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castle guards.
    Something about them was spooky. I mean, in theory, weren't they there to guard me, the officially named heir apparent of this realm? Surely it wasn't proper guard etiquette to come up behind the person who's scheduled to be crowned as your king, to lay hands on her and spin her around. And several of them had swords or knives drawn.
    I glanced around. Maybe something had happened, I thought. Maybe they were here to rescue me from some danger?
    Right.
    "She's too weak to be a proper king," said the guard who'd spun me around, the guard I'd ordered to release the boy accused of poaching. "She'll be the death of all of us."
    And with that he stuck a knife into me.
    It didn't hurt. I felt fizzy, like an ice cube in a glass of ginger ale, all covered with carbonated bubbles. My knees gave out from under me, and my eyes grew heavy. When I opened them again, I was on the hill above the cluster of huts that was the village of St. Jehan, and my mother was calling, "Janine! Janine, come back to the house."
    So much for playing smart.

CHAPTER SIX
"Do Not Pass Go; Do Not Collect $200"
    O
K ,
I thought,
that brings me down to ... what?
Whatever I'd had before minus half a day.
    Never mind,
I told myself.
Just play smarter this time.
Nigel Rasmussem had given me two hints:
And next time,
he'd said,
don't forget the ring.
OK, I'd be on the lookout for a ring. And,
Kenric and Sister Mary Ursula don't work well together.
I'd be on the lookout for Sister Mary Ursula. I would concentrate on being a good heir apparent so that I would win thè game, and I wouldn't distract myself by keeping a running calculation on how much time I might or might not have left.
    Just as last time—until I did something different,
everything
would be just as last time—Dusty, my dog, leaped on me and began licking my face. "Down, Dusty!" I ordered. "Stay. Guard the sheep."
    Dusty lay down and either guarded the sheep or went to sleep.
    I ran down the hill. "Hello, Mother," I said. I glanced at her hands. No rings. Of course not, she was a simple peasant woman, and peasants don't wear jewelry.
    I asked, "Who's this?" Even though I knew Sir Deming's name and business, my character wouldn't.
    Sir Deming was just as rude as last time. Waving his handkerchief as though to dissipate the smell I brought with me, he asked, "Is this the lass?"
    Who cared what he said? I saw he was wearing a ring.
    Aha!
    "My, what a nice ring," I said, talking over my mother, who was telling me to stand straight and not fidget.
    Deming looked as though he suspected I was a ring thief as well as a sheepherder, and he crossed his arms over his chest, tucking his fingers under his arms.
    In games, certain events are keyed to certain actions. It was probably too early for me to actually get the ring.
    I listened, antsy with impatience, while I was told, once again, that I had been living with foster parents; I learned, once again, about the death of King Cynric, my father.
    When Deming said that the dying king had sent for me, I eyed his hand and asked, "Did he send some token?"
    "He sent me," Deming said in his snooty, snotty manner.
    OK, maybe it was still too early.
    I didn't bother asking about my half brothers or the queen—we could discuss them on the ride to the castle, without taking any extra time.
    Once again my foster mother wept when I left, saying that my foster father would be heartbroken to miss saying good-bye to me. (
Yeah, yeah.
In my experience—in two worlds now—fathers were just big sentimental softies.) If I had felt rushed the first time, now I knew myself to be in a race. No time to waste on characters who were there just for the scene-setting.
    This time as we rode away on Deming's horse, I asked Deming all sorts of questions about my new family, to show I was interested. Deming, of course, was
not
interested.
    "Who's Sister Mary Ursula?" I asked.
    Again Deming gave me a suspicious look. "Interfering old busybody," he said. "Has she been in