The day of the ball came. Isabelle was in the royal city, along with hundreds of other girls, some her age, some younger, some who looked old enough to be her grandmother. She hadn’t been able to find an inn to stay in, but one of the palace chefs, who lived very close to the palace grounds, had offered her a room in return for cleaning his house. She had been very nervous about the ball, but talking to the chef had made her feel more at ease, and she was very proud of her dress, so now she was waiting calmly for evening.

Markus had no gardening duties that day, because the Duke would be travelling to the palace with his daughter and had graciously given all his staff a day of holiday. Markus was grateful, but for this particular day he would rather have been at work. That way he could distract himself from his jealousy of Isabelle and his longing to go to the ball. Sitting on his doorstep, he remembered what his sister had told him about Madeline’s answer to this.

“Me wear a dress, huh? Maybe that wasn’t such a bad idea after all.”

As if he had summoned her with his words, Madeline appeared around the corner of the street with the basket they had given her. Without giving any explanation for her return, she pulled him into the house and opened the basket. “Hello again! I’m your fairy god-sister. Now, since you were both so nice to me, put this on,” she said, lifting out a dress.

Markus was so surprised that he did as she said, and all he could think to say was “God-sister? Isn’t it usually fairy god-mother?”

Madeline looked insulted. “This is how old I actually am, you know. Rule one of fairies: we can’t do magic on ourselves. I’m not old enough to be a mother, so sister it is. Right, shoes next. You’re tall for a girl so flat shoes will do. Hmm, Isabelle was right, this colour does suit you. The shoes are the same colour, but they’re tougher material so you can actually walk in them. Now the wig. It’s the same colour as your hair, but you need to make sure all your own hair is covered. Right, good, what next?”

Markus stood there in a dress, blue shoes and a wig that reached a little below his shoulders, and although he couldn’t see himself he was sure he must look ridiculous. “You know, I appreciate this, especially since you went to the effort of getting shoes and a wig for me too, but I really don’t think I’ll pass as a girl. Also, how am I supposed to reach the palace before this evening?”

“Don’t be such a worrywart. I thought about those things, and I’ll use my magic, of course!”

She took an ordinary-looking stick from her pocket and pointed it at him. He felt no different, but she assured him that he now looked completely like a girl, and that this would hold until he took the wig off or until it was knocked off with force.

“My magic isn’t very strong so if it gets a hard hit it won’t hold. I’m just warning you.”

Markus wasn’t convinced that there was any ‘magic’ being done, but he was starting to enjoy himself, even if this would be for nothing in the end. There was no way he could reach the palace in time. Madeline claimed that this was not a problem, and pulled him along in the direction of the Duke’s mansion. Markus wondered if she intended to steal a horse, or perhaps to magic a wheelbarrow into a coach, but when he arrived he saw that there was already a coach outside the mansion.

The Duke and his daughter were hurrying towards the coach, the former looking exasperated, the latter entirely hideous in an orange dress and too much make-up. Madeline approached them, dragging Markus with her.

“Please sir,” she begged, “My sister was meant to be going to the palace yesterday, but her travelling companions didn’t turn up. Please let her travel in your coach. With your daughter dressed so beautifully, you must be going to the ball, and it surely wouldn’t hurt to take one more person with you? Please sir, it’s her only chance!”

The Duke smiled at her, but looked anxiously at his daughter. When she shrugged disinterestedly but raised no objections, he nodded, ushered the two of them into the coach and got on himself before telling the driver to leave quickly. Markus thanked them and the Duke asked his name and where he came from.

“Mar- um, my name is… Martha, sir. I come from a town half a day’s walk that way,” he said, gesturing vaguely. “My sister told you why I was late in leaving, but why are the pair of you only leaving now?”

The Duke, who was a portly man and was now rather red in the face from hurrying, looked beratingly at his daughter. “Clarisse had an issue with her hair stylist, so insisted upon getting a new one this morning. So, we left later than I had planned… which is fortunate for you, I suppose.” He looked happier at this thought.

“Well, father, at least now my hair looks suitable for the daughter of a Duke. It would have been unthinkable to show up with my hair tied up simply, or, can you imagine, left loose!”

Markus ignored this pointed comment, and the rest of the journey was spent either in silence or short conversations with a simple question and answer. The lack of conversation made for an awkward trip, but Markus was simply relieved that they had not recognised him. When he parted from them at the edge of the royal city, after which they were forced to go on foot by the sheer number of people, he felt much more comfortable in his attire.