The Unready Queen

by William Ritter

  “Oh, I wasn’t saying anything about the Wild Wood,” Tinn said.

  “You should be,” Old Jim grunted. “There’s something goin’ on here. Something . . . magic.”

  Hill laughed. When nobody else joined him, he stopped. “Wait. Really?” He looked around the faces of the assembly. “Magic? Is he serious right now?”

  There were murmurs of anxious agreement from the crowd. Old Jim just let his dark gaze drift to the forest.

  Fable did not like the glint in the old man’s eyes.

  Seven

  Deep inside the Wild Wood sat a quiet, moss-covered cabin. The forest had all but claimed the little house. Sweet grasses grew from its rooftop and a fourth generation of swifts was chirruping in its chimney. Lichen grew on its ledges and ivy in its eaves. A goblin stood on its front step.

  Chief Nudd took a deep breath.

  Nudd was many things. He was a goblin, of course, and High Chief of the Hollowcliff Horde. He was Ambassador to the Elflands, Enforcer of the Goblish-Spriggan Alliance, Tiddlywinks Champion, and even an honorary deputy in New Fiddleham’s human police department—or, at least, Commissioner Marlowe had not yet tracked him down to take the badge back, and Nudd was not going out of his way to surrender it. What Nudd was not was satisfied.

  The cabin brought back memories. Even though it was covered in vines and thick moss, Nudd could still recognize his own handiwork. The roof had held up well against the years, he noted with some pride. Nudd ran a hand along the weathered wood of the front step. The last time he had been to this place, his father—the old chief—had still been alive. And so had the woman.

  She had been their fault, that woman in the woods. Under his father’s rule, the horde had stolen the woman’s baby and left a changeling in her place. It was tradition. The changeling would return in three days’ time, and the child would lead a good life with the fairies, or so the old chief had told Nudd. It was not cruel, he insisted, it was simply the way things were done. It was what they trained for. What they had not trained for, however, was the woman. She had caught the fleeing goblin changeling before it ever reached the horde.

  She forced the little creature to take her to the place in the woods where the fairies had come for her daughter. It was a quiet clearing, just west of the Oddmire. By the time they arrived, there was nothing to find but scuffed moss and a mound in the earth. Her daughter was long gone. Day after day, the woman returned to that spot, crying out for the fair folk, the animals, the trees themselves to give her baby back. The fairies never came, and the forest never answered. The townsfolk did nothing to help, either. Other humans from the village paid her no mind, except to call her mad. She ignored them, and in time she left them all behind and made her home in the woods—waiting, searching, hoping beyond hope.

  And that was where Nudd had found her.

  She had built a drafty hovel facing the mound—staring at the gate she could never open. Nudd had watched from the woods as she went about her day, tending to a meager garden and weaving reeds into lopsided mats. Every so often she would freeze, gazing out into the forest, and she would speak one word to the wind. “Raina?”

  Nudd’s chest had grown heavy as he watched, and he soon realized that he owed the woman more than he could pay. Goblins do not abide red in their ledgers. Unpaid dues, to a goblin, are like a creeping itch. The horde had always justified child-stealing as a temporary debt. When the fairies took possession of the baby from the goblins, they took with it the guilt and the responsibility for its theft. This absolved the goblins. The fae, for their part, refused to take a child who was missed, which kept their conscience clear, as well—that was the entire purpose of the changeling, to keep the child from being missed, for at least as long as was required to complete the transaction. At the time, it had all sounded neat and tidy to Nudd.

  Now that he saw the woman’s face, he did not find it neat or tidy.

  One morning, the woman awoke to find her firewood chopped and stacked. Nudd had watched silently from the bushes as she turned from the woodpile to the forest, scowling.

  “This is not enough,” she had declared, angrily.

  The next day, her meager home had been transformed into a fine cottage. She emerged, startled, through a carved oak door that had not been there the night before, and walked around the cottage twice before she turned and glared at the forest again.

  “This,” she had called into the trees, “is not enough.”

  On the third day, she had found every cup, saucer, drawer, and boot in her house overflowing with coins—silver and gold and strange metals she had never seen before with inscriptions in languages she did not recognize. They could have bought her a castle. She stepped outside, and this time Nudd could have sworn she had looked straight at him as she glared into the forest.

  “This is not enough.”

  And so, on the fourth morning, the woman had opened her door to find Nudd himself on her front step. They had stared at each other until the goblin finally spoke.

  “I canna get yer kin back,” he had told her honestly. “What would ya have in her stead? Iffin I can deliver it, it will be yours.”

  She had stared down at the goblin for several long minutes. Nudd felt the pressure of her gaze, but he was the son of a chief, and so he did not bow or lower his eyes. Finally, she spoke. “A promise,” she said. “Never again. Never let another mother find one of your kind where her baby should be. Never let another child wake to find its world stolen away. Never. Not once. Promise me.”

  Nudd had stood in silence for another long time before nodding. “I promise.” His father had been the chief to bring their horde to this bold new world. Nudd would be the chief who brought the world a bold new horde.

  He had kept his promise. That fool Kull had almost broken it thirteen years ago when he attempted to steal the Burton boy—but it had all worked out in the end.

  Now Nudd’s ears perked up, and he drew himself out of his memories back to the present. The air around the cottage was cool and smelled of lemongrass and damp earth. Bugs buzzed and leaves shuffled in the breeze above him—and there was something else. “Hm. I didn’a think ya came here anymore,” he said to the shadows.

  The queen stepped into the sunlight. She was a fine witch, Nudd thought. Very like her mother, indeed. “I did not think I needed an invitation,” she said. “What are you doing here?”

  “Gettin’ old.” Nudd shrugged. “Would ya rather I go?”

  She hesitated. “No,” said the queen. “Stay.” With a deep breath, she sat beside the chief on the mossy front step.

  Nudd’s eyebrows rose, but he said nothing.

  “This is where she died,” she said. Her voice was hollow.

  Nudd nodded. “Aye,” he said. “But it’s also where she lived.”

  Birds tweeted and the shadows of a low cloud rolled across the grass. “Do you think she would be upset,” the queen asked softly, “that I’ve just let the forest have it?”

  “The house? Oh, lass.” Nudd clucked.

  “Don’t call me lass.”

  “Raina. Aside from her baby girl, this forest is the only thing yer mother ever loved. First Witch o’ the Wood, she was. First Queen o’ the Deep Dark. She gave her bones ta this forest—she certainly wouldn’t care if it took a pile of old lumber, too. She’d only be upset that she never got ta see what a fine queen her daughter turned out ta be.”

  The queen said nothing.

  “Or what a fine one her granddaughter is going ta become,” Nudd added.

  The queen sighed. “I fear that transition may be a difficult one.”

  Nudd frowned. “Well. All transitions are—”

  “I’ve spoken to Kallra.”

  Nudd put a hand to his brow. “Otch! No wonder yer so sour today! Never go in for prophecies, myself—what sort of fool asks a fortune teller about her own death? Are ye new
, queenie? Thought ya had more sense than that!”

  “I did not ask about my own death. I asked about Fable becoming queen.”

  “Same thing, innit?”

  The queen sagged. “It is possible I have been a fool.”

  “Well.” Nudd softened and gave her a sympathetic half smile. “What’s done is done. Let’s have it—what did the slippery spirit tell ya?”

  She recited the prophecy numbly.

  “A single shot of lead and brass, eh?” Nudd took a deep, bracing breath. “Bullet, then? That’s na so bad, as deaths go.”

  The queen raised a skeptical brow.

  “There’s an end comin’ fer us all, Raina. No use frettin’ over it. Yer bullet is likely a very long way off. Loads o’ time, yet. Ye’ll be a proper old hag by the time it finds ya.”

  The queen nodded. In the back of her mind, however, she could not help but recall that the face she had seen in that pond—her daughter’s face, caked in soot and blood and flowing tears—had still been so young.

  “And if Fable isn’t ready when the time comes? What then?”

  “Well, of course she won’t be ready. Were you? Ya think I was ready ta be chief when my father died? Been at it fer ages now, and I’m still barely ready most mornings. We’re never ready until we need ta be. Yer gonna have ta get used to the idea that ya won’t ever see Fable become the queen she’s meant ta be. That’s just how it works. I’m sorry, Raina. Just gotta do yer best by her until then. She’ll be all right, though. Iffin it makes ya feel any better, I’ll keep an eye on her. Just like I’ve kept an eye on you.”

  The queen nodded. “Just how long do goblins live, exactly?” she asked.

  Nudd smiled and leaned back against the soft wood. “Long enough,” he said, “ta pay our debts.”

  Eight

  “I think it might be best if we take Fable home,” Annie said as they made their way back up the dusty street and away from the milling crowd. People had already begun dispersing by the time the town’s entire police force—all five officers—had arrived to help control the chaos.

  “Aw—but I just got here,” said Fable.

  “And I’m sure your mother will be worried sick. Does she even know you’re in town?”

  “Yes. Of course she knows. Obviously. Sort of.”

  “That’s very reassuring. You’re going home.”

  “Aww. But I was doing really good. I went to school. And not just the outside part where Tinn was hiding—I went inside and did writing and numbers and everything. My picture was the best one of the whole class.”

  “Nobody else was drawing pictures,” said Cole.

  “Hold on,” said Annie. “Why was Tinn hiding?”

  Fable shrugged. “People hide sometimes. I know a guy who’s really good at hiding. He looks just like tree bark, so he can hide right in front of your face. Also, he’s a lizard. He lives in the forest. I’m a pretty good hider, too. Wanna see me hide somewhere?”

  “Please don’t, sweetie. Would you give us just a moment? Boys, family chat.”

  Fable rocked on her heels while the Burtons stepped to the side of the road for a private conversation.

  “Did Mrs. Burton say they’re taking you home?” Evie said. “Like, all the way back to New Fiddleham?”

  “Where? Oh! Ha, ha. No. I don’t really live there,” said Fable. “That’s just our special made-up story that I’m supposed to tell people if they ask me about it. It’s a lie, but Annie says it’s the good kind of lie that’s okay because it doesn’t hurt anybody, and because people won’t really believe that I’m from the Wild Wood anyway. I’m getting really good at lying. Wanna hear me do it?”

  Evie blinked. “You’re from the Wild Wood?”

  “I am not from the Wild Wood,” said Fable.

  Evie stared at her. “What?”

  “Pretty good, right?” said Fable, proudly. “I used to have a hard time with lying, but I’m way better now. You totally believed me.”

  “Right,” said Evie. “But really you are from the Wild Wood?”

  “Yeah. Me and my mama. She’s the Queen of the Deep Dark. Tinn and Cole say she’s famous or something.”

  Evie stared. “Yeah,” she said. “Right. Your mom’s the Queen of the Deep Dark, Witch of the Wild Wood, Mother of Monsters?”

  “Yup,” said Fable, kicking a bit of cracked brick across the road. “I mean . . . that last one’s not my favorite, but that’s her.”

  “No way. Prove it,” said Evie. “Do something witchy.”

  “What’s witchy?”

  “I don’t know. Something magical.”

  Fable considered. “Hmm. I’m not supposed to turn into a bear around people, and I’m not good at my mama’s sort of magic yet.”

  “Did you say a bear?”

  “Ooh! I could do slappy sparks. That one’s easy. Your hair’s not super flammable, is it?”

  “Just regular flammable, I think.”

  Fable spread her hands wide and then clapped once, hard. A shower of sparks tumbled from between her palms for just an instant, as if from a welder’s torch. Evie jumped.

  “It’s better at night,” said Fable.

  Evie’s eyes went wide. She glanced up and down the street, but nobody appeared to be looking their way. “Holy heck!” she whispered. “That’s amazing!”

  Fable nodded, grinning. Her mother usually scolded her for slappy sparks. “Right? It is amazing. Thank you.”

  Across the street, Annie furrowed her brow. “You changed?” she whispered. “In the middle of class?”

  “I didn’t mean to,” said Tinn. “It just sorta happened.”

  “Nobody saw,” said Cole.

  “I knew it was a bad idea to let you keep testing your powers. You shouldn’t be messing with magic.”

  “It’s no big deal, Mom,” Tinn said. “Really.”

  “I’m canceling this weekend,” she said. “I should never have agreed to an overnight in the first place. You probably shouldn’t be going to the cliffs at all.”

  “What? No! Please, Mom,” Tinn said. “I need to learn how to control it. That’s the whole point.” He looked to Cole for support, but his brother shrugged.

  “I don’t know, Tinn,” Cole said. “Maybe it’s too much too soon. Maybe you should just be . . . you. For a little while. We could just be us again. Like normal.”

  Tinn shot his brother a betrayed look. “Normal isn’t possible anymore! Neither of you understands. I need real practice with real goblins. If I don’t know how it works, then I can’t stop it from happening. Mom. Please.”

  Annie pursed her lips.

  “You’re sure nobody saw you?”

  “Nobody,” Tinn said. “Well. One body. Evie saw.”

  “What did you tell her?”

  Tinn sucked in a breath through clenched teeth. “Oh. Just . . . you know . . . everything,” he said. “It’s fine, though. She’s fine with it. Really. She understands.”

  Annie rubbed her face with one hand. “We practiced for this, kid.” Tinn shuffled his feet. Annie sighed and composed herself. “You know I love you. And you know you have nothing to be ashamed of. It’s just . . . dangerous. Even Fable understands that you can’t just go telling people everything.”

  Across the street, Evie leaned in close to Fable. “I want to know everything.”

  “Okeydokey,” said Fable.

  “If your mom’s a queen, does that mean you’re a real-life princess?”

  “Probably.” Fable cocked her head. “Maybe. What’s a princess?”

  “You know, a princess. Like in stories.”

  “I think my mama told me different stories than yours did. Are princesses predators or prey?”

  Evie leaned against a fence post and considered this. “Well, storybook princesses are always getting locked in d
ungeons or carried off by dragons. So . . . prey, I guess? Mostly they wear pretty dresses and get married to gallant knights.”

  “Hm. Pretty sure I’m not a princess, then. Well, maybe the part with the dragons could be fun.”

  “But your mom’s a queen.”

  “Yeah. So?”

  “So that means you’ll be a queen someday, right?”

  “I guess.”

  “I’m pretty sure that makes you a princess.”

  “Am not. Shut up. You’re a princess.”

  “I wish,” said Evie. “I’m not an anything.” She picked at a splinter on the fence post.

  “Of course you’re a something! I bet you have all kinds of adventures! I bet you go walking down real streets wearing real shoes all the time, and buying things with money with faces on it, and saying stuff like, How do you do, my good fellow. Cheerful porkpies to you. I bet you even use umbrellas when it rains.”

  Evie giggled. “That isn’t adventure stuff. That’s just boring life.”

  “What’s an adventure, then?”

  “I don’t know, maybe learning actual magic straight from the all-powerful Queen of the Deep Dark?”

  “Blarg.” Fable stuck out her tongue. “You want to get judged by stupid trees all day, you can be my guest.”

  Evie bit her lip.

  “What?” said Fable.

  “Could I, though?” she said. “Be your guest? I know absolutely everything there is to know about the Wild Wood already. I have three books about it. Well. One of them is just a book about forests, and the other two are journals that I filled with facts and stories that my uncle Jim told me. I would give anything to go on a completely real adventure in the Wild Wood, though.”

  Fable considered Evie.

  Evie’s eyebrows rose eagerly.

  “Fine.” Annie relented. “You can still visit the horde this weekend.” Tinn pumped his fist in silent victory. “But you have to positively promise me you will be more careful. I mean it. You need to keep your secrets. But not from me. No secrets from me.” She let out a puff of air. “Family secrets.”