Chapter 23: In Which The Wardrobe Strikes Again

The rains came and washed away the remaining glory of summer. Even if the clouds parted for a moment, you could not step outside without an umbrella. Not that there was reason to step outside, unless you enjoyed the squelching sound your feet made on the sodden ground.

It was strange to think that just a few months ago I spent rainy days such as these like a soaked mutt on the muddy streets. I remembered the war against wetness so clearly, always running to try and find an effective cover, but no matter how hard we would try to stay dry, it was always useless. Yet we never gave up on the unattainable notion of dryness. My memories were clear, but already so far away.

I was bored one evening when the Grand Master was gone and I could not bear to practice my reading and writing like I was ordered to. There was nowhere in the inside of the palace that interested me except the library. But I had also gotten tired of searching for that particular book. The morning I had happened upon it was so densely packed with events that I couldn't even recall which bookcase it had been in. Out of the thousands of leather-bound volumes in that library, it would take me forever to find one that had four rat-claws indented into the spine.

I was still convinced I could find it. I just needed time and patience.

All I could do that evening was stare out the window in my room and mull over the lack of other boys my age in the palace. There were only a few who worked in the stables and avoided me like the plague. There was also a handful of girls my age in the palace, but they were even worse than the boys.

My most successful endeavour when it came to making friends was talking with a girl named Cherry who worked in the kitchens. It was going quite well, until a rat showed up and she tried to kill it with a heavy iron frying pan. I used a little bit of magic to yank the pan out of the girl's hands, but the silly thing wouldn't let go of the pan like I intended for her to and I ended up hoisting her up into the air along with it.

I told her never to kill rats and stormed away. That was the last communication I had with her, and my last chance at making a friend.

No, my only real friends at the palace were the rats, but with all this rain and lack of sunlight, I was afraid to turn myself into a rat and not be able to turn back into a boy.

However, that evening I was so bored that I was really tempted to be ratty anyway.

Someone knocked on my door.

"Yes!" I cried out a little bit too enthusiastically.

The door was opened with enthusiasm equal to my own, making it rattle on its hinges, and a blond young man wearing a woman's gown stood in the entrance to my room. Of course I had seen him many times before, he was always lurking about the Grand Master, but I had never bothered to ask anyone about him – even though I wondered what his purpose was and why he dressed like a woman – and no one offered the information freely, so the mystery remained unsolved.

"Hello – " I paused and gave him a careful look, now that I thought about it, he was rather clean-shaven for a man, and he was also very thin, and even though he was very tall maybe he actually was – "Hello lady," I concluded.

His expression, which had been pleasantly twinkling until I spoke, turned into a fierce glare. "Who're you calling a lady?"

I blinked. "I thought you were."

His face turned prune coloured. "I. Am. Not. A. Lady," he stated.

"Okay." I didn't think I wanted to argue with him, but there was something I had to ask. "Then, why are you wearing a gown?"

It had to be a gown; it was made out of some velvety fabric that fit snugly around his waist but flowed down until it reached the floor, with golden furls at the collar and cuffs. He had golden buttons going all the way down from his chin to his bellybutton, and twirly golden embroidery on each side of the line of buttons. On top of that, it was very obviously purple. I'll admit, it was an ugly gown, but in my opinion, all gowns I happened to see about the palace seemed rather ugly.

He caught two chunks of his gown. "This is not a gown!" he yelled. "It's a robe, the highest fashion of robes, and it will never be mistaken for a gown by anyone but an ignorant fool like you!"

I couldn't fight the urge to smirk, so I smirked. "If that's what you want to believe."

He pursed his lips together and harrumphed. He was a handsome man, if indeed he was a man; I sniggered because there was something entertaining about him. He seemed to be overflowing with goodness that made me want to do bad things to him. I always had a problem with wanting to insult nice people. I guess after a moment he realised that he was taking me too seriously, or he simply wanted to hide the fact that he actually was insulted.

"The Grand Master asked me to tell you not to turn into a rat," he said coldly, "and to make sure you hadn't. Well, I see you haven't. Good then, I'll be going. I honestly prefer you when you're asleep." He was still standing in the doorway, so he reached out for the handle to close the door.

"Wait," I said, coy, now that I was threatened by the return of boredom. "Who are you?"

The young man's blue eyes opened up so wide they became perfect circles. "You mean you don't know?" he exclaimed, gaping at me.

"I wouldn't ask if I knew."

"You little – " He pursed his lips again, holding back his urge to swear at me. "I'm the first apprentice."

I looked at him quizzically without understanding the meaning.

"I am Lord Burgen Winterstarch, the Grand Master's first apprentice before he found you," he spat. "I was the one who was chosen by his skill – and not because of a parent's identity."

"Why would they need me if they already had you?"

"No idea," he said as he stepped into the room with his hands on his hips. He marched with his legs held well apart, as if he was trying to demonstrate to me his manliness. "But I will tell you one thing, little boy," he thrust his arm forward, pointing at me, his finger an inch from my nose. "I will never lose to a lazy nothing like you."

A challenge. I was practiced, as a street boy, to ignore taunting challenges – unless I knew I could win. Then the satisfaction would be only mine – and Moe's and Fizz's of course. "Oh really?" I said with a confident grin that I knew would be grinding on his nerves.

"Yes, really," he said perfectly composed.

"Do you want to put that to the test?" I inquired.

"Anytime, anyplace," he breathed out through gritted teeth.

"Are you sure?"

"You arrogant fool, I wouldn't – " I never got to find out what he wouldn't do, I had finally found a spot where his magical guard was so-so and I pounced at it like the kitchen cat. He was so surprised that instead of lifting a barrier against me, he lost his wits. I led him by his pointing finger up into the air before I sent him off hurtling right into my wardrobe that welcomingly opened its doors for his arrival and closed them shut after his entrance.

Although the wardrobe in my bedroom wasn't the kind that locked, with my encouragement it discovered new abilities. The doors rattled violently as Burgen tried to get out. Then, when all his attempts to let himself out both physically and magically failed; he resorted to banging his fists against the doors. "Rat, let me out this moment!" his muffled voice yelled from within the wardrobe.

I could not answer him right away because I was too busy laughing. My shoulders shook and my ribs hurt. I laughed so hard that I couldn't stand anymore and I ended up sitting on the floorboards in front of the wardrobe. "Does this count as losing to me?" I asked while still giggling.

"What?" He was probably pretending that he couldn't hear because he couldn't think of anything clever to say – I knew that because I used that trick all the time. "Let me out of here, you brat!"

"Say uncle," I said in a singsong voice.

The banging paused as Burgen seemed to be building the courage to admit defeat. "But... Why?" he asked in a perplexed voice.

I frowned thoughtfully; there were games we played on the streets that this tight-lipped lord would never understand. "Saying uncle means you've lost," I explained.

"Why uncle?" he wondered.

"Beats me," I said, shrugging, "same reason we keep mum I guess."

Burgen sighed within the wardrobe and I felt that the whole fun of it was lost now that saying uncle didn't mean as much to him as it would mean to any kid you'd meet in the city. "Alright, alright," he said, "uncle!"

I grinned. Maybe it wasn't as satisfying as it could have been, but it still felt rather good.

The doors popped open and Burgen Winterstarch rolled out. His blond hair was standing on end, his gown was a crumpled mess and his face was extremely pink. "You'll pay for that," he poisonously promised me after he managed to straighten himself out as best he could.

"Looking forward to it," I said, and actually, I was. I grinned widely at him. I liked him and I never stopped liking Burgen since. He has always been an extraordinary fellow. I didn't have any other people to choose from, and even though he was several years older than me, he reminded me slightly of Moe.

And there was also something unusual and special about him that took me several years to figure out.

Either way, although it took some time, after that day we both gradually, and in our own way, became friends.