Free Lost Places by Carla Jablonski Page B

though she knew it would probably displease Vuall.
    â€œAre you all right?” she asked Crimple.
    Crimple rubbed his neck and winced. Molly could see several splinters sticking out at odd angles where Vuall had applied pressure with her enormous scissors.
    Crimple must have noticed Molly’s worried expression. He smiled bravely and stood up very straight. “No permanent damage, miss. Faced far worse from woodpeckers and termites.”
    â€œI promise I won’t let her hurt you,” Molly told him.
    â€œAnd I make you the same vow,” replied Crimple.
    Clack-clack! Vuall clapped her bony hands together. “Enough. It is time for lessons. Sit,” she ordered Molly, pointing to a hard, straight-backed chair near the fireplace.
    Molly did as she was told. She wouldn’t risk Crimple’s life for the sake of her pride. Somehow, she would find a way to save them both. Until shehad a plan, she would play along.
    Molly suffered through a series of absurd so-called lessons. She pricked her fingers a hundred times while being taught to embroider. She was instructed in proper posture, and Vuall told her that once she’d mastered basic deportment, they would move into the more advanced skills of walking in high-heeled shoes and sashaying. All along Vuall kept talking about Molly’s future and the real purpose behind all this training. “Remember, child, you are being groomed to be the perfect wife of a powerful magician.”
    Every time Molly made a mistake, Vuall would say, “The master was quite explicit about what he wanted,” or “Oh, no, that will never do for the master.” It gave Molly the creeps—not just the idea that she’d been kidnapped and was going to be handed over to some horrible magician like a piece of property. No, what was far worse was that he had gone to all the trouble of choosing her and trapping her, only to be this intent on changing her. And what he wanted her to become disgusted her: passive, docile, empty-headed, doll-like.
    Now Molly sat in the darkening room, with Crimple at her feet. She peered at a thick book of etiquette and rubbed her eyes. “Can we have some more light?” she asked. “I can hardly see the words.”
    Vuall clucked disapprovingly from her rocking chair opposite Molly. “You are to make do,” she said. “Accept your lot with a smile. Others wiser than you will make your decisions and determine what you do and don’t have.” Vuall put down her knitting. “And now a quiz.”
    Oh joy, Molly thought.
    â€œWhat have you learned so far?”
    Molly bit her lip. There was no good way to answer that question without getting herself into trouble.
    â€œCome now, child. Speak up. Certainly I have not wasted my time in instructing you, have I? You must have learned something today.”
    â€œUh, yeah. I mean, yes, miss,” Molly corrected herself hurriedly as she noticed Vuall reaching for her shears again. Crimple scurried behind Molly’s chair.
    â€œGive me an example.”
    Molly ran over some of the lessons shoved down her throat. “I learned that the key to happiness is to spend a lot of time doing your hair.”
    â€œThat is a start. And why is it important to pay attention to your grooming?”
    Molly remembered the “instructive stories” Vuall had read to her, all about well-behaved girls who came to be happy in their captivity, who spent hours on their appearances and lived happily everafter. Who snared princes as husbands because of their legendary beauty. But what had struck Molly the most was that beauty was their only asset. None of them had any spunk or integrity or did anything, although as princesses they had the thrill of being able to order other people around, eventually.
    â€œBecause if you’re pretty enough you can get away with anything,” Molly muttered.
    â€œHmph.”
    Molly could tell that Vuall didn’t