddled with Rhodri made as much noise as possible, to give the others warning.

They ran, all in different directions, but Annabelle’s way was blocked by a capsicum guard some fifty feet down her path. She stopped, turning slowly and strolling back towards Claire, Bettina, and Rhodri.

“Hullo chaps,” she said, as casual as can be.

“There you are,” Rhodri said. “We’ve been looking all over.”

“Why?” Annabelle asked.

“What?” The boy’s pale green cheeks colored darker green. “Oh, ah, no reason.”

Annabelle looked at Claire, who rolled her eyes. Bettina ignored them all. She had a wooden hoop, the sort one chased about with a stick, hitting it to keep it rolling. It was just taller than she, so rather than hit it, she walked inside it rolling it with her steps. She held her netted ball-game stick in her hand, saving it for smacking Rhodri when he got too close.

Annabelle eyed the spy with close consideration.

“Well I’ve been looking for you,” she improvised.

“What?” Rhodri gaped. “Why?”

“Because I’ve heard a rumor. Since you’re in the know around here, you can tell me what’s really going on.”

“Oh, oh yes, I am, really.” He addressed himself to Claire, puffing up his chest. “I’m quite well-connected, you know. Mother is related to the Capsicum Chief on her father’s-”

Annabelle interrupted him. She had heard the complex and distant genealogy before.

“Is there a visitor at court? Tall man, dark hair, nasty smudgy mustache?”

Claire’s eyes widened.

“Well, actually, Her Revered Majesty is interviewing a court magician today. Perhaps that’s the fellow you’ve heard about.” He looked thoughtful, which he seldom did. “Funny, isn’t it, how you lot show up talking of magicians and then one shows up. Is it your father, do you think?”

“No,” Claire said, “it isn’t funny. And it isn’t Father. Where is the Queen interviewing the magician?”