pleasing enough, were withholding judgment as to her quality as a queen. And, of course, there were some more who were frankly jealous. Very few of them hated her.
And only three of them were planning to murder her.
Buttercup, naturally, knew none of this. She was smiling, and when people wanted to touch her gown, well, let them, and when they wanted to brush their skin against hers, well, let them do that too. She had studied hard to do things royally, and she wanted very much to succeed, so she kept her posture erect and her smile gentle, and that her death was so close would have only made her laugh, if someone had told her.
But—
—in the farthest corner of the Great Square—
—in the highest building in the land—
—deep in the deepest shadow—
—the man in black stood waiting.
His boots were black and leather. His pants were black and his shirt. His mask was black, blacker than raven. But blackest of all were his flashing eyes.
Flashing and cruel and deadly...
BUTTERCUP WAS MORE than a little weary after her triumph. The touching of the crowds had exhausted her, so she rested a bit, and then, toward midafternoon, she changed into her riding clothes and went to fetch Horse. This was the one aspect of her life that had not changed in the years preceding. She still loved to ride, and every afternoon, weather permitting or not, she rode alone for several hours in the wild land beyond the castle.
She did her best thinking then.
Not that her best thinking ever expanded horizons. Still, she told herself, she was not a dummy either, so as long as she kept her thoughts to herself, well, where was the harm?
As she rode through woods and streams and heather, her brain was awhirl. The walk through the crowds had moved her, and in a way most strange. For even though she had done nothing for three years now but train to be a princess and a queen, today was the first day she actually understood that it was all soon to be a reality.
And I just don't like Humperdinck, she thought. It's not that I hate him or anything. I just never
To Buttercup's way of thinking, there were two main problems: (1) was it wrong to marry without like, and (2) if it was, was it too late to do anything about it.
The answers, to her way of thinking, as she rode along, were: (1) no and (2) yes.
It wasn't wrong to marry someone you didn't like, it just wasn't right either. If the whole world did it, that wouldn't be so great, what with everybody kind of grunting at everybody else as the years went by. But, of course, not everybody did it; so forget about that. The answer to (2) was even easier: she had given her word she would marry; that would have to be enough. True, he had told her quite honestly that if she said 'no' he would have to have her disposed of, in order to keep respect for the Crown at its proper level; still, she could have, had she so chosen, said 'no.'
Everyone had told her, since she became a princess-in-training, that she was very likely the most beautiful woman in the world. Now she was going to be the richest and most powerful as well.
Don't expect too much from life, Buttercup told herself as she rode along. Learn to be satisfied with what you have.
DUSK WAS CLOSING in when Buttercup crested the hill. She was perhaps half an hour from the castle, and her daily ride was three-quarters done. Suddenly she reined Horse, for standing in the dimness beyond was the strangest trio she had ever seen.
The man in front was dark, Sicilian perhaps, with the gentlest face, almost angelic. He had one leg too short, and the makings of a humpback, but he moved forward toward her with surprising speed and nimbleness. The other two remained rooted. The second, also dark, probably Spanish, was as erect and slender as the blade of steel that was attached to his side. The third man, mustachioed, perhaps a Turk, was easily the biggest human being she had ever seen.
'A word?' the Sicilian said, raising his arms. His smile was more angelic than his face.
Buttercup halted. 'Speak.'
'We are but poor circus performers,' the Sicilian explained. 'It is dark and we are lost. We were told there was a village nearby that might enjoy our skills.'
'You were misinformed,' Buttercup told him. 'There is no one, not for many miles.'
'Then there will be no one to hear you scream,' the Sicilian said, and he jumped with frightening agility toward her face.
That was all that Buttercup remembered. Perhaps she did scream, but if she did it was more from terror than anything else, because certainly there was no pain. His hands expertly touched places on her neck, and unconsciousness came.
She awoke to the lapping of water.
She was wrapped in a blanket and the giant Turk was putting her in the bottom of a boat. For a moment she was about to talk, but then when they began talking, she thought it better to listen. And after she had listened for a moment, it got harder and harder to hear. Because of the terrible pounding of her heart.
'I think you should kill her now,' the Turk said.
'The less you think, the happier I'll be,' the Sicilian answered.
There was the sound of ripping cloth.
'What is that?' the Spaniard asked.
'The same as I attached to her saddle,' the Sicilian replied. 'Fabric from the uniform of an officer of Guilder.'
'I still think—' the Turk began.
'She must be found dead on the Guilder frontier or we will not be paid the remainder of our fee. Is that clear enough for you?'
'I just feel better when I know what's going on, that's all,' the Turk mumbled. 'People are always thinking I'm so stupid because I'm big and strong and sometimes drool a little when I get excited.'
'The reason people think you're so stupid,' the Sicilian said, 'is because you are so stupid. It has nothing to do with your drooling.'
There came the sound of a flapping of sail. 'Watch your heads,' the Spaniard cautioned, and then the boat was moving. 'The people of Florin will not take her death well, I shouldn't think. She has become beloved.'
'There will be war,' the Sicilian agreed. 'We have been paid to start it. It's a fine line of work to be expert in. If we do this perfectly, there will be a continual demand for our services.'
'Well I don't like it all that much,' the Spaniard said. 'Frankly, I wish you had refused.'
'The offer was too high.'
'I don't like killing a girl,' the Spaniard said.
'God does it all the time; if it doesn't bother Him, don't let it worry you.'
Through all this, Buttercup had not moved.
The Spaniard said, 'Let's just tell her we're taking her away for ransom.'
The Turk agreed. 'She's so beautiful and she'd go all crazy if she knew.'
'She knows already,' the Sicilian said. 'She's been awake for every word of this.'
Buttercup lay under the blanket, not moving. How could he have known that, she wondered.
'How can you be sure?' the Spaniard asked.
'The Sicilian senses all,' the Sicilian said.
Conceited, Buttercup thought.
'Yes, very conceited,' the Sicilian said.
He must be a
'Are you giving it full sail?' the Sicilian said.
'As much as is safe,' the Spaniard answered from the tiller.
'We have an hour on them, so no risks yet. It will take her horse perhaps twenty-seven minutes to reach the castle, a few minutes more for them to figure out what happened and, since we left an obvious trail, they should be
