As much as Irene would have liked to slam the door of her manor behind her, she knew better than to show any weakness in front of the servants. Calming herself, she smoothed down the fabric of her gown and carefully shut the door behind her. The manor was deserted, which was exactly how Irene liked it. She hated to detect any sign of life that wasn't hers or Toby's.
As if on cue, Toby stumbled into the room, a smile on his dirty face. Sarah was not far behind him, but she came to a halt as soon as she saw Irene. Smiling to herself, Irene ignored Sarah and proceeded to enfold Toby into her arms, almost flinging him into the air. Sarah scoffed at this, unmoved by the show of emotion. Finally, Irene acknowledged Sarah, a wicked idea springing into her mind.
"Sarah darling," she began, tone thick with fake adoration. "How has my Toby been today? He wasn't too much trouble, was he?"
The sceptical look on Sarah's face remained as she stared at Irene in disbelief. She's finally snapped, her mind crowed, she's finally been put in her place. But Sarah pushed these thoughts away and clasped her hands politely in front of her.
"Toby's been an angel," she lied. The boy had, of course, managed to distress his fair share of chickens today by pulling their tails. He had also managed to throw jam in her hair and decorate the kitchen with his breakfast. Sarah knew better than to say that though. "We were just going to take a walk through the marketplace and see if there were any new toys."
Irene nodded at this, a plan still unfolding in her mind.
"Sarah dear, why don't I take Toby out, and you go clean yourself up. There's someone I want you to meet." Sarah's manners left her completely and she stared at Irene in shock, flabbergasted.
"I-I..."
Irene smiled smoothly. "Good. Toby and I will see you later!" With a flippant wave Irene left the house again, this time taking Toby with her.
The marketplace was crowded with common goblins and, already, buzzing with news of the upcoming ball. Goblins gossiped like schoolgirls. Within a day, it was likely that the entire Labyrinth would know, including Irene's servants. Which meant that, one way or another, news was sure to reach Sarah's ears.
Toby tugged at his mother's skirt, and pointed towards an apple stall. Irene smiled at him and glided towards the stall, a path parting before her.
Sarah. What to do about the girl? Well, Irene could always put her forward at the ball. The downside to this, of course, was that Sarah had a mind of her own, and didn't trust her stepmother even as far as she could throw her. If Sarah were somehow to get into the Goblin King's good graces, if they were to marry, Irene would be completely unable to influence her stepdaughter. It would be exactly as bad as if any other girl had wormed her way onto the throne. No, Irene decided, it would be best if Sarah wasn't at the ball at all.
She paid the apple seller, and handed one of the brilliant red apples to Toby, who began to toss it up and down in the manner of the very young. Irene ignored him, and moved on, her mind elsewhere.
Now the question was how to keep Sarah away from the masquerade. The girl was, regrettably, a dreamer. If she heard anything about a royal ball to which she was technically invited, she'd stop at nothing to get there. Of course, Irene could forbid her to go, but they both knew that would achieve nothing. No, the Duchess would have to be wily. It was just a blessing that Sarah knew nothing of magic.
The toymaker's stall held all sorts of delights. The latest thing appeared to be spinning tops that took flight halfway through their spins.
"Elementary magic, and not a little woodcarving skill," the toymaker boasted.
"Very nice. Do they come down again?" Irene inquired.
"Usually," the toymaker admitted.
'What else have you got?"
There were soldiers that marched in formation and even hacked at each other in a badly-disciplined sort of way if they met up with another army. There was a large castle that folded into a cube roughly the size of the apple with which Toby was playing. There were dancing couples in fancy-dress, with different masks on either side of their heads. It all put Irene rather uncomfortably in mind of the ball. Three days! Three days in which to work it all out.
"Isn't there anything else?" she demanded. The toymaker gave her what he must have thought was a sly smile (he looked rather like he was about to be sick), and pulled, from under the table on which his wares were displayed, an elaborately carved wooden box.
"I knew my most discerning customer would want something more...distinguished." He winked, and opened the chest, lifting something out as though it were more precious than gold. "Observe, my lady."
It was a music box, of sorts. It was all glass, with delicate gold bars holding the panes in place. Inside, a lovely doll stood immobile, tiny porcelain face looking at the world through realistic, miniscule glass eyes, cherry lips permanently pouted. Its long, dark hair was drawn back in loose curls behind its head, and its little body was dressed in a sparkling white ballgown.
Irene's lips pursed. "Put it away." It looks just like that wretched girl!
"Ah, but you haven't seen what it can do," the toymaker wheedled. He lifted the music box, again handling it delicately, wound the key on the back, and placed it back on the table.
Nothing happened for a long moment. Then a tinny tune began to play, and the figure began to turn.
"Is that all?" Irene accused the toymaker.
"No. Just wait, please," he assured her.
Then the figure lifted its arms. Alone, in its cage of glass, it danced, long skirt flaring as it twirled jerkily. Then its tiny lips slid open, and it began to sing.
"There's such a sad love..."
Toby clapped his hands, dropping the apple. Irene ignored him. The toymaker slowly became aware that her glare was reserved for him and him alone.
He tugged awkwardly at his collar. "Er, a piece of cunning artifice such as this commands a price of -" he began, but the Duchess of Batons' glare was like an iron bar. "I'll just...put it away, shall I?" he whispered.
Irene nodded. The toymaker picked up the music box reverently, and packed it gently away, still singing, into the chest, which he then put under the table. "I'm afraid that's the extent of my stock," he apologised smoothly.
The terrifying quality drained slowly from Irene's face. She nodded again, and then pointed to one of the armies on the table. "I'll take two of those."
The toymaker nodded back and pulled out two rough-hewn wooden boxes, into which he began to pack the armies. "Be sure to store them separately," he warned the duchess, who gave him a tight-lipped smile.
"I shall be sure to remember." She pulled out her purse. "Now, how much do I owe you?"
As Irene and her son drifted away through the market, the toymaker glanced sadly at the box by his feet. He'd been counting on her to buy his music box. He'd put a lot of time, money, and magic into that little thing. Who, he wondered, would buy such an expensive and frivolous toy, if not the Duchess?
Almost without thinking, he found his gaze drawn to the castle looming overhead.
