MAD QUEEN ODDACIOUS
Upon their return to the castle, Tegan took charge of
Karigan’s preparations for the masquerade ball.
“I will not wear the
wig,” Karigan said.
“But it’s part of
the character,” Tegan replied. “And I think black hair will suit
you. Besides, the crown won’t fit without it. At least give it a
go, and maybe try being a little less grumpy about
it.”
“You’d be grumpy if
you had to wear this ridiculous
thing.”
She gazed down at
the dress with its garish red and white diamond pattern,
highlighted with silvery threads. At the bottom of the skirts among
the frills were sewn the images of playful cats. On her left sleeve
was a great big velvet heart. Panniers made her hips jut out in a
style not seen in several generations. The material was a poor
quality of satin that appalled the textile merchant in her. It
undoubtedly shone well enough in the stage lights and likely
satisfied the troupe manager’s stingy wallet, but closer inspection
clearly revealed its inferiority.
She just knew that,
in contrast, the nobles in attendance would be wearing nothing but
the most elegant styles, their costumes constructed from only the
finest materials. None of them would deign to wear so clownish a
costume as this.
If the garishness of
her costume was not enough, it smelled of mildew and there was some
yellow staining located in an embarrassing spot on her backside. It
had not, evidently, entirely escaped the flooding. Leadora supplied
a train that she hoped would conceal the stain.
The costume had been
created for a person much larger than Karigan—the role was often,
though not always, played by a man—so Leadora, wielding her
measuring stick like a field commander, marshaled her seamstresses
to alter the costume and make it fit. Karigan had feared being
stuck to death by dozens of sewing needles flying about her, but
she needn’t have worried. The girls had known exactly what they
were doing and were accustomed to working rapidly and precisely.
She had not been pricked even once, and thanks to their expertise,
the costume fit very well. That was something, anyway.
Tegan had found a
large mirror in which Karigan could get a better view of herself
than in her own little hand mirror, and set it on her desk. Karigan
frowned at her reflection as Tegan lowered the wig onto her head.
It was a very large horsehair affair, ludicrously tall with lots of
curls. Tegan then proceeded to tuck Karigan’s own brown locks
beneath the wig. When that was accomplished, she placed the crown
atop the wig and pinned it into place.
Some crown, Karigan thought, her mood growing
darker by the moment. Little bells hung from the points of the
crown like a jester’s cap. The slightest movement made them
jingle.
“That about does it,
Your Highness,” Tegan said. “When we get to the ballroom, I’ll help
you with the mask.”
The mask lay on
Karigan’s desk. Since the costume’s character did not wear a mask
on stage, Leadora had to improvise. She found a plain black
half-mask and directed Nina to glue red sequins and feathers on
it.
Karigan could not
help but wonder what the Weapons would make of her getup.
Undoubtedly there would be more than a few on duty guarding the
king and Lady Estora. They’d probably find her appearance
undignified in the extreme and regret having made her an honorary
member of their order. Maybe they’d ask her to return the bonewood
staff.
“You must admit,”
Tegan said, “this costume is better than the cat or mouse. And
definitely better than the horse!”
Karigan wasn’t so
sure. What she was sure of was that the Riders loitering outside
her door would not allow her to live this down.
“You could have been
the horse’s back end,” she suggested.
“Ha! But
I was not invited. Now are you ready?
The ball should have begun by now.”
When Karigan
grumbled an affirmative, Tegan helped her rise. At least her shoes
fit. She’d been careful to pick a comfortable pair from the pile in
Leadora’s loft. She also ensured Tegan had not cinched the corset
too tight so she could breathe unrestricted.
“You look very ...
um ... audacious,” Tegan said with a smile and a glint in her
eye.
Karigan frowned and
steeled herself to exit her chamber for the outside world where
she’d have to reveal her ridiculous appearance to all and
sundry.
Tegan opened the
door with a flourish and announced, “Here she is, Her Highness,
Queen Oddacious!”
The reaction of the
assembled Riders was pretty much what Karigan expected: lots of
laughter and jokes.
“Don’t you mean
Mad Queen Oddacious?” Yates called out,
foremost of those crowded around her. “Where are your kitty
cats?”
Karigan rapped him
on the shoulder with a folded fan that came with the costume. Yates
grinned unrepentantly.
Someone meowed, and several of the Riders joined in until
there was an entire chorus of mewing.
“If you keep it up,”
Karigan told them, “Queen Oddacious will be mad. Real mad.”
“Hey, where’s your
husband?” someone cried out in the back. Karigan realized it was
Fergal. “I hear he’s a real stud!”
This was followed by
more uproarious laughter.
“I have become a
walking pun,” Karigan muttered.
“Who wears her heart
on her sleeve,” Tegan reminded her.
Karigan knew she
should have declined the costume, but she’d been desperate. The
play Mad Queen Oddacious was a farce
about a despot queen. There was a song in the first act and Tegan
knew some of the verses:
Mad Queen Oddacious has twenty-one cats
Each named Precious and wears a hat
Mad Queen Oddacious married a horse
Her subjects are mice she rules by force ...
Then there was
something about the twenty-one cats eating the mice, and a raunchy
verse about the queen and her stallion husband, which Karigan
suddenly realized Yates was reciting to the great amusement of
all.
“He bade her mount and—”
Karigan smacked him
harder with the fan.
“Ow,” he said,
rubbing his head.
“Come, Tegan,”
Karigan said. “I’ve had enough of these little mice.”
This was met with
good-natured jeers.
As she and Tegan
left the Rider wing, she reflected that as much as the play was a
farce, it had a more serious subtext. Tegan explained the play had
been based on a real person from the distant times before Sacoridia
had had a high king and the Sacor Clans were tribes spread across
various territories, the clan chiefs governing their tiny realms
like petty kings. According to history, they were constantly at war
with one another.
One clan named a
woman to be their chief, which was unusual in those days. Her rule
proved hard and she nearly drove her territory into ruin by loving
her treasures and horses more than her people. The people rebelled
and severed her head, or worse, depending on who was telling the
story. Much of the truth of the tale was lost to the darkness of
time, but the play served as a cautionary tale for those with power
to wield it wisely and well. In the last act of the play, Queen
Oddacious’ husband transforms from a horse into a handsome warrior
and slays her. All the mice feed on her flesh.
Karigan rather
wondered if the play were more a warning specifically to women who
dared aspire to power from men who loathed the mere thought of
being ruled by them. Tegan said the play had enjoyed a resurgence
in popularity during the reign of Queen Isen, who had not shown the
least tendency toward despotism.
It was a long walk
to the ballroom and Karigan caught more than one amused look cast
her way from servants and other castle personnel.
The strains of music
grew as they approached the ballroom, and when they paused near the
entrance, Karigan’s spirits sagged as she observed ladies and
gentlemen in very sophisticated attire streaming through the
entrance. Just as she imagined, the gowns of the ladies were
exquisite and the costumes understated. In her Mad Queen Oddacious
costume, she would stand out like a dandelion among
roses.
“Time for your
mask,” Tegan said.
“Right.”
As Tegan tied the
mask on, Karigan felt like she was wearing blinders; it cut off her
peripheral vision.
When Tegan finished,
she stepped into Karigan’s view. “Remember,” she said, “you are
Queen Oddacious and the world is your tart.”
“Oh, gods,” Karigan
murmured. There was another line from the song about Queen
Oddacious’ love of tarts, followed by other vulgar verses that
rhymed with it.
“Have fun,” Tegan
said. “It’s not everyone who gets to attend the king’s masquerade.
Besides, if you don’t want anyone to know who you are, you don’t
have to remove your mask.”
Then how, Karigan
wondered as she approached the entrance, would anyone know that the
king’s knight and Green Rider was here to show her support for him
if she did not reveal herself? Where was the logic in
that?
With a sigh she
stepped up to the door where guards checked
invitations.
“Entertainment uses
the servants entrance,” one growled at her.
Karigan held back a
sharp retort and thrust her invitation at him. He looked it over,
then scrutinized her with a skeptical expression on his
face.
“Er, my mistake,” he
said. “Enjoy your evening.”
Karigan took a deep
breath and stepped through the entrance into the
ballroom.