A Talented Maid

Chapter 7

“What?”

Hans bowed even deeper and said, “I am not the sculptor of the statue of the Third Empress, sir!”

“You’re not? But the Head of Imperial Affairs told me it was you.”

“I was in charge of it, yes. But the part that you praised—the part conveying depth and spirit—was not my handiwork. Your lowly servant does not have the talent to produce such a masterpiece.”

The prince gazed down at Hans. Now that I look at him... he has the wrong figure.

The sculptor he’d seen in the rain last night was very small, almost like a skinny girl. The sculptor could not have been a woman, of course, but he was certainly not this tall, burly sculptor called Hans.

“I see. Then who did? I would like to reward him for his admirable work.”

“I... do not know, sir.”

“What?”

“I really don’t know, sir. Someone snuck into the garden last night and finished the sculpture, and I cannot imagine who. It must have been an angel.”

The prince frowned. This was unexpected.

“Armond.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Is the public allowed on palace grounds without permission? In the middle of the night, no less?”

“Absolutely not, sir. If found, they are arrested or shot on the spot.”

“Then it had to be someone from the palace.”

The prince nodded and gave the order: “Find the sculptor from last night. I must meet him.”

Prince Rhaël recalled how it had felt to see the sculpture last night. He dearly wished to reward the sculptor who helped him feel his mother’s presence for the first time in ten years.

How hard can it be to find one rogue sculptor among the palace staff?

***

The sculptor turned out to be impossible to track down.

“None?”

“No, sir. None of the men among the palace staff who fit your description are capable of sculpting, sir,” Armond reported apologetically.

Rhaël frowned. “How can this be? I saw him with my own eyes.”

A man seated nearby listening to their conversation offered, “Maybe you saw wrong, sir.”

The prince turned toward the voice. “Auren.”

Auren was the current Duke of Saubienne and a premier strategist who had won Prince Rhaël many battles during the civil war. He now served as the premier of the empire and the prince’s closest confidant.

“No. I know what I saw.”

“How strange. What you describe sounds like a woman—a little girl, in fact,” Auren remarked, cocking his head. A handsome man of cheerful disposition, his blonde curls suited him perfectly. “But no woman sculpts marble.”

“No, indeed,” the prince agreed. No female sculptor in the empire, or anywhere in Europe for that matter, sculpted stone.

“Hmm.” Auren mused as he stroked his chin, “Tell you what—how about I look for this sculptor myself?”

“You personally?”

The prince was puzzled.

“As your liegeman, I must satisfy your curiosity. And besides,” Auren added with a roguish smile, “I’m dying to find out who pulled such a stunt right here in the palace.”

And so, the scullery maid Marie ended up with two of the most powerful figures in the empire on her tail.

***

“Achoo!” Marie sneezed as she helped the gardeners.

She sniffled and scratched her ear, wondering, Is something talking about me?

“That cold sounds bad, Marie. You can go back to your room and rest,” Hans said worriedly.

“I’m all right,” Marie assured him.

The mood had lightened up in the garden thanks to the positive feedback from the prince. All that remained were the final touches.

What a relief, Marie thought, as did everyone else involved in the project. The only problem was, the identity of the mysterious sculptor was yet to be revealed.

“Marie, are you sure you don’t remember seeing anyone that night?” Hans, who knew that Marie had come by the garden that night to see him, asked again.

Marie quickly shook her head, worried she might give herself away.

“No. I didn’t see a thing. I went straight back to my room.”

“I see.”

Marie did not tell anyone that she was the mystery sculptor. How was she to explain her sudden ability to sculpt like an angel? She would be lucky if they did not take her for a witch.

Besides, I mustn’t catch the prince’s eye, Marie reminded herself, remembering the horror she felt to hear that the Bloody Prince was looking for the sculptor.

There was little chance, of course, that she would be exposed as the Princess of Cloyan after all these years. She was kept out of sight for most of her stay at her father’s palace, for the king was ashamed of his illegitimate daughter’s inferior blood. Marie would be shocked if anyone even recognized her as the princess these days.

Thanks to that, I survived as a scullery maid. If there were many who recognized her, she could not have hidden herself among the fleeing palace staff. Her lowly status in her father’s palace turned out to be a blessing in disguise that gave her a second chance at life.

Still, I ought to be careful. The cruel prince was the last person Marie wished to associate with.

“Maybe the lord really did send me an angel,” Hans said, looking up at the sky.

Marie smiled awkwardly. This was a happy ending for all, even if the sculptor remained in the dark, wasn’t it? She went to bed happy and fell into restful sleep.

And was surprised to have another of her lucid dreams.

She was a young boy this time, by the name of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart.

***

The heat of the summer had abated and autumn was drawing near. The fields of the empire turned a golden hue as the crops ripened, and the most plentiful season of the year and the festival to celebrate it came upon them.

“I’m really looking forward to this year’s festival.”

“Me, too. We had a great yield this year, and there was no festival last year.”

The people of the empire were excited for the festival to resume after the collapse of the empire and the years of civil war during which the princes fought bloody battles for power. The empire was abuzz with anticipation for the first festival in this new era of peace.

A great festival, of course, meant a great deal of work for those tasked with preparations at the palace. The palace maids were among them as well, as the palace was to host feasts and parties, while festivals were held in the streets for commoners. It went without saying that most of the work fell to the palace maids.

“We’re only a few days out from the beginning of the festival! Buck up, people!”

“Yes, Miss Susan!”

“Everyone, go to your areas and receive orders from the person in charge!”

The maids of the Lily Palace, apart from the essential staff, were dispatched to other palaces for festival preparations.

I’ll get to see a new part of the palace, Marie thought.

As the garden renovations were in the final stages, her services were no longer needed there. But when the head housekeeper told Marie where she was to go, Marie was stunned.

“The C-crystal Palace, miss?”

“Yes. Is there a problem?” Susan asked, surprised.

“No, miss.”

“You start tomorrow. You won’t be asked to do anything too strenuous. Help them out, and clean up afterwards.”

“Yes, miss.”

Susan added with a smile, “The Rose Palace gardeners sang your praises. Keep up the good work.”

“Thank you.”

Marie sighed when she left the head housekeeper’s room.

The Crystal Palace?

She wasn’t worried about the work. Like Miss Susan had said, it would be small errands at best. The problem was the dream she’d had a few nights earlier.

Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart? The Crystal Palace was where the imperial orchestra was to give a concert, and her task was to help out during rehearsals and other concert preparations.

It can’t happen a third time, can it?

Marie wondered if the dream would lead to another real life occurrence.

Mozart. The name from the dream was etched in her heart.

***

As Marie predicted, she had another dream that night. She was the musical genius Mozart. This was her second dream as him.

‘Mozart, Mozart!’ The voice of a young girl called Marie/Mozart. Marie-as-Mozart waved at her.

‘Sister!’

‘What are you standing there for? We are to leave for Paris this instant. You’ll be late for your concert.’

‘I was admiring the scenery.’

‘What scenery?’ The girl frowned. Marie realized that the girl was Mozart’s sister Nannerl.

‘Over there.’

The girl turned to where Marie was looking. A sleepy countryside unfurled along the walls of Rottenburg.

‘There’s nothing here.’

‘Don’t you hear music?’

‘Music? What music?’

As Nannerl frowned, Marie-as-Mozart closed her eyes. An amazing thing happened. In the empty field of the countryside, she could really hear music playing. The gentle breeze, muted babble of the brooks, the branches dancing in the wind, the sound of rolling fields—all translated to notes, to melody, to harmony, to music in her head.

Nannerl nagged, ‘Stop saying strange things and hurry. Father is waiting.’

‘I’m coming.’

Marie headed to Paris, hearing music everywhere on the way. The Paris concert was a great success as always.