The Chick Is In The Mail

'Borrowed! From whom, may I ask?'

'A-a friend.' Instinct, racing ahead of thought, warned her not to give a name. 'A-a dancer. It's only paste, Your Majesty, and I didn't know it was a copy of yours-'

'A likely story,' the Queen sniffed. She turned to the King. 'You promised me mine was unique. No other like it, you said, an exclusive design. And now I see it around the neck of a muscle-bound swordswoman who got it from some bawd. What do you say to that, eh? I demand that you take this up with the Royal Jeweler; if he's selling copies on the sly-'

Mirabel glanced at the King, who looked paler than the Queen. He patted the Queen's arm. 'It's not like that-' he began.

'Not like what?' the Queen asked. Her brow furrowed. 'Did you know about this? Did you intend for me to be humiliated in front of everyone?'

Mirabel edged away from what promised to be a royal spat of epic proportions, and bumped into a large well-muscled man in barbarian costume of fur and leather, who leered straight down her cleavage. She vaguely recalled seeing him with Krystal, but couldn't think of his name.

'You're… stunning,' he said, dragging his gaze back up to her face, but only momentarily.

'Who are you?' Mirabel asked.

'Skyver Twoswords,' he said.

Another one whose invitation she'd addressed, and wondered about. 'You're a friend of Krystal's, aren't you?' she asked.

He gulped, blushed, and said, 'Well, sort of. More than, actually.'

Mirabel eyed him with more interest. 'Sort of?'

'Well, she's… you know… she's different.'

Different was not the adjective Mirabel would have chosen. Just then the band struck up 'Granny Morely's Wedding,' one of her favorite pattern dances, and she smiled at Skyver. 'Want to dance?'

'Er… I'm sorry… Krystal told me to stay here.'

'Do you always do what Krystal says?' It was on a bright May morning… when Granny Morely came… Her foot tapped the rhythm.

'Well… er… yes. I'm supposed to… '

… With all her friends and relatives… to change her maiden name… Skyver looked glum and embarrassed all at once, and Mirabel didn't want to miss the dance. She looked around for another partner.

'There you are!' Sergeant Gorse said. He beamed at her, not his usual expression. 'May I have the honor?'

They set off into the pattern: She had pink ribbons in her hair… she had them on her shoe… and Sergeant Gorse inserted his words where he could. 'I wanted to thank you… for getting us in. Some mistake… just as we thought… '

'My pleasure,' Mirabel said, ducking under his upraised arm twice for She turned herself about again, as shy maids often do, and caught sight of Krystal in the middle of the next row. She was dancing with Harald, and Mirabel almost tripped to see the same look given to Krystal that he had given to her. Then she shrugged-what did she expect from a smooth-tongued stranger at the ball? She continued the figure with her usual enthusiasm, all the way to And so you see, dear children, was never such a sight, as Gramps and Granny Morely, upon their wedding night, which ended with a whirling embrace.

'You dance as well as you… er… look,' Sergeant Gorse said.

'My turn, Quill,' said Sergeant Dogwood. He bowed to Mirabel. 'If I might have the honor.'

Mirabel spent the next five dances with the sergeants, one after the other; by then she wanted a rest. Though the sales booths hid the alcoves, she managed to squeeze in behind the patchwork animals, where she lounged sideways on the bench with her feet up. The freckled girl looked at her.

'I don't know if you're supposed to be here. Miss Primula said-'

'Miss Primula hasn't been dancing with six sergeants, child; my feet hurt.'

From her vantage point, she could peek over the pile of patchwork animals and see the dancers. At one side of the ballroom, the King and Queen sat on a dais, pointedly not looking at each other. Sophora had collected another two ministers and the Duke of Mandergash. Then she spotted Harald by his red beard, and next to him Krystal.

Krystal leaned gracefully against a pillar, her followers around her… two barbarians, a man dressed in leather straps and chains, half a dozen pirates, and someone wearing a long plaid skirt with his face painted green and a green target painted on his naked chest. Krystal herself wore a gown like nothing Mirabel had ever seen-it might have been painted on, glittering silver mesh slit up the side to reveal her tall dress boots. She was, Mirabel had to admit, incredibly beautiful.

'Mirabel Stonefist, what are you doing back there lounging at your ease while the rest of us-' Primula glared over the stack of stuffed animals.

'I tried to tell her, Miss Primula,' bleated the freckled girl. 'She wouldn't listen.'

'She never does,' Primula said to the girl. Then to Mirabel, 'Come right out of there; I need to talk to you.'

'My feet hurt,' Mirabel muttered, but she knew it would do no good. She got up and squeezed back past the corner post of the booth.

'I had to go to the office for my master lists,' Primula said, 'I have them here.' She waved a sheaf of papers.

'And now, majesties, lords and ladies, gentlemen and women of quality, it's time to vote for the Queen of the Ball-' That was Lord Mander Thunderblatt. 'We honor the Ladies' Aid and Armor Society, by choosing one among them to reign as queen for a night-meaning no disrespect to Your Majesty, of course… '

'Will you pay attention, Mirabel! Quickly now-you say you didn't have Sergeant Gorse on your list?'

'No, I told you.'

'Do you remember who you did have?'

Mirabel thought about it. 'Corporal Venturi, Corporal Dobbs, Granish the greengrocer, Stebbins the headgroom of the royal stables…' She noticed Primula ticking these off on the master list. 'Er… Harald Redbeard, Skyver Twoswords, Gordamish Ringwearer, Piktush somebody… I can't remember anymore. Someone named Overbite or something like that.'

'Just as I thought!' Primula looked simultaneously triumphant and furious. 'Those are not on my list at all.'

'All of them?'

'No, the last four. Who gave you your list?'

Mirabel blinked. 'Krystal, of course.'

'Now you remember the rules,' Lord Mander said. 'Nominators contribute a gold piece to the Fund; voters contribute ten silvers. Ladies of the Society may not nominate themselves-not that any of our hostesses would-but may nominate another Member, as well as vote… '

'That scheming little tramp!' Primula said. 'I see it all now-'

'I nominate Krystal Winterborn!' someone called.

'She's wanted to be Queen for years,' Primula said. 'And now she's cheated-'

'Huh?'

'She stacked the lists,' Primula said. 'Erased some of the names she knew would vote against her and added her friends.' Primula tapped her own sheaf of papers. 'I'll soon put a stop to this nonsense-'

'I nominate Cabella Ironhand!' called someone else. Cabella had been Queen of the Ball for the past three years; as a sergeant herself, she could count on the sergeants and corporals to vote for her.

'I nominate Sophora Segundiflora,' yelled another.

'I refuse the nomination,' Sophora said. 'But thank you.'

Across the floor, Harald Redbeard met Mirabel's eyes and grinned; then he winked. 'I nominate Mirabel Stonefist,' he said loudly. Krystal whirled and glared at him; Mirabel felt as if she'd just had the wind knocked out of her. What did he mean? She'd never been a candidate for Queen of the Ball.

'What are you up to?' asked Primula.

'Nothing,' Mirabel said. 'I had nothing to do with it.'

Primula glared at her, but apparently decided Krystal was the bigger game, and started across the floor.

'Nominators, make your way to the Donations Table,' Lord Mander said. 'Voters, you may begin lining up to vote when the nominations have been verified. Nominees, come join me at the front of the room.'

'Go on, silly,' said the freckle-faced girl when Mirabel hesitated. 'I didn't realize you were important-imagine being nominated for Queen of the Ball.'

Mirabel made her way through the crowd, accepting congratulations and wolf whistles, until she joined Krystal and Cabella at Lord Mander's side. The room seemed full of eyes; she had never been shy, but she'd also never stood on a dais being stared at by a roomful of people while wearing a whore's dress and a necklace that annoyed the Queen. She could see over the heads of the others to the Donations Table, where Harald was just then handing over a gold piece to one of the clerks.

'Look 'em over, folks,' Lord Mander bellowed past her ear. 'Here they are, three lovely and talented Members of the Ladies' Aid and Armor Society. For those who don't know them well, let me introduce… Krystal Winterborn.' Krystal twirled; her gown glittered in the light. Enthusiastic cheers from part of the crowd, including her barbarian followers. 'Cabella Ironhand.' Cabella, in a handsome rose brocade, smiled and waved at the crowd, to similar cheers from her supporters.

Mirabel felt like a stray cow at auction, not a candidate for Queen of the Ball. As far as she knew, she had only one supporter, and he had his back turned, leaning over the Donations Table. 'Mirabel Stonefist,' Lord Mander said, and she struck an attitude and did a swirling dance step. To her surprise, another storm of wolf whistles and cheers broke out.

Lord Mander looked at the Donations Table, got the wave he was waiting for. 'All right, folks-all the nominations have been verified. You vote with your