Alexander, Lloyd - The Marvelous Misadventures of Sebastian

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The Marvelous Misadventures

of Sebastian

by Llyod Alexander

ISBN 0-14-130816-8

PUFFIN BOOKS

eVersion 4.0 : scanned, fully proofed and formatted by

NiHuA, 2002-12-19.

Before Going Any Further

READ THIS FIRST:

This is my archival copy of a copyrighted material.

If you do not own the printed book,

you have no legal right to possess or read this eBook.

You are required to immediately delete this file.

Please support the author. Go buy the book.

"Please, Go Buy the Book."

-NiHuA

NOTE: "About the Author" and "Books by Llyod

Alexander" at EOF.

ONE

How Sebastian Lost His Place

FROM his perch on the window ledge of the

musicians' quarters, high under the East Wing roof,

Sebastian's quick ears caught the drum of hoofbeats. In

another moment, he spied a coach-and-four galloping

through the gates, down the tree-shaded avenue, past the

swans in the pool, to rein up at the Grand Hall of the

Baron's estate. Two footmen leaped off, flung open the

coach door, and with much effort handed out a gross,

waddling figure in a gold-braided cocked hat and scarlet

cloak. At first sight of the unexpected visitor, Sebastian

tumbled back into the chamber and shouted a warning:

"The Purse!"

The Second and Third Fiddles and a Flute were

playing cards, while the aged and ailing First Fiddle lay

stretched on his bed. Hearing Sebastian's alarm, the Flute

bolted out the door and the others hurriedly struggled into

their livery. Bells began shrilling on every floor of every

wing, alerting all the household to this visitation from

Count Lobelieze, Royal Treasurer and First Minister of

Finance---whom Sebastian preferred to call by a less

dignified title.

The First Fiddle started up. His cheeks twitched with

fright. Though he had served the Baron longer than

anyone on the estate, the old musician had gone

practically deaf and lived in constant terror of being found

out.

"Sebastian!" he moaned. "Friend and colleague! Ah,

my boy, my boy, what shall I do? Today of all days, if I

miss a note it will be worth my skin!"

Sebastian clapped him on the shoulder. "What shall

you do? Why, just what we did last time His Tub-of-

Lardship came to squeeze gold from the Baron. You

pretend to play, and make a show of leading us. I'll play

your part easily enough. The Baron will be none the wiser.

As for The Purse---His Most Excellent Haunch-and-Paunch

hears nothing past the rumbling of his own stomach."

Glad to help the pitiful First Fiddle, and by no means

unwilling to pull off a harmless hoodwinking, Sebastian

jumped into his livery, snatched up his fiddle and bow,

and raced down the stairs.

There he saw that his master, Baron Purn-Hessel,

had been caught as unawares as the rest of the

household. The Baron's wig was askew, his neckcloth was

hastily tied, and a pair of reading spectacles hung from his

pocket.

"An honor," murmured the Baron, a sickly smile

frozen on his face as he escorted the Royal Treasurer into

the Grand Hall. "Honor, indeed... your coming this far

from Loringhold. All goes well in the capital? The Regent's

health excellent? And yours? Splendid as always?"

The Purse, monstrously fat, with great slabs of jowls

and a mouth as wide as a toad's, heaved along beside the

Baron. His gold waistcoat, bulging with watches and

snuffboxes, scarcely covered his paunch; a thickly

powdered wig crouched on top of his head; his white

breeches were stretched tight to bursting; and his boots

creaked under his tread. He stared at his anxious host

through liverish eyes, choosing to disregard the Baron's

remarks in favor of his own.

"An event of greatest magnitude," The Purse

declared. "An occasion of utmost importance to the entire

Principality of Hamelin-Loring. You will be pleased to learn

the Regent intends to announce the betrothal of Princess

Isabel."

Baron Purn-Hessel bobbed his head. "Betrothal---of

utmost importance, quite so. Princess Isabel's betrothal

to---?"

"To the Regent himself, naturally," replied The Purse.

"Beyond question, the only appropriate union. Your official

notification will arrive in due course. Meanwhile, the

Regent allows you the privilege of offering, shall we say, a

personal gift---in addition to the customary tokens of

esteem. You know the Regent's thoughtfulness, and he is

sensible it may take longer than usual, even for one in

your position, to arrange a sum befitting the occasion."

The Purse smiled at the Baron and added, "In gold

crowns, if you please. Without undue delay."

"Princess Isabel to wed---the Regent?" Baron Purn-

Hessel answered weakly. "My heartiest congratulations to

the happy couple. By all means assure the Regent:

without undue delay. Gold crowns, of course."

The Baron's voice faltered, though he tried to keep

his composure by adding, with hollow enthusiasm, "Now,

sir, you've traveled far and no doubt have many more

visits to make. But if you would favor us with your

company... a small repast... a little music."

The Purse grimaced at this last. Seeing the Royal

Treasurer's disdain, Baron Purn-Hessel winced. Like all the

nobility and gentry in Hamelin-Loring, the Baron spared

no pains in catering to any whim of the Regent's creature.

The Principality was not so large that unfavorable reports

did not reach the Glorietta Palace in Loringhold with

distressing speed; and even from a distance, the all-

powerful Regent, Count Grinssorg, could repay a slight

misjudgment with sudden ruin.

Sebastian, overhearing all this, pulled a wry face,

knowing as well as any in the household that after The

Purse's visit there would be lean fare at the Baron's table

and leaner fare at the servants' board. Baron Purn-Hessel

was not a cheeseparing master, but the Regent's new

demand would leave little cheese to pare.

Joining the dozen musicians behind their stands,

Sebastian tucked his fiddle under his chin and began

tuning the strings. The Baroness with her two small

daughters, all gowned alike in red silk, were making their

way down the marble staircase. Behind them followed the

Maids of the Chamber, the Hairdresser, the Dancing

Master, and half-a-dozen lackeys hastily commandeered

as a joyous crowd to wait on The Purse's pleasure. Baron

Purn-Hessel glanced around to make certain all was in

order.

From his chair in the front rank of the orchestra, the

First Fiddle signaled the musicians to begin. The Purse,

meanwhile, raised the outstretched hand of the Baroness

to his lips, put one fat leg behind him, and bent as deeply

as he could.

At the same instant, Sebastian lifted his bow to

launch into the opening notes. As he did, the fiddle head

hit the music stand. His hand faltered and the bow went

skidding up the strings, sounding like the rasp of cloth

tearing down the middle.

The Purse straightened as if stabbed. He flung away

the hand of the Baroness while his own sped to the seat of

his breeches which, from the sound, had surely split in

two.

The Baron paled. The Grand Hall fell utterly silent.

The lackeys stood stiff as dead men. The Baroness did not

blink an eye; but the two little girls crammed their fists

into their mouths and tried vainly to stifle their giggling.

Finding his breeches safe, The Purse realized the

embarrassing noise had come from one of the musicians.

He went crimson and livid by turns. His hands clenched,

his waistcoat stretched even tighter, his jowls shook and

swelled all the more, and he burst out in a furious voice:

"Who did that?"

The glare of The Purse fell on the nearest musician,

the First Fiddle, who began trembling violently, gasping,

and looking ready to topple from his chair.

Sebastian, at first scarcely able to hold back his

laughter, now understood that serious damage had been

done: not to The Purse's breeches but to The Purse's

dignity. Seeing that the courtier's wrath would surely fall

on the wretched First Fiddle, who seemed about to shatter

into pieces at any moment, Sebastian quickly stepped

forward, and bowed to Count Lobelieze.

"Excellency, it was I. My bow slipped."

The Purse stared at him as at a slug on a dinner

plate. "Impudent villain! You dare look me in the eye? And

lie to my face? Well, young scoundrel, I'll have the truth

out of you! Admit it! You did it on purpose to mock your

betters!"

"Excellency," Sebastian declared, "you have my

word: an accident, no more than that."

"What!" roared The Purse, turning to Baron Purn-

Hessel. "Do you hear him? He raises his eyes, and now his

voice! Rebellion! No more, no less! But he'll be taken

down, sir, for I know how to deal with his kind."

The Baron gave Sebastian a reassuring glance, and

raised a hand placatingly to The Purse. "Surely, Count, it

must be as he says. I know him for something of a

scamp, but there's no harm in him."

"No harm in him?" retorted The Purse. "Do you call

disrespect and insolence no harm? Will you have all your

household follow his example? Ah, no, sir!" He turned to

Sebastian. "You'll beg my forgiveness. On your knees, you

villain!"

Sebastian flushed. "Excellency," he said, looking

squarely at The Purse, "I'll stand like a man and ask your

pardon for my clumsiness. I'd not be such a fool as to

offend Your Excellency on purpose. Though indeed I'd be

more than a fool and less than a man if I admitted

something I never meant."

This only sent The Purse into greater fury. "More

insolence! Impudence on top of impudence! Purn-Hessel,

I'll tolerate no more!"

"He will be soundly punished," the Baron murmured.

"He will be dismissed! Discharged! At once!" The

Purse bellowed. "Let him be gone this instant!"

The Baron hesitated. "Count Lobelieze---I should

hate to lose such a nimble fiddler."

The Purse went closer to him and muttered between

his teeth:

"Tell me nothing of fiddlers! Have you crowns enough

to waste on a worthless musician? A rebel and renegade,

to boot! The Regent tolerates neither, and he will be

curious to learn that you do."

At this mention of the Regent, Baron Purn-Hessel

went even paler and his eyes wavered. He said nothing for

a moment. The Purse folded his arms.

The Baron finally turned helplessly to Sebastian and

spoke in a low, pained voice:

"You are dismissed. Leave here directly. You no

longer have a place in my service."

Sebastian gave his master a puzzled glance; but

when the Baron said no more, he bowed stiffly, turned on

his heel, and marched from the Grand Hall.

He made his way to the East Wing and up the stairs

to the musicians' quarters, his dismay, confusion, and

indignation growing at every step, and his blood boiling at

the loathsome Purse. "I'm in for it this time," he groaned.

Nevertheless, he could not seriously believe the

Baron meant to turn him out. "When I galloped his

favorite mare across the swan pool he only stopped my

pocket money for a fortnight," he told himself. "Even

when I bloodied the Second Footman's nose for teasing

the Scullery Maid, and ruined his livery into the bargain---

the Baron did nothing at all."

Still, much as he expected it, no servant came to tell

him the Baron had changed his mind. More than ever

baffled and for the first time truly alarmed, Sebastian

could only do as he had been ordered.

Though he delayed as long as he dared, it took him

little time to pack. The livery was not his to keep, and his

other belongings were scant: jacket and breeches, a few

changes of linen, a couple of shirts, one pair of boots, two

pairs of stockings, and a neckerchief. He dressed slowly,

then wrapped the remaining garments around his only

other possessions---his fiddle and bow---and tucked them

all into a green bag.

It was in his mind that Baron Purn-Hessel would call

him back before he reached the gate; but as he passed

through the kitchen, not even a lackey whispered a word

to him. The Chief Cook, who had always spared some

tasty morsel for him, bit his lips and kept busy over the

pots and pans. The First Footman, who had always winked

at his escapades, now stared, speechless. The Serving

Maids, all of whom at one time or another had sworn him

undying love, turned their eyes tearfully away.

Sebastian, as much distressed by their silence as by

his own plight, soon saw the reason for it. Two of The

Purse's footmen, a pair of grim-faced fellows, were

lounging at a table in the corner, keeping a sharp eye on

all that happened. Sebastian made his way from the

kitchen without a word.

The Gatekeeper alone dared to offer a leave-taking,

but only after the iron gates of Baron Purn-Hessel's estate

clanged, shut and the old servant was sure of not being

overheard.

"Farewell, and have a care," murmured the

Gatekeeper, thrusting his hand between the bard. "It's a

hard piece of business, the world; alas, you'll need more

than that yellow hair and handsome face of yours. Mind

your steps, lad, or you'll be for prison---or worse."

"Prison?" Sebastian replied, putting as light a face on

the matter as he could. "Why, it seems to me I'm on the

free side of the gate!"

The Gatekeeper sadly shook his head. "Locked in and

bolted more than any of us here." He pointed with his

keys toward the road. "Locked into the outside, if you take

my meaning."

At that, he shuffled into his gatehouse, leaving

Sebastian with no more to do than set off wherever he

chose.

TWO

How Sebastian Stopped at the

Merry Host

BEWILDERED at the harshness of his punishment,

angry at being humbled by a hog's head like The Purse,

and fearful of what lay in store for him now, Sebastian

trudged along as his legs led him. Even so, at each step,

he could not help glancing over his shoulder, hoping to

see one of the stable boys come galloping up, shouting

that the Baron had ordered his return. But the road lay

empty behind him; and though he slowed to a snail's

pace, the Purn-Hessel estate was all too soon out of sight.

His feet were leading him nowhere, and he knew only one

thing for certain: his hope for a living lay in the bag on his

back.

Nevertheless, the Baron had called him a nimble

fiddler, and the more Sebastian thought of this, the more

his spirits lifted.

"So be it," he told himself. "I've lost my place, but

I'm bound to find another. And who's to say it won't be

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