The Goblin's Puzzle

by Andrew Chilton

  “We have to watch him,” said Plain Alice. “If his fingers turn black, we’ll have to take his arm to save his life.”

  In the meantime, she tore a strip of cloth from the hem of her dress, washed it in the spring and made it into a cold compress to try to keep his temperature down. She put Mennofar in charge of the compress. She washed the boy’s shirt as best she could. Then she used it to clean out his wounds. When that was done, she used the shirt to wash off the rest of him.

  Once the mud and dirt came off him, she could see what he really looked like. Stanhopers rarely had hair much darker than dark brown. The boy’s was black and fell in loose curls. And Stanhopers were fair-skinned, while the boy was swarthy, swarthier than anyone Plain Alice had ever seen. He was not just a foreigner; he had to come from far away indeed. “Where is he from?” she asked.

  “High Albemarle,” said Mennofar.

  “High Albemarle? That’s the far end of the world,” said Plain Alice.

  “That is putting it strongly,” said Mennofar. “It is some way off, though.”

  “Well, how did you wind up in West Stanhope?” she asked.

  Mennofar told her of their time traveling along the Spine. He said nothing of the boy’s tale before that.

  “It must have taken you ages to get to West Stanhope,” said Plain Alice. “Why come all that way?”

  “He has an errand in West Stanhope,” said Mennofar.

  “An errand?” said Plain Alice. “You traveled all that way to run an errand?”

  “It is his story, not mine,” said Mennofar.

  There was clearly more to the story, but it was just as clear that Mennofar was not going to say more.

  They took turns cooling the boy with fresh compresses and cleaning his injury when more pus came from it. His fever raged for three days. Then, on the third evening in camp, it broke.

  The God of War is always attended by his fire maidens, beautiful angels with flames for hair. When a fierce warrior lies wounded or sick, the God of War may show him favor by sending a fire maiden to nurse him back to health. As the boy lay there shivering and sweating, he saw one watching over him and caring for him. His mind, admittedly somewhat addled by fever, accepted this as his due. He had been gravely wounded in battle with a mighty opponent. Surely he had earned the ministrations of a fire maiden. But he hadn’t expected her to still be there when he awoke. He reached out toward Plain Alice’s fiery red hair and murmured, “An angel. A beautiful angel.”

  Plain Alice jumped back a bit. She was not used to hearing soft words from boys. She had an air about her that discouraged them from coming closer than stone-throwing distance. She blushed. “Oh, I, er, um…you’re awake,” she said.

  The boy blinked a few times, and his eyes began to focus on her. “Oh, I didn’t mean you,” he said.

  “Well, I’m glad to see you’re feeling better,” she said.

  “No, I just meant that you aren’t literally an angel,” he said. “I dreamed I was being watched over by a beautiful fire maiden, but now I see it was you.”

  “Oh, I see,” she said, blushing once more.

  “But that was just the fever, obviously,” said the boy.

  She scowled at him. If only he could get himself to shut up. Perhaps the fever had cooked his brain. He tried to raise himself on his elbows, but pain lanced through his bad arm. He cried out and fell back again.

  His cry drew Mennofar. “Fever broken, has it?” he said.

  “My arm, it hurts bad,” said the boy. He wished he didn’t sound so whiny in front of Plain Alice.

  “You’re a lot better, but you’ll need a sling,” she said. She took the boy’s shirt and tore it carefully along the seams. Tying it artfully, she made the pieces into a sling. Amidst cries of pain, tears and curses, she and Mennofar levered the boy’s arm into it.

  Once he had his arm in the sling, the boy managed to pull himself up enough to sit against a rock. Plain Alice was smiling at him, but the boy didn’t like it. It was the kind of smile people gave to small children. Of course, he must have looked like one to her: dirty, bedraggled, dressed in rags. He should look like a hero from The Tales, not a dirty beggar boy.

  “I’m sorry, I never did get your name,” she said.

  The boy looked down. “I haven’t got one,” he said.

  “One what?” said Plain Alice.

  “A name,” said the boy.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” she said. “Everyone has a name.”

  “I don’t,” said the boy. His face flushed. All she had to do was ask about his name, and suddenly not having one seemed horrible and freakish, like not having a face. Tears stung his eyes.

  “But they call you something,” said Plain Alice. “What do they call you?”

  “Boy,” said the boy. “That’s not a name, is it?”

  “No, it isn’t,” she said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know that could happen. Or not happen, I suppose. Or— Look, why didn’t your parents give you one? Or don’t you have any?”

  “Course I got parents,” mumbled the boy. “Probably.” At that very moment, they were sitting in their castle, desperate for their son to return. Or they should be.

  “Probably?” said Plain Alice.

  “I don’t know how to find them,” said the boy. “Or who they are.”

  She knew she should not ask. She was sure he would not want to answer. Still, she said, “But how can you not know—”

  “What is with you?” said the boy. “You pick on me, you laugh at me and you make me feel bad. What did I ever do to you? Other than kill an ogre to save you.”

  “Kill?” said Plain Alice. “Maybe defeat.” Then, to the boy’s surprise, she added, “It doesn’t matter. You’re right, of course. You were very brave. A little stupid, perhaps, but still very brave.” She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you.”

  “Oh, um, er, um…” The boy’s face grew hot, and his thoughts went in every direction at once. Finally, he managed to mumble, “Uh, it was nothing.”

  Mennofar said, “If you two are finished doing—”

  “We weren’t doing anything!” said the boy, a little too loudly.

  “Then, if the two of you are finished doing nothing,” said Mennofar, “we could escort the young lady home.”

  “I have it,” said Casimir. He held the report in the air. “The city of Farnham in West Stanhope.”

  The Factor consulted the atlas. “ ‘City’ seems an optimistic word for the place,” he said. “And it is some distance away.”

  “Hang the distance,” said Casimir. “See what our man in Roggenheim says about the place.” He waved the report at the Factor.

  The Factor took the sheet of paper and read it. He glanced at the back, but it was blank. “He says that nearby merchants do not bother to travel there.”

  “Yes, but don’t you see what that means?” said Casimir.

  “It means that those who know best believe the place is not worth bothering about,” said the Factor.

  “No, it means there’s an opportunity. What if they have piles of gold just waiting to be spent?” said Casimir. “Or what if they have mastered some unknown art? For all we know, they’re producing goods that can be found nowhere else in the world!”

  “For all we know, it’s a jumped-up village of illiterate swineherds,” said the Factor.

  “It’ll be an adventure,” said Casimir.

  “It’ll be bad food and worse wine, none of which will we be able to keep down because of the seasickness,” said the Factor. “If we don’t drown, we’ll be killed by pirates, or even our own crew. And don’t forget—”

  “This is my absolute wish,” said Casimir, and he stamped his foot on the ground.

  The Factor slumped a little. “I shall see to the arrangements, sir.”

  “Your problem is that you lack any sense of adventure,” said Casimir. “It’s a sad thing to see a man who cannot stand a little discomfort.” He shook his head at the small-mindedness of
the Factor. Then he turned to his fanning slave. “Curse you, I told you to fan harder.”

  The fanning slave, already drenched with sweat, redoubled his efforts.

  Though his fever had broken, the boy had not recovered fully. Crossing the broken ground back to the Stanhope Road was slow going, and even when they turned onto the road, the boy stumbled more than once.

  Finally, Plain Alice stopped and shifted Magan’s traveling straps. She was carrying Magan because the boy still wasn’t strong enough. “Would you like to rest a bit?”

  “I’m fine,” said the boy.

  “There’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” said Plain Alice. “You were very sick.”

  The boy had not been embarrassed until she said he should not be. As soon as she did, the blood rushed to his face. “I want to push on,” said the boy. “If we take too long, we’ll have to stay at Castle Geoffrey. I don’t think the Duke’ll be any nicer the second time.”

  “I shouldn’t worry about that,” said Plain Alice. “He’s sure to be off trying to rescue Princess Alice from the dragon. Every knight and nobleman for five kingdoms will be trying for that honor.”

  “I still want to make some ground,” said the boy.

  “Just don’t wear yourself out and make yourself sick again,” said Plain Alice.

  “I can take care of myself,” said the boy.

  They marched without speaking for a while. Something tickled at the back of the boy’s mind. He wanted to talk to Plain Alice, but he had no idea what to talk to her about. Part of the problem was that he could not tell her anything about himself without revealing his secret. That would be a foolish thing to do, until he had his proof. He trusted her, of course, but people made mistakes. The more people who knew, the greater the danger of getting caught. Life in Casimir’s villa had taught him that lesson more than once. That was not the only reason, though. He just didn’t want her to know. It was as if there were something shameful about having been a slave, though that made no sense. A person’s fate was a person’s fate. There was no shame in that. Indeed, it was the height of honor to graciously submit to one’s fate. Only that could not be quite right because slaves were not supposed to have any honor. Or shame.

  It was all very confusing.

  And it didn’t help that Plain Alice was walking right next to him, and he could not stop wondering what would happen if he tried holding her hand. Confusing indeed.

  Mennofar, for his part, had turned a particularly vibrant shade of green. “What’re you so happy about?” said the boy, but he saw the answer as soon as he spoke. “Oh. No.” The boy turned to Plain Alice. “Did you say ‘rescue Princess Alice from the dragon’?”

  “Yes, that’s who the dragon—his name is Ludwig, by the way—wanted all along,” said Plain Alice. “He only kidnapped me by mistake.”

  “But when did the dragon—Ludwig—kidnap her?” said the boy.

  “At least a week ago,” said Plain Alice.

  “I’m doomed, aren’t I?” said the boy.

  “Technically, I am supposed to say that I do not actually know,” said Mennofar, “but I think it is a safe assumption.”

  “What’s wrong?” said Plain Alice.

  “I swore, on my honor, to rescue Alice from the dragon.”

  “And you did,” said Plain Alice. “Well, you rescued me from the ogre because I didn’t need to be rescued from the dragon.”

  “When he took that oath, the Alice being held by the dragon was the Princess, not you,” said Mennofar.

  “I don’t see why you have to be so happy about it,” said the boy. “You don’t want me to be killed, do you?”

  “Is that one of your questions?” said Mennofar. “Should I answer?”

  The boy hesitated. If he was killed, Mennofar would be freed from his vows. “No,” he said.

  Mennofar smiled even more broadly. “Good choice,” he said.

  “And I definitely swore on my honor?” said the boy.

  Mennofar nodded.

  “That’s how I remembered it, too,” said the boy. “I guess I have to do it.”

  “You can’t,” said Plain Alice. “You don’t understand. He’s too powerful.” She burst into tears. “It’s not fair. I never really had a friend before.” Somehow, telling everyone how clever she was had never really endeared her to the boys and girls of the town. “And now that I’ve found one, he has to run off and get killed by a dragon.”

  “We’re friends?” asked the boy.

  “Of course we are, stupid,” said Plain Alice. “Why do you think I spent days and days nursing you back to health?”

  “Because I saved your life?” said the boy.

  “Oh, do stop throwing that in my face.” She softened a little. “Well, that, too.”

  The boy smiled.

  “Forget about your stupid oath,” said Plain Alice. “No one else knows but Papa, and he won’t say anything.”

  It was tempting, of course, but the boy knew he could not go back on his word. “I only just discovered that I have honor. If I throw it aside the moment it becomes inconvenient”—he might as well return to High Albemarle and live out his days as a slave—“well, I’m not going to.”

  “What do you mean, you only just discovered you have honor?” said Plain Alice.

  “I meant, uh…I meant…” It was a perfectly reasonable question. “I meant that you two should wait for me in Middlebury.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” said Plain Alice. “We’re coming with you.”

  “There’s no reason to risk your lives, too,” said the boy.

  “I am not risking my life. I have every intention of staying out of it,” said Mennofar. “I am coming because I have never seen someone burned alive before. One should always be open to new experiences.”

  “And I’m coming to make sure you don’t hurt Ludwig,” said Plain Alice.

  “Don’t hurt Ludwig?” said the boy indignantly.

  “Ludwig doesn’t want to do all these terrible things. Someone is forcing him,” she said. Then she launched into a long explanation of how Ludwig was under the spell of an evil sorcerer. And how he kidnapped her by mistake because he saw names. And how the evil sorcerer who cast the spell bore Ludwig’s mark. And how this was all part of a nefarious plot by the evil sorcerer, though the last bit was a little vague as she had no idea what the plot was. “So none of this is Ludwig’s fault, which is why you have to promise not to hurt him.”

  The boy looked down at his lame arm. “I can only use one arm, and the only weapon I have left is a slingshot. How can I hurt him?” he said.

  Plain Alice set her jaw. “If you do not take a vow—on your honor—that you won’t hurt Ludwig,” she said, “I will never, ever speak to you again.”

  Just the prospect of never speaking to her again made his insides feel hollow. “But he won’t have taken the same vow, will he?” asked the boy.

  “No,” admitted Plain Alice. She thought about it for a moment. “You’re just going to have to be the better man, er, creature. Whatever. Now, promise me.”

  “But—”

  “Promise!”

  “By the Foul One, you can be a bully when you put your mind to it,” said the boy.

  “I am protecting the innocent,” said Plain Alice. “Besides, you don’t know where to find him. I do. Now, take the vow.”

  The boy had to give in. “On my honor, I vow I’ll not hurt Ludwig.”

  “Too right you won’t,” said Plain Alice. “I mean, thank you. You made the right choice.” She turned around and led them the other way down the Stanhope Road.

  Plain Alice, Mennofar and the boy walked in silence for a bit. The boy took the chance to go through The Tales to see how he might best a dragon. Usually it took armor, a horse and lance to defeat a dragon, but the boy did not have any of those. Or know how to use them. Something like a magic sword might do. The Tales always made it seem like the countryside was littered with them. Certainly, a proper hero would have gotten hold of on
e by now, but somehow the boy had failed to find one. And then, there was his promise.

  Quite suddenly, Plain Alice blurted out, “If it’s just that you have a really terrible name, like Toad or Wyrm or something, you can tell me.” She hurried a bit to close the gap that had opened between the two of them. “I’d keep it a secret. I’m good at keeping secrets.”

  The boy said, “That’s not—”

  “I mean, nobody likes their name,” said Plain Alice. “Not really.”

  “I think Alice is a nice name,” said the boy.

  “Yes, I suppose it is nice.” She stuck out her tongue. “Still, it’s my ekename I really hate.”

  “Plain Alice,” said the boy. “I wondered about that. You’re not plain at all.” Her pale skin and red hair were striking, particularly to the eyes of an Albemarlman.

  Now Plain Alice blushed. “That’s not how it’s meant,” she said. “It’s ‘plain’ as in common, not the Princess,” she said.

  “Well then, they should call you Just Alice,” said the boy. “That’d be better.”

  “Why?” asked Plain Alice.

  The boy said, “ ‘Just’ also means, well”—he did not know how to put the meaning into words—“you know, justice and such.”

  “Just Alice,” she said. “Just Alice. That’s pretty good.” It would be nice to have an ekename that also meant ‘fair’ instead of ‘not particularly good-looking.’ “Just Alice,” she said. “Yes, I think I like that. Only when we get back to Middlebury, you have to make sure that everyone hears you call me Just Alice.”

  “Umm…all right,” said the boy.

  “So it sticks. Everyone will copy you,” said Just Alice, answering the question the boy had not asked.

  “Why would they copy me?” said the boy.

  “Because you’ll be a big hero,” said Just Alice. “Isn’t that why you came and rescued me?”

  “No, I did it because of my fate,” said the boy.

  “Oh, don’t tell me you’re one of those people who’s always on about fate,” said Just Alice.

  The boy stopped and looked at her. “I don’t understand,” he said. “Do you mean—are you saying you don’t believe in fate?” The boy knew there were people in the world who did not believe in fate, but he had never met one before.