The Ogre of Oglefort

by Eva Ibbotson

  And she had a passion for birds. While she was still in her pram she had looked for hours at the starlings and sparrows and chaffinches that came close. By the time she was seven there was hardly a bird she did not recognize, and when her nursemaid took her down to the harbor, the little girl couldn’t take her eyes off the gulls and terns and gannets wheeling over the water.

  “They’re so white,” she said to the nurse.

  One of the things that royal families like very much is having weddings, and on the day she was eighteen, Sidony got engaged to Prince Tomas, who lived in a slightly smaller palace along the coast.

  He was a very uninteresting young man who lived for his stamp collection, but both families were pleased, and a great wedding was planned to take place in Waterfield Cathedral.

  “You’re going to be one of the bridesmaids, dear,” her mother told Mirella.

  “Do I have to be?” asked Mirella, which upset her mother because surely all normal little girls want nothing more than to go down the aisle in a pretty dress.

  The wedding was incredibly grand. The church was decorated with a thousand pink roses and Sidony wore a cream gown with a nine-foot train. Mirella’s dress was embroidered all over with tiny pink rosebuds.

  “You’re going to look so sweet, my darling,” said her mother.

  “No, I’m not,” said Mirella. “I’m going to look like an escaped measles rash.”

  But everything went off pretty well except the usual things—an usher being sick on the best man’s shoe, a mouse in the trifle . . .

  After that Mirella had two years of peace, during which she set up a freshwater aquarium with nesting sticklebacks and tamed a jackdaw which had fallen down the chimney—and then Angeline got engaged to the only other prince in Ostland: a weedy young man who sucked peppermints all day long because he worried about his breath, and Mirella had to be a bridesmaid once again.

  This time the wedding was even grander. The bride carried a huge bouquet of hyacinths, which matched her eyes, and the bridesmaids wore silver dresses covered in glittering sequins.

  “Like fish,” said Mirella.

  But she was fond of fish and behaved well.

  Once again there were a couple of years of peace—and then Mirella’s parents started to worry. Because the supply of princes in Ostland had now run out, so where were they to find a husband for their youngest daughter?

  “Of course she’s only a child,” said her mother. “She can’t marry for years, but we’ve got to make sure there’s someone ready for her when the time comes.”

  So Mirella’s parents went prince hunting in Europe. After many disappointments they found the Crown Prince of Amora, a small country between Italy and France, and the prince was invited to Waterfield to come and look Mirella over.

  The visit was not a success. Prince Umberto arrived a day before he was expected, and instead of finding Mirella in her best dress with her hair curled, he found her in overalls cleaning out her stickleback tank. Her hair was screwed up in two rubber bands, and there was waterweed all down her front.

  Prince Umberto did not take to Mirella at all and she most certainly did not take to him. He was a conceited show-off with a silly blond beard and a sneery voice.

  “You’ll have time to get used to him,” said Mirella’s mother.

  But Mirella said she wouldn’t get used to him in ten years or in twenty or a hundred. “You can hang and draw and quarter me before I’ll join my life to that nitwit,” she said.

  So the prince went away but that was not the end of the matter. Mirella’s father was very rich—he owned oil wells and diamond mines—and Prince Umberto’s father was poor, and he told Umberto that he had to promise to marry Mirella as soon as she was old enough.

  “I’ll do it,” said Umberto, “but she’s got to be cleaned up and turned into a proper princess. I’m not living with fish and mongrel dogs and jackdaws.”

  Mirella’s parents saw his point, and they began to train Mirella. They confiscated the ant nest. They took away the aquarium. They shooed out the jackdaw. And they said that the little dog had to go before the prince’s next visit.

  “We’ll get you a beautiful pedigree dog like your sisters’,” they told her.

  “I don’t want a pedigree dog, I just want Squinter,” said Mirella. “Please let me keep him. Please.”

  But it was no use. Mirella fought and argued and threw tantrums but one day she came back from a walk and found that the little dog was gone.

  “We’re doing this for you,” said her parents. “So you can become a proper princess.”

  It was then that Mirella realized just how helpless children really are.

  When she was very unhappy, Mirella used to climb out of a window on the top floor of the palace and crawl along the battlements to a place where she could watch the clouds and the wheeling birds, and after a while she usually felt better.

  The day after the little dog had gone, Mirella clambered onto the roof and lay there.

  She had always found it easy to follow the birds with her eyes and feel as though she was one of them, but today, because she was so wretched, the feeling was so strong it overwhelmed her.

  A seagull mewed and whirred over the chimneys, and the sun caught its dazzling plumage. A pair of terns in from the sea swooped so low that she could see the pupils of their eyes—and high among the clouds a kestrel was hovering.

  And as she lay there, Mirella felt as though she, too, was winged and completely free—a white bird in a pale blue firmament, not thinking or worrying or afraid, just feeling the wind currents beneath her wings and flying on and away . . . on and on . . .

  It was in so many of the stories, the magic birds who flew high above the earth, seeing the silly worries of people below dwindle away. The wild geese who carried the boy Nils on their backs across the whole of Sweden . . . the Great Roc who bore Sinbad away to the Valley of Diamonds . . . the swallow who took Thumbelina to Africa.

  Except that if she were a bird she wouldn’t carry anyone in her claws. She would fly away higher and higher, as far as she could go—but alone. Always alone and free.

  After an hour her old nurse became worried and the palace was searched and a page boy fetched her off the roof.

  As soon as she saw the princess, the nurse began to scold.

  “You know you’re not supposed to go up there. You’ll fall to your death gawping at those dratted birds. The way you carry on you’ll become a bird yourself one of these days.”

  Mirella never really listened when her nurse started to scold, but now she said, “How could I? No one can become a bird.”

  “Oh, can’t they just,” said the old woman. “There’s sorcerers and monsters enough in the north to turn people into worse than birds.”

  “What sorcerers?” asked Mirella. “What monsters?”

  But the nurse wouldn’t say any more—she had been forbidden to frighten Mirella with stories of what went on in the far north of the island.

  “What sorcerers? What monsters?” repeated Mirella. “You’re making it all up.”

  “I am not,” said the nurse angrily.

  That was all she would say—but it was enough. All the next day and the day after, Mirella was very quiet and absentminded.

  And on the third day, the servants found her bed empty—and not a trace of her in the length and breadth of the palace.

  CHAPTER

  7

  THE JOURNEY

  The small, black-painted boat sailed over the dark water. The old man in oilskins who steered it was grumpy and silent. Occasionally he looked at Ivo and shook his head.

  They had reached the last stage of the journey. They had followed the Norns’ instructions and everything had gone as it should. The ferry had taken them to the most northern port in Ostland, and after a night in a boardinghouse by the quayside they made their way to Pier Number Three, where an old man in his clinker-built fishing coble seemed to be expecting them.

  When they were cl
ear of the harbor the old man began to mutter.

  “You’d best say your prayers,” he said. “There’s some dangerous ogres along this strip of coast but the one where you’re going’s the worst. There’s no one comes out of that place the way they went in.”

  Ivo knew he should be afraid. What they were trying to do wasn’t just dangerous—it was probably impossible—but the only thing he’d been afraid of all along was that the Hag would find a way of sending him back.

  The north shore of Ostland is famous for its rough seas. As they came out of the shelter of the harbor the boat started pitching and tossing and first the Hag, then the troll turned green and leaned over the side, ready to be sick. From time to time bursts of spray came over the side but they were too wretched to care. Ivo and Dr. Brainsweller did not feel ill; they sat back in the stern, hypnotized by the rise and fall of the waves,

  They had traveled for more than two hours when there was a sudden gasp from the wizard.

  “L . . . look,” he stammered, clutching Ivo’s arm. “Up there! It’s Mother!”

  And it was. High above the heaving boat there floated a long, pale face. A pair of rimless spectacles clung to its pointed nose—its lips moved and formed a single word.

  “Bri-Bri?” said Mrs. Brainsweller above the noise of the wind, and vanished.

  The wizard was terribly shaken.

  “You did see her?” he asked. “I didn’t imagine it?”

  And Ivo had to admit that he had indeed seen Mrs. Brainsweller’s worried face.

  “I don’t suppose she’ll come again,” he said. “She just wanted to see if you were all right.”

  After another hour the boat came in closer to the shore, the water became calmer, and wearily the others raised their heads. They were sailing along a spectacular coastline of high jagged mountains and sheer cliffs. There were no harbors, no villages, only the seabirds swooping and crying: guillemots and kittiwakes and terns.

  “How can we land?” wondered the troll.

  The grumpy boatman did not answer. And then they saw a gap in the cliffs, and a small sandy bay with a rickety-looking jetty.

  “Is this it?” asked the Hag. “Are we here? But there’s no castle.”

  “It’s inland. You have to walk up through the trees.” And then, “I’ll take you back if you like. It’s a pity to see the little lad going to his death.”

  But it was too late for that. They climbed stiffly out onto the jetty and down onto the sand. In front of them lay an opening fringed by bushes. It had begun to rain.

  They were wet through and tired even before they began their trek inland along the overgrown path. It ran beside a small and sluggish stream covered in waterweeds and green slime. Every now and again a blister of gas came to the surface with a sinister plop.

  “Methane,” said the troll.

  The trees between which they walked grew gradually taller as they came away from the sea. They leaned toward each other; lichen hung down from the branches. The birds that screeched above them now were not white like the seabirds, but black—rooks and jackdaws and crows.

  In the mist and rain it could have been any time of day.

  “Oh dear,” said the wizard. He had stepped on a heap of toadstools oozing something yellow, like pus.

  Ivo carried the sword over his shoulder like a rake. It had been a nuisance all the way. There had been no detailed instructions with the map the Norns had given them; they were just told to make their way from the landing stage to the castle and slay the ogre. Ivo had longed for this adventure but now he thought that they must have been mad to set off so ill-equipped.

  The Hag had brought a small suitcase with the foot water, the magic beans, and some underclothes for herself and Ivo.

  Suddenly the troll stopped dead and pointed. An animal was peering at them through the bushes, staring with fierce and uncannily intelligent eyes. It was about the size of a badger but they could not make out its shape in the poor light. An air of menace came from it, and in a moment it had vanished.

  They walked on wearily through the strange unpleasant wood. The path sloped slightly upward now but still there was no sign of a clearing.

  “My goodness,” said the Hag, staring down at the ground. She was used to weird things that slithered about in the Dribble but the pale gigantic worm crawling across the path in front of them was like nothing she had ever seen. It was the size of a serpent, but its body looked soft and wet and swollen, as though it had lived inside something warm and moist. The gut of an enormous animal, perhaps, or even . . . of a giant.

  They trudged on silently. Ulf was looking grimly at the unhealthy trees; they badly needed thinning; dead branches littered the undergrowth. Trees were like people to him; he couldn’t bear to see them badly treated.

  After another hour, Ivo stopped.

  “I can feel it,” he said. “I can feel the castle.”

  The others wanted to say that one cannot feel castles but it was true that they, too, were aware of something looming toward them. Then the mist rolled away slightly and there it was.

  It was exactly as they had seen it on the Norns’ magic screen: enormous, with turrets and towers and places for pouring boiling oil; but no one was pouring oil or anything else. It had a deserted look, like the castle in Sleeping Beauty: silent, bewitched, and sad.

  “Well we’d better get on with it,” said the troll.

  They walked up a sloping meadow and across a drawbridge slung over a murky-looking moat. The chains were rusty, the boards creaked, but no one challenged them. Nor did anyone stop them as they passed through the gatehouse. A huge kennel stood beside the gate, but there was no sign of a guard dog.

  Still in silence they walked across the courtyard—and stopped dead.

  In front of them was a grating in the stone—and coming though the bars . . . was a hand.

  It was a human hand, pale and desperate as it twisted and groped and searched. Now a second hand joined it, larger than the first, and then both hands twirled and searched and groped, their fingers frantically curling and uncurling on the iron bars. And as the rescuers stood with beating hearts they heard voices from below.

  “Oh when will it happen?” said the first voice.

  “Is it my turn yet?” wailed the second.

  “I cannot bear it,” moaned the first voice again. “I cannot bear the waiting.”

  And all the time the pallid hands groped and writhed like the tentacles of some imprisoned creature, searching for the light.

  It was hard to move toward them, but the rescuers forced themselves up to the grating and looked down.

  Attached to the groping hands were people—a man and a woman, no longer young. Their faces were turned upward, and when they saw the rescuers their moans became louder and more pitiful.

  “When?” they cried. “When will our time come?”

  “We must know.”

  “You must tell him.”

  The Hag’s kind face was filled with pity. Ivo knelt down, peering into the dungeon which held the prisoners. Ulf was trying to pry open the grating, shaking it with his strong hands.

  But before they could go to the help of the prisoners, they heard a noise which rooted them to the ground. It was a scream—a bloodcurdling, hair-raising scream from inside the castle. And it sounded as though it came from someone young.

  The rescuers turned and ran toward the noise. They raced up a winding stone staircase, along a corridor, and found themselves in the Great Hall of the castle. And there, incredibly, they saw exactly what the Norns had shown them on their screen.

  A gigantic ogre with bloodstained teeth and glittering eyes was standing in front of the fireplace. He was roaring with rage; spittle came from his mouth and his enormous hairy fists were clenched, ready to shake or throttle the person who was kneeling before him—a young girl with long dark hair and pleading eyes.

  “Please,” she implored. “Please, oh please . . .”

  But the slavering beast who loomed ov
er her showed no mercy. He brushed away a cockroach that had crawled out of his ear and raised an arm the size of a tree trunk.

  “No!” he roared. “Be silent. Your pleas are useless.” And he reached for his nail-studded club.

  In the doorway the rescuers froze in horror. The Norns must have foreseen the future; the dreadful danger to the kneeling girl, her anguished pleas. This was the moment they had shown on the screen—the instant before the girl was destroyed.

  They waited no longer. Ivo raised his sword; the troll grasped his rowanwood staff; the wizard mumbled his spells—and they rushed forward.

  “Stop!” they cried. “Stop at once! Let go of the princess!”

  The ogre turned and saw them. And then an extraordinary thing happened. Over the monster’s hideous face there spread a look of relief . . . of utter happiness. He dropped his club.

  “Thank goodness you’ve come,” he said. “It’s a miracle! A minute later and I’d have been done for.”

  And he sank back onto a claw-footed sofa and closed his eyes.

  Ivo blinked and put down his sword. The troll lowered his staff. Everyone was completely bewildered.

  “We’ve come to rescue the Princess Mirella,” Ivo said, looking down at the cowering figure, still on her knees.

  And they waited for the grateful girl to rise and come toward them.

  Mirella got to her feet. She took a deep breath—and then she let them have it.

  “How dare you come in here and interrupt? How dare you try to rescue me? I’ve been working on that wretched ogre for days, trying to make him do what I want—and just when I might be getting there, you come barging in.”

  She stood on the bearskin rug and glared at them. Then she took the poker from the fire stand. “If you come any closer I’ll hit you,” she said as the rescuers stood and stared at her. “I suppose my mother sent you. Well don’t come near me, that’s all . . . or you’ll be sorry.”