“Well,” said Azalea, “there’s the wraith cloak—”
“The what?”
“The cloak that would make you invisible. The High King would use it to slip into the city unseen. That wasn’t unmagicked, but it was given away. No one knows where it is now, but surely it’s fallen to pieces. So, that just leaves—”
“The tea set,” said everyone in unison.
Azalea sighed and dipped a piece of her bread in her raspberry tea. “Right. But I haven’t seen that for ages. Even the sugar teeth—they disappeared after that first night. Does anyone know what happened to it?”
No one had.
Clover, who had been feeding Lily sips of tea with a shaking teacup, remained flushed and silent through the entire exchange, her rose red lips pursed. Now, all of a sudden, she burst into sobs.
“It was my fault!” she cried. “I did it!”
Everyone exchanged glances before turning back to Clover, who sobbed into her napkin as though she had unbottled her heart. She even looked pretty with a dribbling wet face.
“Um, sorry?” said Azalea.
“I broke it!” said Clover. “I broke the tea set!” Hiccupping, she raised her chin, defiant. “With a fire poker!”
The story spilled from her between stutters and shuddering breaths. It seemed as though she had been aching to confess.
Several months ago, when she had been ill, Mrs. Graybe set the magic tea set to tend to her. It kept pushing at Clover and nipping at her to taste the nasty-smelling tea, and finally, when she couldn’t take it any longer, she took the fire poker and bashed the tea set in. And not just once—repeatedly. There were still dents in the wall.
The girls gasped at this part.
The story became even more scandalous. Clover gathered up the pieces of the tea set in Lily’s baby blanket and, late at night, slipped out and dumped the tea set into the garden stream.
“And the pieces—the pieces—they were still wriggling, and—oh! It was like I had drowned them alive!” Clover hiccupped. “But I am not sorry! I hated that horrid tea set!”
By this time, all the girls were laughing so hard they could hardly breathe. Bramble laughed so hard tea almost came out of her nose. Azalea laughed, more in shock that honey-sweet Clover could do something so violent.
“The teeth must have escaped while you murdered the rest of it,” said Bramble, cough-laughing into her napkin. “Ha ha ha! You know, sometimes I think Clover is harboring some deep, dark shocking secret. Fire poker! Ba-hahahahaaa!”
The girls laughed all over again. Even Clover managed a small, wobbly smile. Azalea rubbed her thumb, remembering how the sugar teeth had nipped her fingers.
“I suppose that settles it,” she said. “We’ve got to find the sugar teeth.”
That night, in their newly mended slippers from the shoemaker’s, Azalea had the girls search for the sugar teeth where she last remembered having them—in the silver forest. They had never properly explored the silver bushes and prickly pines off the path, and the girls searched back and forth, setting ornaments swaying and upsetting the bushes with a rustling fabric sound. Flora and Goldenrod even brought sugar cubes, in case they found them.
Thoroughly late for dance practice, the girls emerged from the sparkling foliage displeased, black dresses coated in silver dust.
“It’s like looking for a needle in a stack of hay,” said Delphinium as they made their way to the bridge. “Silver hay.”
“The sugar teeth aren’t down here, let’s face it,” said Bramble. “They would have attacked one of us by now. They’ve probably run away. I’d bet a harold they’ve thrown themselves off the garden bridge to join their beastly comrades. Anyway, who cares if we set Keeper free or not? He’s creepy.”
“I certainly don’t,” said Azalea. “And if you don’t either, maybe we should forget dancing and go back to the room.”
“Steady on,” said Bramble, two spots of pink on her cheeks. “I didn’t mean it like that. Probably every gentleman was creepy back then. I mean, let’s not be hasty or anything. Anyway, where else are we going to dance?”
“It’s more—than just—dancing,” said Clover. “We’re—doing exactly what the—the High King did to p-poor Mr. Keeper. Dancing and just—just leaving him there. It’s so unkind of us.”
A guilty solemness fell over them all as they realized Clover was right.
“Well,” said Bramble. “At least we have until Christmas.” She pulled aside the willow branches.
Keeper stood framed by the entrance of the pavilion, his face lined. Behind him, in the middle of the dance floor, stood a pure white maypole, twisted like a marshmallow candy stick. Twelve colored ribbons dangled from it, bright and sleek. It could have been Azalea’s imagination, but Keeper looked paler, and a touch older than he had that morning.
“Not a word to Mr. Keeper,” said Azalea quietly. “We know how it feels to be trapped.”
The girls gave the palace a full combing for the sugar teeth the next day. Rain pattered against the draped windows as they searched in the silver cabinet, turning up mismatched forks and spoons and an old shriveled potato. They sorted through the cabinets and even picked the lock to Mother’s room. All her powder boxes, dresses, and jewelry had been locked tightly away, her nightgown lay on her bed, and everything felt strange and muffled. The girls left the room, trying to swallow the choking emotion without smelling the white-cake and baby-ointment scent.