Free The Salamander Spell by E. D. Baker Page A

jump into baskets for no reason. Something or someone,” she said, looking around her, “ made you do this. I wonder why.”
    “Because they’re mean and ornery and hate me for no good reason that I can think of ?” said the toad.
    “Maybe . . . or maybe someone is trying to help me. Whoever you are,” she said, raising her voice, “thank you!”
    “Yeah,” grumped the toad. “Thanks a lot!”
    Pleased that she finally had the toad she’d been ordered to find, Grassina hurried to take it to her mother. She found the queen alone in the Great Hall, crouched on a bench while she pulled leeches off her dripping legs.
    “That moat’s full of leeches,” said Olivene, glancing up at her daughter. “Good thing, too. Means I have a steady supply. A little boiled leech paste and . . . What is that you have there?” The queen’s long nose quivered as she eyed Grassina’s basket.
    “It’s that toad you asked for. I brought it as soon as—”
    Olivene’s lips pursed, and her eyes grew as cold as iron. “I told you to get that toad yesterday! A day late is almost as bad as not at all. I think you need a little lesson about being slow, my girl.”
    The color drained from Grassina’s face when her mother raised her arm. Setting the basket on the floor, she backed away, saying, “I’m truly sorry, Mother. It won’t happen again! I’ve already learned my lesson.”
    “I’ll be the judge of that,” sneered Olivene. “Next time I’m sure you’ll do whatever it takes to be prompt!”

    The turtle skirted a moldy clump of tansy, shaking its head in disgust. The herbs that covered the floor of the Great Hall should have been replaced weeks ago, but ever since the queen had fallen prey to the family curse, a lot of things had been neglected in the castle. Two pages were just returning from watching the knights practice with swords and lances when one of them discovered the turtle. The freckle-faced boy, the son of a minor noble and the youngest page in the castle, stopped to poke the plodding turtle with his shoe. “Look at this! How do you suppose it got in here? Do you think it belongs to somebody?” The boy picked it up and flipped it over to examine its underside. Startled, the turtle pulled its head and limbs into its shell and squeezed its eyes shut.
    A page with curly black hair rapped on the shell with his knuckles. With the authoritative air of someone a full year older, he said, “Nobody brings a turtle into the castle unless it’s meant for supper. I love a good turtle soup.”
    “Maybe it escaped from the kitchen,” said the first page. “Do you think Cook will give us a reward if we take it back?”
    “Let’s see if she has any tarts left from last night,” the older boy said, reaching for the turtle. “Give it to me! I’ll take it to her.”
    “And claim all the tarts for yourself ? I don’t think so!” Snatching his prize back, the younger boy took off running with his friend right behind.
    Acting in a very unturtlelike manner, the captive stuck its head out of its shell, looking for a way to escape. Its head bounced painfully on its scrawny neck as the boy ran, but the turtle knew what would happen if it reached the kitchen: a little discomfort was the least of its worries.
    “Cook!” shouted the page. “We found your turtle!”
    “My what?” The head cook blinked sleepily at them from her seat by the fireplace, where she’d been dozing with a cat on her lap. She peered at the turtle as the pages held it up for her to inspect. “Ah,” she murmured, “it’s a nice turtle, too. Thank you, boys. I like a bowl of turtle soup now and then. Give it to Lettie there. She’ll know what to do with it.”
    Thrusting its legs out of its shell, the turtle struggled to get down, but the boy held it away from his chest so that his captive had nothing to push against.
    “Drop that right in this pot,” said a chubby young woman with cheeks bright red from the cooking fire. “Oh, that’s