I soon learned that my chief duties would take place in the mansion’s vast kitchens. There was always something to be done there. In the morning, the fires had to be stoked from the previous night’s coals and breakfast made. After breakfast, there were various dishes to be prepared for lunch, tea, and supper. All of these had to be ready when called for. But the real challenge was the dishes. There were always pots, pans, bowls, cups, cutlery, and serving dishes that needed to be washed.

  For just about four years, my daily routine consisted of waking up, coaxing a flame from a couple of dim embers, helping get breakfast ready, then washing a never-ending stream of dishes. Once the dishes had finally stopped piling up, I was allowed to go collapse in a pile of hay that served as a bed. If I broke a dish, I was beaten. I learned pretty quickly not to break the dishes.

  Other than that being punished harshly for simple mistakes, life consisted mostly of drudgery rather than hardship. The slaves on the estate were well-fed, even if the food was not always of the highest quality. The master, Citizen Bandar, never bothered to visit the kitchen, and I wasn’t important enough to be punished if the food didn’t meet his expectations. Even the head chef was only horsewhipped once, and that was a very unusual situation.

  The day everything changed for me started much like any other day. I had been scrubbing pots all morning, and Grandam Joyce came by while I was scrubbing out the inside of a massive pot roast dish. It was my least favorite pan to clean because it always smelled so good. The wonderful smell was a sharp reminder that I was not good enough to eat pot roast. I was muttering while I leaned way down to get the crusted fat in the back corner when she came up behind me and startled me so bad I almost banged my head on the pot.

  “Arabella.”

  “Yes, ma'am!” I straightened up to attention as I had been taught long before.

  “We need you in the stables today. The stable boy had an accident and his replacement won’t be here until tomorrow.”

  “Replacement?”

  “He was kicked in the head by a horse. I’m afraid he didn’t survive.”

  That wasn’t encouraging news, especially because I had no idea how to take care of horses. The stable boy did, and the horses had killed him. I tried to think of a way out.

  “Ma'am, I still have a lot of dishes to do. Are you sure that you want me to go?”

  Grandam Joyce looked around the kitchen at the pile of dirty dishes and signed. “The kitchen will have to manage without you for one day. Now, off you go to the stables. The groom there will show you what you need to do.”

  "Yes, ma'am," I acknowledged with a curtsey. The older woman watched as I washed up as quickly as I could and started walking toward the door closest to the stables.

  "And Arabella?" she added just as I was about to reach the exit.

  "Yes, ma'am?"

  "Be careful, okay?"

  "Yes, ma'am."

  When I arrived at the stables I found a man shoeing a horse in front of the main building. Thinking of the late stable boy’s fate, I kept my distance.

  “Are you the groom, sir?”

  “Nay, young one. I’m the farrier.”

  “What’s a farrier?”

  The man straightened up and said proudly. ”I take care of all of the horses' hooves and keep them properly shoed. You won’t see any lame horses on the property, all thanks to me.”

  “I see,” I replied. “Do you know where I can find the groom?”

  “In the back slacking off, if I had to guess. He never has anything to do unless the master’s around.”

  I thanked the man and walked through a set of large double doors into the stables, then headed down the row of stalls that the man had indicated. I felt strangely self-conscious as I passed between the silent, watchful horses on either side. The strong smell of manure didn’t put me at ease either.

  I reached the end of the hall and knocked on the rough wooden door. I heard an indistinct rustling and then a loud thunk followed by swearing. It looked like the farrier had been correct about the groom. The door opened and a sleepy-looking man poked his head out.

  “What do you want?” The man said as he looked me up and down. “Are you here to muck the stables?”

  “Grandam Joyce sent me to cover for the stable boy. What does ‘muck the stables’ mean?”

  The groom smiled an evil grin.

  Ten minutes later I was equipped with a wheelbarrow, shovel, pitchfork, and pair of rubber boots. The boots were huge on my feet but I was still thankful to have them. I was as ready as I’d ever be to move around giant piles of excrement. The groom gave me my instructions and a key.

  “Start with Ronaldo, if he’s not happy with the way you clean out his stall then it’ll be all our hides for sure. He has his own enclosure separate from the others. Go outside and look to the left, you can’t miss it.”

  I nodded and made my way out front again through the main door. The ferrier was still out there working away, so I gave him a friendly smile and trundled my wheelbarrow over to find Ronaldo. I used the key on the padlocked door and turned around to drag the wheelbarrow in with me. When I finally got inside I heard a snort from somewhere in the stable, so I looked over my shoulder to see where it had originated from. When I saw him, I almost fell over into the wheelbarrow from shock.

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  Ronaldo was the most gorgeous creature that I had ever seen. He was black from his hooves to the tips of his ears, save for an ivory horn jutting from his forehead that shone like polished stone. Around his neck was a silver chain supporting a small pendant with a dark gemstone. His wings were folded gracefully back against his flank and not a single feather was out of place. We stood there for a moment gazing into each other’s eyes before he turned his head to bite at one of his wings. It kind of ruined the moment. I turned around to get the wheelbarrow situated when I heard a voice.

  “Oh, no. She looks even less competent than Perry, and he got himself killed.”

  Startled, I looked around to see if anyone else was there. I didn’t see anyone, so it must have been the winged horse that spoke. I figured it would only be polite to introduce myself to a fellow servant, even if it was a magical horse, so I made a formal curtsey. Unfortunately, I’d forgotten about my boots and ended up tripping over my own feet. I heard the voice again.

  “Well, at least she might provide some entertainment.”

  I picked myself up and brushed away the dirt as best I could. I repeated the curtsey, successfully this time, and introduced myself.

  “Mr. Ronaldo, my name is Arabella. I’ll be your stable girl for the day, so please let me know if there’s anything that I can do for you.”

  The horse snorted and stamped its foot. It looked right at me again and even though it didn’t move its mouth, I could have sworn that it spoke again.

  “Oh great, she thinks I can talk to her. I hope she doesn't keep up a one-sided conversation the entire time she's here.”

  Thinking that maybe it was the horse's thoughts I was hearing, I decided to try something.

  “You can just think your orders to me, sir. I should be able to understand them.”

  The horse’s wings flapped powerfully as it convulsed in what must have been surprise. I was so startled that I tripped over my boots again. I crawled back to my feet again as the horse mastered itself and thought a question to me.

  “You mean you can understand me right now?”

  “Yes, sir.” I continued to speak out loud since it seemed to work for the horse and felt natural to me.

  “That’s impossible!”

  “Why?”

  “Because only Citizens can understand my thoughts. Do you know how many stable hands I’ve tried to communicate with? And you just waltz in here for the day and can hear me.”

  “I’m sorry, sir. Do you want me to leave?”

  “No! Don’t you see, this is the best thing that’s ever happened to us. We can help each other.”

  “How’s that?”

  “If you can hear my thoughts, you must have magical abilities. If I vouch for you, then that lout Bandar will probably have you tested. Once you’re free, you can buy me.”

  The idea of being free and possessing a magical talking horse went to my head. “And then we’ll be best friends?”

  Ronaldo snorted. “Well, I wouldn't go that far. But anything is better than flying that windbag all over the place."

  “Oh, ok. So what do we do now?”

  “Well, Bandar doesn’t have a polo game until next week, and the lazy sack of manure doesn't practice, so I won’t be able to tell him about you until then. You’ll have to wait."

  I had never heard anyone talk about my master in such insulting terms. It was amazing. But all my training screamed that this kind of talk was forbidden, so I steered the conversation to safer waters.

  “What’s polo?”

  “It’s a game where wizards ride around on Pegasi, which is what you humans call us, and hit around a bunch of different balls. It’s boring unless they hurt themselves. Anyways, are you gonna muck out my stall now?”

  Although I wouldn’t have a magical flying horse for a best friend, I was still excited. I would never have to wash a dish again for the rest of my life. That was something worth cheering about. The magical abilities would probably come in handy, too.

  It turned out Ronaldo didn’t have a chance to talk to Bandar for sixteen days. Apparently, the mighty Citizen ate too much and skipped his next polo game. I survived my tour of duty as a stall mucker and returned to dishwashing. Every single dish was agony. I kept thinking, “maybe this is the last one!”

  I had all but given up hope when a commotion behind me sent my heart into overdrive. I quickly wiped my soapy hands and turned around. Grandam Joyce was there with two men. The thin man with jet black hair I recognized as Vincent, the steward. Bandar, my master, was easy to identify based on his ornate saffron-colored robes and air of authority. He was medium height, shorter than all the other Citizens I had ever seen, and had spiked purple hair. A flowing black cape with a matching walking stick tipped with a large diamond completed his ensemble. I tried not to stare at my master's questionable fashion until the steward stepped forward and spoke.

  “Arabella, please come with us.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Without a further word, the three of them went out the back door of the kitchen and began to walk towards the stables. After a moment’s hesitation, I ran to catch up and fell in line behind Grandam Joyce. We walked in silence until we reached the door to Ronaldo’s stable. Bandar turned and looked at me for the first time.

  “Miss Arabella. My Pegasus informs me that you can understand his thoughts. If this is the case, then you are a Citizen and will be immediately freed and paid compensation. If you are shown to be lying, you will instead be immediately executed under these same laws. If you have deceived the Pegasus and confess now, you will be punished, but not killed. Do you wish to confess?”

  It took me a second to realize that he was waiting for a response from me. I had no idea that this was a life or death test. What if reading Ronaldo’s thoughts was a one-time deal? At least if I backed out now I’d still have my life.

  “I have nothing to confess, sir!” The words came rushing out of me unbidden.

  Bandar nodded to Vincent, who threw open the main doors of the stable one after the other. Ronaldo stood in his stall along the left wall and was looking directly at the four of us. Grandam Joyce nudged me forward and I found myself standing to the left of Bartleby in front of the massive winged horse. There was nothing else to do but to hear the innermost thoughts of a magical winged horse. Piece of cake.

  “Kid, can you hear me?” Ronaldo’s thoughts came in loud and clear.

  “It’s Arabella, don’t you remember?” I replied out loud, startling Bartleby. He turned and raised a hand threateningly before he realized I wasn’t talking to him. He ran his hand through his hair and nodded to Ronaldo.

  “Let’s get the test underway. Be silent and I will give the Pegasus its instructions. Good luck.”

  After a moment I heard Ronaldo speaking to me again.

  “Tell the jackass forty-two.”

  “Forty-two?” I thought back. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

  “Hey, I heard that. I guess I can hear you when you want me to. Just say forty-two, and don’t forget our agreement.”

  “Forty-two,” I told Bandar out loud. I half expected him to congratulate me and shake my hand while jumping up and down. His response was altogether different.

  “If I free you, will you agree to give me half of the reparations paid to you by the crown purse?”

  “I don’t understand, sir.”

  “Say yes!” Ronaldo’s shouted thought rattled around in my head.

  Bandar explained further. “Once you are free, you will be given a large sum of money as an apology for your time kept as a slave. Will you share half of it with me if I report that you have magical talent? I don’t have to, you know. I could keep you here forever and there would be nothing you could do about it.”

  “That rat!” Ronaldo thought at me.

  “Yes, sir. Of course, I will give you half.” I replied. Freedom itself was priceless; the money was just a bonus.

  My soon-to-be-former master fiddled with a device attached to his wrist for a moment before turning to the steward.

  “Vincent, prepare the guest chamber. Miss Arabella will be staying there tonight. Tomorrow, we will head to Streesa to present her to the official examiners. And make sure the groom gives the Pegasus a treat. It has done me a service.

  “Yes, my lord,” the steward answered.

  Bandar waved his hand to signify we were leaving. As I followed him out, I sent one last thought to Ronaldo. “Thank you for your help. I won’t forget our deal once I’m a Citizen.