“Political weddings,” Lilibeth sighed in disgust. She slapped her clipboard down on the counter and disappeared underneath the aged walnut beams.
I leaned over, wondering what she was doing, but all I saw was a mass of skirts and quickly averted my eyes.
“Right,” came a muffled version of her usual dulcet tones. “Welcome to Castle Steinbeck, Pika.” Her voice became clearer as she emerged, treasure in hand. “I’m sorry to start your first day of work with what we normally won’t do, but it’s all hands on deck for political weddings.”
I accepted the clipboard with a red sheet of paper hesitantly. “The reputation was compelling.” The words swam in front of my face, and I averted my eyes with haste. “You’re saying the castle doesn’t guarantee the marriage will last?”
She paused in the process of securing her own scarlet sheet, the red rippling underneath a fan in an ominous warning. “The castle guarantees nothing,” she said sternly. Lilibeth’s eyes crinkled. “We just make sure it’s too uncomfortable for the poor matches to go through with the deal.”
“I thought…” My lips moved without sound for a moment before I gave up and waved an arm.
Lilibeth took pity on me. “If the bride can’t make it to the altar because she’s trapped in a maze until she meets a better fit, or if she happens upon the groom trysting with another in the gardens, are you suggesting that the castle shifts paths to accommodate a marriage filled with love and partnership rather than misery and doubt?”
“Um, when you put it that way.” I tried to study my clipboard, but my fingers betrayed me and it clattered to the ground.
“Because you’d be right,” she said softly.
I bonked my head on the huge wooden beams of the counter overhang at that. Fortunately not with great force. The castle saved marriages, not head wounds.
When I made it back to my feet, Lilibeth gave me a sad smile. “Political weddings, though. We don’t usually accept them, because the castle doesn’t like unhappiness. The couples often wind up living separate lives, for instance, only kept together for reasons that can only be described as nonsense. As if anyone with a head on their shoulders cares what the press thinks.”
I followed her down the hall toward the soaring cathedral. Our footsteps echoed as we walked, and I started to understand why walking softly had been part of the job qualifications.
“So the political couples – they’re special, somehow?”
“Paying for it, more like.” Vinegar was less acidic than her words. “We don’t take many customers like them, as mentioned, but those we do, are well aware they get the reputation of a solid match without the Marriage Guarantee.”
Her voice grew hard. “I make sure of it, and at least when they enter into the deal, they believe the consequences. I won’t have fools ruin our reputation.”
“Consequences?”
She paused and turned, barring her teeth. “They’re unable to separate without repercussions.”
As we entered the cathedral, I suddenly wondered with trepidation if I was the one who now got to dust the intricate alcoves and statues, two-thirds masked in the soft morning light. Yipes! I’d be here a week trying to get dust under control.
“It’s all on the checklist.” She blew out her breath in what the generous might label a sigh and sounded remarkably like my neighbor’s brown and white cow. “First off, get the screaming candles. They warn of a poor match. We can guarantee the couple already knows that, and they’ll go through with it anyway. No need to interrupt the service.”
“For which I thank you,” a soft voice came from – below?
I blinked, and a mouse in black garb but for a priest’s collar twinkled beady eyes and twitched his whiskers in greeting. Crouching down, I extended a hand, then rethought it into a finger. “Ah, greetings, Father?”
“Pika, this is Father Windfolk.” Lilibeth’s sharp eyes were watching my reactions, even more than during my interview. “He came to us one day by way of the sacramental garden – a door just popped into view on a tree, and suddenly the hawks stayed away. We don’t hold weddings in that area, either, only the others.”
His paw was warm and dry on my fingertip. “I wouldn’t want weddings in my yard either,” I managed. “I’m glad the hawks leave you alone. Will yardwork be part of my duties?”
***
This didn’t come out quite how I’d like, but I’m leaving it here for now. This prompt incorporated a spare from last week about screaming candles as well as Becky Jones’ prompt this week about a tiny door in a tree. My prompt about the Linear City went to Leigh Kimmel, and I can’t wait to see what she does with it.
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