The Queen and the Mage

by Wilma van Wyngaarden

  She listened for the trellets’ chittering and scanned the shrubbery as she passed by, but did not see them. At the orchard she took the long way around, seeing the rat-girl under the trees picking up windfalls, her pets gliding through the grass at her feet.

  “Haha,” River chuckled. “She’s got rats, but I got trellets. I wonder where they are!” She flitted along the path by the river, keeping a sharp eye out for rustling in the bushes, which might indicate trellets... or one of the homeless boys in hiding. In the distance, a dog minding a flock of sheep barked sharply when it caught sight of her.

  Two kitchen lads were in the castle garden weeding a row, but they did not see River’s small form in the dappled shadows of the bushes. She climbed the willow and crawled into her nest, reaching for the basket of food. It was untouched. She nibbled the remaining chicken off the bones and threw them out of the tree, then ate the bread and butter.

  “Eeee!” came a small shriek, from a few branches over. “Greetings!”

  “You trellets!” River said, chewing as she stared at them.

  “I am Bew,” the one reminded her.

  “I am Spar!”

  “Trellets,” repeated River. “I saw the old man who gave me Theoria’s stone. The forked stick… it didn’t work.”

  “Who gave you the water witch’s stone?”

  “It was his grandmother’s!”

  “Theoria! Theoria!” the trellets leaped from branch to branch in their gleeful way. “What’s the matter with the stick, oh, tree baby?”

  “He said get a fresh-cut stick.”

  “Fresh cut… fresh cut!”

  “Dried up is no good!” River put the last bit of food in her mouth and spoke around it with difficulty. “I need a new one.”

  “Eeee! Tree baby needs a new one,” the trellets jeered and shrieked like birds. “Then get one, tree baby!” They leaped to another branch and disappeared from her sight, although she could still hear their excited cries.

  “Give me a new one!” River demanded. “And I’m not a baby!”

  “Maybe we will, maybe we won’t!” came their voices faintly in return.

  The basket was now empty except for the napkin. Would there be more food at the kitchen door later? If not, she would have to go scrounging tomorrow. She thought of the gold coin she had found, now hidden in a hole in another tree. She had a stash of smaller coins under a flat rock in a thicket near the castle, along with a few other treasures. Her small knife was all she carried, other than the new amulet around her neck. The gold coin would buy a lot of food, she suspected. Best to keep it for later. If she couldn't find something to fill her belly, she could use one of her smaller coins at the market. She could always find water in a rain barrel, or at the village well, or in a horse trough.

  River peered at the branches near her. Maybe she could cut a forked branch from one of the smaller willows along the river.

  But here were the trellets. A forked stick dropped from a branch above and landed near her, accompanied by a chorus of shrieks. Two pairs of beady eyes gleamed down at her triumphantly.

  “Ewww, trellet spit!” she said automatically as she had the previous time, inspecting the chewed ends.

  The trellets giggled and showed their little sharp teeth.

  River bared hers back at them, which set off screams of mirth again. “I think you are trellet babies,” she said.

  “Well, we are not as old as some.” They leaped away and disappeared higher in the tree.

  River took out her knife and trimmed the ends as she had last time.

  Some time later she stood in the market square, swishing the stick with one hand. The old man was nowhere to be seen, and she wandered away again. She tried witching with the stick. Although it twitched in her hands a few times, she found nothing.

  “Hey, child, what are you doing?” an older village woman called out from a doorstep on a street near the market. River ran away without looking back at her. “Did y’see that? I think yon child is witching for water!” the woman said to her neighbor with a disbelieving laugh.

  “That’s one of the feral children, Kimmit’s little wild one.” They watched River pelt up the street and disappear. “How did she learn that, I wonder?”

  River turned up a side street and cut through a yard where red chickens scratched and pecked. She crossed the garden commons—another place where she could snatch food when no one was watching—and headed over to the road leading away from the castle. There she took the stick in her hands again, following the slight tugs. When a farmer’s cart came creaking along, she ducked behind a thicket. And that was where the stick pulled strongly at last, the tip bending toward the ground at her feet.

  She searched through the weeds and found a ring. She spat on it and rubbed off the dirt. A plain, smaller-sized ring, it glinted yellow like the gold coin she had found. She put it on her thumb and took hold of the stick ends again, meandering on. Some time later, on the other side of the road, the stick jerked downward for what turned out to be a coin—not gold—and, further on down the long hill, she found a twisted silver earring under the decayed leaves.

  “Hey, trellets!” she called out when she climbed the willow tree late in the day.

  “I am Bew!” came the chirping response.

  “I am Spar!”

  “Trellets,” River acknowledged. “See here, trellets, what the stick witched!” She held out the ring, coin, and earring in her palm.

  “Oh, my,” they said in chorus, their sharp eyes staring from a few feet above. “Oh, my! See all the treasures you found!”

  “The stick found them,” River said.

  Her words sent them off into gleeful shrieks, and they bounced from limb to limb. “She thinks the stick found them, but no! It was she—it was she!”

  She watched without comprehension as the little stick men leaped about the nearby branches.

  Bew, the one with the smoother coat, finally told her, “The stick finds nothing! Nothing! Unless in the hands of a water witch!”

  “Water witch! Water witch!” Spar jeered.

  “Hush!” They both went silent, peering intently toward the castle. “Look, water witch, they are bringing out food!”

  River closed her fist around her finds and leaned over to look through the screen of swaying leaves. At the kitchen door, the lads brought out the table again. The chancellor, who she had seen many times in the king’s company, directed them. Then he sent a searching gaze around the area. “Lads! Girls! Come get the food! One basket each—and bring the baskets back!” he called out, cupping his hand around his mouth.

  “Bring the basket back!” Spar chittered. “Don’t forget!” His skinny finger jabbed at River’s basket.

  Some time later, the dinners again sat waiting on the table. The kitchen gate was closed and locked, and behind it stood Mako, watching.

  River heard voices from below—the feral boys, Tag, Nard, and Trickit, along with another who appeared younger, stood near the ancient willow.

  “Why is he there?”

  “He won’t grab us… I think…”

  “He might.”

  “No, the gate is locked.”

  “It’s a trap. You go first, Tag!”

  “Why me?” Tag protested.

  “You can run faster than me.”

  “And me, too!”

  “Why’s he still standing there?” one of them whined. “Go on, Tag!”

  Tag took a few reluctant steps toward the castle. But two forms ran in ahead of him—the thin ragged lad from the village with a young child behind him. They took two baskets and bolted away, the small one wailing with terror as he trailed behind.

  Tag walked stiffly toward the table. Even from the tree, River could see that his knees were shaking. He stopped once or twice, then drew closer. Mako, watching from behind the gate, stood relaxed with his hands on his hips. Tag, the only one who had the previous night’s reed basket in his hand, reached the table and stopped. He extended his arm stiffly
and dropped the basket on the table, then fumbled for a new one.

  “Thanks, lad!” Mako’s voice floated across the distance to the tree. Tag backed away and then turned to race back to the willow tree.

  “Whatcha get? Whatcha get?”

  “Go get your own! I told you he won’t grab us.”

  The others began to whine. Then Trickit ran in. He stopped dead at the table and froze.

  “Bring back the basket tomorrow, lad,” said Mako calmly.

  River saw Trickit flinch. He gave a tight nod, grabbed a basket and turned and ran.

  He was giggling almost hysterically when he returned. “See that? See that? I talked to him!”

  “You did not! He talked to you!”

  “I’m waiting till he leaves,” Nard whined.

  “He’s not leaving,” Tag said. “See.”

  The rat-girl sauntered into sight as she had the day before, her rats on her shoulders. She walked up to the table, glared at Mako and picked up the next hamper as if she were buying it at the market.

  “Bring the basket back tomorrow,” said Mako, as pleasantly as before. She flinched at being addressed, as Trickit had, and left more swiftly than she had arrived, her hard gaze sweeping the area.

  Nard whined again. Then he ran in as fast as he could with his limp, snatched a basket and ran back, tucking his head as if he was afraid he would lose it.

  As he came back, the fourth lad dashed past him, took a basket, and backed away, staring at Mako.

  “Bring the basket back tomorrow, lad,” they heard Mako’s calm voice. The boy nodded several times quickly and kept backing away until he finally dared to turn and run back to the others.

  “I got it! I got it!” They all darted away.

  River kept watching. Some minutes later another ragged boy raced in, caught a handle on the way by, and kept going.

  “One more than yesterday!” the trellets observed, having skittered to another limb for a better view.

  The chancellor was still standing behind the gate. Someone behind him said something, and he turned to answer. He shook his head and then turned back. He crossed his arms and then idly tapped his chin with one finger, surveying the area.

  River felt for Theoria’s amulet at her chest. It was smooth and cool. Maybe it would give her protection. As a backup, however, she had her knife. She slithered down the tree and dropped into the bushes behind it.

  From above she heard the tiny screams of the trellets. “The basket, the basket!” River looked up and saw the reed basket tumbling down. It bounced onto the grass and she dodged from behind the tree to pick it up. Then she pulled out her knife.

  She watched Mako with an eagle eye as she ran toward the table. If he moved one inch, she would dash away. When she got there, she shoved her basket onto the table and reached up for one of the two remaining.

  “Thanks for bringing back the basket.”

  “Stay away or I’ll cut your fingers off!” she warned him shrilly. He grinned back at her.

  “What’s your name?”

  She tugged the hamper off the table. It was heavier than she expected.

  “None o’ your beeswax!” She scampered away. She remembered something from a long time ago… her ma telling her, “What do you say?” when a neighbor gave her a treat. She stopped and looked back over her bony little shoulder. The chancellor was still standing behind the gate, watching her go.

  “Thank you!” she called back. She ran off and dove into some bushes as she had the night before. The food was as good as yesterday’s: a meat pie filled with beef, potatoes and peas; a chunk of hard cheese; and a small loaf loaded with jam and butter. As dusk settled, she polished off half the pie.

  In the queen’s chambers, Scylla roused herself from a much-needed, late afternoon nap to find everyone gone but Sorrell, who was sitting stiffly at Coltic’s bedside.

  “He still looks like death,” Scylla observed with disappointment, having hobbled over to inspect him.

  “Neither better nor worse,” said Sorrell. “How is your ankle?”

  “Protesting the abuse I caused it in the forest,” she said wryly. “And you?”

  “I can do very little… it is tedious. Broken bones—especially ribs!—are best avoided. They and my arm will take weeks to heal, Minda says.”

  “Where is Minda?”

  “She and the servants are in the guest chambers cleaning up after Woliff and his men.”

  “Hmmm!” said Scylla. “I wonder what she will find there!”

  “And Axit took Leon to visit the soldiers, as he keeps pulling at Coltic to get up and play.”

  They both looked at the silent captain.

  "Captain!" Scylla tried calling him. He opened his eyes suddenly and blinked up at her. Scylla and Sorrell stared at him, shocked.

  “Coltic? Are you awake?” Sorrell asked cautiously after a moment.

  A wary expression crossed his face as he realized where he was. “Awake,” he repeated thoughtfully in a dry croak, moving stiffly and giving himself a stretch. “I believe so… have you any ale, or some of that wasted wine from the dinner?”

  “I believe so.” Scylla, startled by his sudden return to lucidity, looked around. “Sorrell, is there any?”

  Sorrell pushed herself to her feet. On the table, several bottles remained from the morning meal. She poured out a tankard of ale and returned to his bedside with it.

  “Can you sit up?”

  He sat up, pushing back the woolen blanket, and swung his feet to the floor. “Of course! Well, perhaps I am a little weak,” he noted hoarsely. He gave a sudden rasping cough and Sorrell held out the tankard. With a shaking hand, he took it, put it to his mouth and drank.

  “Good Goddess,” he said a moment later, his eyes going from Sorrell to Scylla with unease. “I feel like a pair of rogues lay in wait and beat me half to death!”

  “The soldiers said you collapsed early this morning.”

  Coltic stared at the cup in his hand. He downed the remaining ale. “I needed that! I am dry.”

  “You were so senseless we could not get you to swallow,” Sorrell told him. “How do you feel?”

  “Hmmm… I cannot exactly say…” He still wore an expression of unease, and his eyes slid from Sorrell to Scylla and away.

  “Your clothes are there,” Scylla said, pointing at a neat stack nearby. “The laundry washed and dried them. I will tell Minda you are back among the living!” She left Sorrell with him and went through the foyer, leaning on the ever-present sword stick.

  The large soldier on guard duty outside the door stared at her in blank shock when she limped out. “Ma’am… Queen Scylla!” he stuttered. In the arched hall, at the door of the former king’s chambers and at the head of the grand staircase, two other guards froze, their eyes widening.

  “Soldiers!” she said in return. “I understand Minda is in the guest rooms… is she not?”

  “Yes, Queen Scylla!” said all three in unison.

  She crossed the hall and went up the steps to the guest suite. The stately double doors stood open and Scylla stepped inside.

  “Curses!” she exclaimed, forgetting all about Coltic. The decoration of the guest chambers was even more excessive than the reception area of the queen’s suite. Although she knew the late queen had put the foreign craftsmen to work on the guest suite after completing her own chambers, Scylla had never bothered to visit it.

  “I believe the same craftsmen that did your mirror-matched paneling had free rein in here,” Minda said with some humor. “See these carved panels and such exotic graining! The velvet ceiling drapery and the curtains are even dustier than in your rooms. No one has cleaned here for months, it appears! Nor did Herron think to have the cobwebs swept away before hosting Woliff and his men.”

  “I believe all the district lords keep their own lodgings in the village—the castle rarely housed visitors. My former chambers are behind these rooms and we rarely heard anyone here.”

  “Really! Despite the
fortune spent on the finishes and furniture,” Minda observed. “I will have the servants take down the draperies and beat the carpets outside… they are in good condition but for the spiders and dust.”

  “Can these carpets be moved to our chambers? The ones there reek of stale perfume… have you noticed?”

  Minda nodded. “An excellent idea—I will have them switched. As you see, Princess, besides the main rooms, there are three small bedchambers here. I recommend we house the new ladies’ maids Linya and Sara here for now. I will warn them not to become accustomed to the grandeur! Your former chambers can be fitted for the other castle servants, who are now in an unsuitable room above the stables. Prince Leon may require these quarters later, but for now he will stay with us.”

  Two servants emerged from a bedchamber with armloads of bedding and curtains, which they dumped near the door before disappearing into the next room. A cloud of dust puffed into the air, and Minda smothered a sneeze.

  “Have you found anything left by the wolves of Gryor?”

  “Some clothing, the jeweled box presented to Woliff, and this. One of the servants, Kay, found it in the far corner under the big bed. There was no dust on it.” Minda indicated a round stone lying next to the jeweled box on a small three-legged table. About an inch across, the clear quartz crystal had been roughly chipped into shape.

  Scylla blinked. Into her mind came a thought, unbidden. “Clear quartz is the stone of magnification,” she murmured.

  Minda turned to look at her. “The stone of magnification?”

  Scylla blinked again. Where had the words come from? “Perhaps the Goddess spoke to me,” she said defensively. “I know nothing of stones.”

  They both looked at the round quartz crystal, now with suspicion.

  “I do not wish to touch it. Either they dropped it or they left it behind.” On purpose, said the quiet voice in her mind. “I felt Woliff’s secretary was a sorcerer.”

  “Magnification…” Minda said doubtfully. “I have no experience with things such as this.”

  One of the servants, an older, wiry woman with gray hair pulled to the top of her head in a knot, peeped out of the bedchamber they were stripping.