The Last Changeling

by Jane Yolen

  Aspen could feel his face turning red. “Um . . . no. Dagmarra has the honor of that role.”

  “As well she should. She’s both honest and brave. Both princely traits, don’t you think?”

  “Yes. And I aspire to them as well, but . . .”

  Snail was smiling at him now. But it wasn’t a particularly nice smile. “He didn’t cast you as the dragon, either, did he?”

  Aspen shook his head miserably.

  Snail gave a short bark of laughter. “Having to play the princess is no reason for us to risk our lives by sneaking out of here at night with no plan, no supplies, and no real chance of escape if Odds decides to try to track us down.”

  Aspen nodded mutely. She was right in every particular and he felt a total cad for having tried to talk her into leaving early to avoid his embarrassment.

  “At least you’ll be able to dress according to your station again.”

  He stopped reaching for the reins and looked at her. “Odds said the same thing to me last night.”

  As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he wanted to put them back in. Snail was staring at him agape, sure that he was insinuating that she was like the professor, whereas he was truly only observing the fact that the professor had said the same thing last night. Aspen was afraid that she would strike at him with the reins in her hand, thereby sending the wagon over onto its side.

  “Wait, I—” he began, but could not finish, because the dwarfs chose that moment to reappear and clamber neatly up onto the seat beside them.

  “Thank you, skarm drema,” Annar said to Snail, deftly plucking the reins from her hand and calming the unicorns with a click of his tongue and a few soft twitches on the reins.

  “And thank you, Princess Eal,” Thridi said. “Without the memory of your beauty . . .”

  “Your grace,” Annar said.

  “Your charm.”

  “Your Serenity.”

  Both dwarfs paused and bowed to Aspen in their seats.

  “We’d not have made it through our trials,” Annar said.

  “And by trials, we mean our meal.”

  “The meat was quite tough.”

  “Bound to repeat on us,” Thridi said, pounding on his chest.

  “Might want to get below.”

  “Meat?” said Snail, looking appalled.

  “Just a phrase,” said Thridi.

  “A phase,” Annar added.

  “A joke.”

  “Not that bloke.”

  The twins looked at each other and laughed.

  “Actually,” Thridi said, “it was a couple of chicken thighs from the last old rooster.”

  “Roasted.”

  “Repasted.”

  “And now repeating,” said Thridi.

  Aspen sighed. “I guess I had better go,” he told them. “I really do have lines to learn.”

  He tried to catch Snail’s eye as he was climbing down, but she was studiously avoiding looking at him.

  • • •

  LIMPING BACK TO the twins’ room, Aspen found the script where he’d left it on the floor. He shuffled through it, picking out Eal’s lines and repeating them softly to himself. They were as gaudy and bright as the dress he was expected to wear. And as silly. He wondered that the lines had never seemed that way to him before. But then he had never had to recite them.

  Oh prince of my heart,

  Let us not part . . .

  Eal’s and Fydir’s lines were no better, but at least they would be dressed appropriately.

  And not just for their station.

  He shuddered at the sudden thought of what Maggie Light might be planning to do with his hair.

  “This is going to be a disaster,” he said to the bowser when it slinked partway onto his lap for its customary scratching.

  Aspen had no idea then how right he was.

  SNAIL FIRST SEES THE FAIR

  Long before the dawn, Huldra, with Og in her arms, climbed into the wagon to sleep the day away.

  No one remarked on how low the wagon sank down on its wheels. No one had to. The unicorns strained more than before, but they didn’t complain either. They just hunched their shoulders, gave a hough or two, then responded to the light tap of the reins on their hindquarters and pulled the wagon forward without any noticeable lag.

  Snail knew that no horse, not even a heavy Unseelie warhorse, could have pulled as well as a unicorn. And the team seemed to move as one—one mind, one will, one great magic-filled muscle.

  As the wagon rolled into the dawn, the sun rose over the eastern hills, almost in their eyes.

  Once the three dwarfs came out again, they’d totally taken over the handling of the reins, but as always, they were not loathe to share their knowledge.

  Though, Snail thought, you have to sift through the silliness and the jokes to find it.

  When she’d asked how far it was to the fairgrounds, Annar had said, “Fair enough.” And Thridi had added that asking was fair game.

  “Speak plain!” Dagmarra said as she pushed past Snail. Taking her place in between the dwarfs, she cuffed both her brothers on the back of the head.

  It was not a soft tap and Annar made the sound of a rabbit screaming, then said, “We’ll be there by midday.

  “It should have been earlier,” Annar added, rubbing his head, all humor gone, “if Dagmarra’s girlfriend had been a bit lighter.”

  “But she canna be lighter,” retorted Thridi, “for she’s a troll and to be in the light would turn her into stone. And stone is not lighter, but heavier.”

  That returned Annar to his good humor, and he giggled and slapped his brother’s hand. “Good ’un!” he crowed.

  Snail groaned. It didn’t seem such a good ’un to her.

  • • •

  THE WAGON PASSED through seven small woods where thrushes sang from the trees, a lovely concert that accompanied them for miles.

  “The Seven Sisters,” Annar said as they went along the edge of the fifth forest. “There’s a story about them, but it’s slipped my mind. Something about the Border Lords and marriages and . . .”

  Thridi grinned. “Yer mind’s always slippery.”

  “It’s greased with ideas,” Annar replied.

  “I think I know that tale,” Dagmarra said. “It doesn’t end happily.”

  Snail thought, Stories about the Border Lords seldom do. Even with the sun warming her face, and all the birds in chorus around the wagon, her mood was grim.

  Wood squirrels red as trillium ran across the path and in between the unicorns’ legs, never getting trodden upon, which surprised Snail. A lazy green snake fell onto the dwarfs’ platform from one of the trees. Annar made a strange sound and drew up his legs, but Thridi picked up the snake, which curled its tail around his wrist until he flicked it into the undergrowth.

  Around midmorning Aspen reappeared and climbed back up, squeezing past Dagmarra to sit next to Snail.

  She tried a smile on, saying, “Do you have your lines?”

  He nodded, answering, “I believe so, such as they are.” He turned to Annar. “How far now?”

  Annar grunted, perhaps finally tired enough to subdue his chattiness. “We’ll be there by midday.”

  They seemed in no hurry, and Snail said something about it, wondering—with war about to break over them like a great wave—why they were trundling along as if they’d all the time in the world.

  Dagmarra answered before her brothers could make their jokes. “The beasts will pull all day and all night, but nothing will cause them to run,” she said, “except maybe a hungry lion or troll nipping at their heels!”

  “Well, we have one of those at least,” Snail said, but under her breath so no one heard.

  • • •

  THE ROAD SEEMED to go on for so long,
and the day was so soft and sunny, that everyone but Annar was dozing on the perch. But after one long, lazy turn, they came over a small hill, and Snail woke with a start because Annar had cried out, “There it is!”

  At first all Snail saw were the backs of the unicorns, their muscles bunched and straining, wet with unicorn sweat, which was pink and smelled like roses.

  But as they started down, soon enough she could make out a middling town of winding streets and, in the large green meadow on its western flank, a series of stalls under bright canopies with red and gold banners flapping and snapping in a steady lowland breeze.

  She tried counting the stalls, stopped at forty.

  Dagmarra crowed. “Bogborough. Good town, good day, good market, good crowd. The professor had worried that with the threat of the Border Lords and the Unseelie hordes, people would have stayed at home. Boarding up their windows. Hiding their animals. Carting water from their wells. But maybe they’re here to stock up on provisions before any battle.”

  “Well, well, well,” Annar said.

  “Indeed, we should do well enough,” added Thridi.

  “Welcome,” they said together, and giggled.

  Dagmarra just gave them a look that seemed a bit disgusted and a bit amused.

  “Where do we set up?” asked Aspen, just as if he and Snail weren’t planning to run off before the play. Or after it. Or during it. She didn’t remember what they’d actually agreed on the timing—or how they were to go.

  We’re going to have to talk again—and soon, Snail thought, remembering how swiftly their planning turned into squabbling last night. Though we’re much better at leaving than talking about it.

  She understood why Aspen was asking about setting up. Whether they were leaving before, during, or after the play, they both had to act as if running away was the last thing on their minds. They had to make everyone believe that the fair was so enticing that they couldn’t wait to help with the show.

  Annar pointed to the far left side of the meadow. “There,” he said. “Flat ground, away from the bog and away from the hurly of the stalls but close enough to entice them to our stage.”

  “Our stage?” Snail asked.

  “Just wait,” Thridi answered.

  Which of course she had to do.

  • • •

  AS THEY GOT closer, everything came into focus as if Snail was now looking through a wizard’s scry. The banners were not just red and gold but had the Seelie king’s insignia emblazoned on both sides.

  “Means they’re sanctioned by the throne,” whispered Aspen.

  Snail suddenly feared that would also mean there would be the king’s guard there to watch over the site. And indeed, just as she had that thought, a small company of soldiers came around a bunch of houses and began to make their way toward the wagon.

  “Inside!” Dagmarra said to Snail and Aspen, and without arguing, they scrambled in before they could be seen.

  Once hidden, Aspen turned on Snail and hissed, “I told you we should have left before. Now we are surrounded by soldiers.”

  She glared at him. “I wasn’t the one who brought them here.” When he said nothing, she went on. “We stick with the plan.”

  “What plan?”

  He’s right for once, she thought. We don’t really have a plan. Just a notion, an idea, a wish, a dream.

  She said quickly, “You perform the play. I gather supplies. We leave in the night.”

  He snorted, whether at the plan or the thought of his part in the play she didn’t know. Either way, it infuriated her.

  “I’m going into Maggie’s room,” she told him. “It’s probably safest there.” She was already past Huldra, who was sleeping on the floor next to Dagmarra’s bed, with Og drooling mightily in her arms.

  “Then I will come with you,” Aspen said in a loud whisper.

  She wanted to turn and say, “Don’t you dare,” but the wagon suddenly stopped short, and they were both thrown onto the floor, Aspen coming to a stop close to the troll’s head.

  And a bit too close to her open mouth, thought Snail frantically as she tumbled by. She ended partway into the next room, where the golden bowser growled in her direction and showed its many teeth.

  As she lay there, checking her body parts and realizing she wasn’t actually hurt, Snail wondered what to do next. She heard Dagmarra call loudly, “Halloo, soldiers, come to help us set up? Tonight Professor Odds’s players will perform Eal, Ollm, and Fydir as you have never seen it before. The dragon will be a revelation.”

  “It snorts,” said Annar, equally loudly.

  “It blows fire and smoke,” added Thridi. He, too, was all but shouting.

  “It flies!” the three dwarfs shouted together.

  Snail realized they were talking that way to inform Aspen and herself of what was happening. She sat back on her heels and listened to the rest.

  Presumably it was the captain of the guard who answered. “We will not help you set up. We have to be alert for Unseelie folk. But we will get to watch the dragon fly.” And then, as if an afterthought, he spoke two of the dragon’s lines:

  I bluster, I fester, I blow,

  and down your castle will go!

  At that, Aspen sat up and whispered, “My brother taught me those lines. Do you suppose . . .”

  But Snail whispered back, “No supposing. And no looking out the door to check, either. We need to stay hidden and get away as soon as we can.”

  “Before the play?” he said, all of a sudden looking happy.

  She had to suppress the urge to slap him. “Sure, because that’s what’s important here: you not wanting to perform.”

  “Well, someone could recognize me . . .”

  “Or laugh at you,” she said, “and that would be a tragedy!” She stood up and spun on her heel, making her way through the door into Maggie Light’s room as if only there could she be safe.

  “Well of course they will laugh,” he said, his face fixed in a pout. “We have had no time to rehearse. I have not spoken to the director—whoever that may be. And it will be my first time ever on a stage. If Odds wants me to be inconspicuous, he has certainly taken an odd way to show it.”

  Odd indeed, she agreed silently, and closed the door before Aspen could follow. She would have locked it had there been a key. At least I’ll be alone here for a while, she thought. His pride will keep him out if nothing else.

  She was perched on Maggie Light’s bed for only a few moments before Professor Odds found her.

  “You’ve no part in the play,” he said, “but you still have a part to play.” He reached out his hand to her.

  She wished for once that he’d just come out and say what he meant. Then she revised that thought: Maybe I don’t want to know what he means.

  In fact, all she wanted to do was leave. Leave with Aspen, she realized—no matter that she was mad at him right now. Leave and get away from this crazy professor, his murderous assistant, his talking bird and his double-talking dwarfs, his growling rug . . .

  She briefly considered kicking Odds in the shin and making a run for it, but that would leave Aspen and Huldra and Og behind. And she couldn’t do that.

  Besides, she thought, the wagon is still surrounded by soldiers.

  So, she ignored the professor’s hand but—acting as if she was in his thrall—followed him from the room.

  ASPEN DRESSES UP

  Aspen had heard Odds speaking to Snail through the closed door and realized that she was fine, but he did not go in. The old professor gave him the willies, and he had to figure out when and how he and Snail might get away.

  The wagon began moving again, making strange creaking and groaning sounds. Rather like a troll in labor, he thought—remembering the time in the troll’s cave where he had assisted Snail when Huldra gave birth to Og. He was wondering how long an
d how far they had to go into the fairgrounds, when the wagon slowed and then stopped again.

  The groaning and creaking ceased and all was quiet.

  For about three minutes.

  Then a horrendous scraping sound began over his head. Aspen was briefly afraid a roc had traveled from the western wastes all the way through Unseelie territory and across the Unmastered Lands just to tear the roof off the wagon. Of course he had never actually seen a roc, though his tutor Jaunty had told him all about them. But surely if there had been a roc, there would be screaming coming from the crowd in the meadow, who were strangely silent, except for an occasional “oooh!” and “aaah!”

  Despite the creaking, grumbling, scraping noises, the roof didn’t seem to have moved, and the sound was soon over.

  Then Aspen heard Annar and Thridi shouting outside. Since it sounded like instructions and not at all like a full-on panic, he stayed put.

  Another scraping started, this time under his feet.

  Next there was banging and clanging and the wagon shook and swayed as if they were moving again. But oddly, there was no sense of forward motion.

  “Oddly,” he thought. Everything about Professor Odds and his crew can be summed up in some form of that one word. Still he waited.

  At last, though, his curiosity got the better of his sense of caution. Soldiers or no soldiers, I have to know what is happening.

  He supposed he could peek out the back door, but then he would be running the risk of being spotted. Suddenly, he remembered that Snail had told him of a spyhole in Maggie Light’s room. He could peer out of that with no danger at all.

  If he could find it. And if Snail and the professor were no longer there.

  The professor was always a problem!

  Aspen also worried about running into the dwarfs, whose room he had to go through to get to Maggie Light’s. But surely they were still outside. He listened but could not hear any more shouts. It was a gamble he was willing to take.

  Besides, he told himself, Dagmarra had only said to get inside, not to stay in any one room in the wagon.