Page 18 of Disenchanted
As the day for the pageant approached, I felt ill with apprehension, imagining making a total fool of myself by tripping on the hem of that ridiculous dress or by sneezing,belching, or farting when I paraded before the judges. I dreaded the hoots of the obnoxious boys whose parents forced them to attend the event and the superior sneers of the Heights girls.
I knew there was no hope of appealing to my father for rescue. He would only say what he always did,Obey your stepmother, Ella. She knows far more about raising a daughter than I do.If I was going to be spared this ordeal, I needed to find a way to save myself, and on the eve of the pageant, I came up with a simple but brilliant plan.
I asked Mal to punch me in the eye as hard as he could. Horrified by my request, Mal adamantly refused, but I reminded him that it was almost my birthday, and this was all I wanted from him. If he would comply, I would do anything he wanted on his birthday. I begged, badgered, goaded, and gave Mal no peace, but it was not until I threatened to hit myself in the face with a hammer that he finally gave in. He drew back his fist and popped me a good one.
Mal was so distressed by what he had done, he cried, but I was elated because the results were spectacular. My eye swelled shut and my cheek sported the most glorious greenish- purple bruise. Imelda took one look at me and shrieked in horror, castigating me as the most wicked, ungrateful hoyden of a girl who ever lived. But never again did she attempt to make a Princess Rosebud out of me.
Thus, the tradition of the birthday favor was born, although Mal made me promise there would never again be any wishes that involved him hurting me. Most of my requests over the years had been quite mild. This year, when my birthday came, I intended to ask Mal to help me unstop the library chimney.
As for Mal, he had never asked anything that extreme of me either, although he did enjoy making me guess what he wanted. But as he continued to sip his tea in silence, I realized he was notjust being coy. He really did seem reluctant to tell me what he wanted.
I finally grew impatient. “Come, Mal, whatever it is, you know I would do anything for you. Just tell me.”
He fortified himself with another gulp of tea. Holding his breath like a swimmer about to plunge into an icy lake, he blurted out, “Iwantyoutogototheroyalball.”
“What?”
“I want you to go to the royal ball,” he said, enunciating each word more clearly.
I still couldn’t believe I had heard him right. I must have borne a close resemblance to the village idiot as I sat there, gaping at him. Had Mal entirely lost his wits? He wanted to escort me to the ball as though he was my suitor or my betrothed?
There had never been any question of anything like that between me and Mal. There had been that time when we were twelve and had experimented with kissing. It had been such an awkward business, involving bumping of noses and banging of teeth, that we had never been tempted to repeat it. We had always been content to remain close friends— or so I had thought.
I reflected uncomfortably about some of the remarks Mal had made this afternoon, about me being beautiful, about being madly in love with me. He had been jesting, hadn’t he? Bad enough that the stern Commander Crushington harbored some foolish fancy for me, but if Mal was about to confess to such a thing, I could not endure it. Not my just-like-a-brother, dearest friend Mal! It was unthinkable.
I remained silent for so long, Mal gave an uneasy laugh. “It is not that outrageous of a request, Ella. Do say something.”
“I don’t know what to say. I never dreamed you would— seriously, Mal, you wish to take me to the ball?”
Mal blinked. “Take you to the ball? Oh, frap no. A thousand fiery dragons could not force me to attend such a mutton-headed event.”
So, this was all just another of Mal’s jests. I expelled a breath, torn by relief and a strong desire to kill him.
He continued, “I couldn’t go to the ball even if I wanted to. After that business between my grandfather and the king, all Hawkridges were banned from coming anywhere within a league of the royal palace. You ought to remember that, Ella.”
Mal was right. I should have remembered. Even though this had all occurred before either Mal or I were born, we had both heard the story often enough from Grandmother Hawkridge.
Mal’s grandfather had been a mage of great power. Fully licensed, a member in highest standing of the Sorcery Guild, Hiram Hawkridge had often been consulted by the king until the unfortunate occasion of the king’s tenth jubilee.
Every year, the king celebrated the anniversary of his ascension to the throne with a grand parade to the town square where he would modestly accept a gift from the good citizens of Midtown and then deliver an address to his loyal subjects.
The king prided himself on being a brilliant orator, which meant he knew how to smile, flatter, and lie shamelessly to his subjects with the greatest sincerity. He always fortified himself with a cup of claret before mounting to the podium. That particular year he had several cups.
The king’s speech began well until he started to slur his words and reel on his feet. He lost his place several times and finally meandered into a diatribe of disastrous honesty in which he sneered and said he regarded all the people of Midtown as a “fat, greasy bunch of porkers who needed to be fleeced.” And if Midtown did not come up with a better present than some paltry golden candlesticks next year for his jubilee, he would puff and blow the entire town to bits like a gale force earthquake. Itwas difficult to say which affronted his audience the most; the insults, the threats, or the way the king mixed his metaphors.
Many assumed the king had been drunk, but it was later discovered that his claret had been laced with Truth Elixir and the culprit was none other than the king’s grand ducal wizard, Hiram Hawkridge. When brought before the king, Mal’s grandfather had at first denied responsibility and then declared it had all been an unfortunate accident. He had been experimenting with a potion designed to make the king’s voice more golden and had added the Truth Elixir to the wine by mistake.
It was a feeble excuse, but Hiram was a great favorite of the king, so he might have escaped retribution if he had not been imprudent enough to add that surely little harm had been done, because no one ever really listened to the king’s speeches anyway. Some suspected Hiram might have been dipping into his own Truth Elixir, but Grandmother Hawkridge stated bitterly that it was because her husband never knew when to keep his mouth shut.
Whatever the reason, Hiram’s flippant remark sealed his fate. He was convicted of practicing malicious and deleterious magic against the Crown, which should have resulted in a swift visit to the Lord High Garroter or at least a lifetime of incarceration in the Dismal Dungeons. Perhaps our king had been more mellow in his youth or perhaps he was a bit afraid of Hiram’s magical abilities.
Instead of meeting his doom, Hiram was stripped of all his high offices and membership in the sorcerer’s guild, forbidden to practice magic or come within a league of the palace ever again. Grandmother Hawkridge always concluded her story of these long-ago events by sternly reminding Mal that both bans applied to Hiram’s heirs as well. While Mal ignored the banabout practicing magic, to the best of my knowledge, he had never defied the edict regarding the royal castle.
As I took another sip of my tea, I said, “I ought to have remembered you are not allowed near the palace before I allowed you to tease me with the notion you wanted to escort me to the ball. Considering how distressed I already am about this stupid ball; I think it very mean of you.”
“I wasn’t teasing you, Ella. You merely misunderstood me. What I said was I want you to go to the ball. And you needn’t worry about the cost of it. I will pay for your ticket, your gown, your carriage, everything.”
I was certain he still had to be joking. I could usually tell when Mal was teasing me. I tried to probe his eyes as he reached for another cookie from the tin. I found no sign of duplicity, but I sensed he was not being entirely forthcoming either.
