The Wizard, the Farmer, and the Very Petty Princess

by Daniel Fox

  She was thankful for the distraction of the crowds outside. Their obvious common interest in something unknown let her tip out her wondering about the farmer and refill herself with curiosity about the gathering. The farmer flagged down a passer-by and was told that there was going to be a fire.

  "What's that mean?" asked Willuna, but the farmer didn't know. So they followed.

  And rounding a corner into the village square stopped dead in their tracks.

  "Oh no," said the farmer, and oh no was quite right.

  Gretal stood in the centre of the square, next to a sawed-off tree stump. Next to her stood a pole with kindling all around it. On the far side of the stump a woman was kneeling, a burlap sack over her head. And standing on the stump itself, shaking his fist at the sky, was the Miser.

  "Again?" said Willuna.

  "Already?" said the farmer. "What's he doing here?"

  "I come to offer the cleansing fire of justice!" cried the Miser. "The plague of deviltry that has sickened the lands of late has come even unto here my friends. Behold the face of evil!"

  With that the Miser whisked away the burlap bag, revealing the face of the Old Woman.

  ***

  "'But'?" said the farmer. "What do you mean 'but'? That dear lady out there was there for us when we reached our lowest-"

  "Someone has to tell Anisim about the mirrors!"

  The farmer had wanted to run right up to the stump and tear the binding ropes away from the Old Woman. But his fellow town-folk were growling, licking their chops. The evils of Owltown hadn't yet reached them here, but they had heard the terrifying tales, and they wanted to cut off the troubles before they got a foothold here at home. The farmer had then reached for his fiddle, but Willuna had asked him if he was willing to turn his back on his home for all time - a place that lived and breathed what was normal and ordinary certainly would never let him stay after he made them all magically dance.

  She pulled him into the common room of the most boring inn she had ever seen. They had it to themselves, everyone was out listening to the Miser as he ranted on.

  "That fits rather nicely into a letter," said the farmer. "'Dearest Lovebunny…'"

  "That's 'King Lovebunny' to you."

  "'I like mirrors as much as the next person, actually probably more than the next person, all right I adore mirrors, they're my very favourite past-time but-"

  Gretal slipped in, closing the front door behind her. "Here you are," she said. "I didn't get the chance to meet your friend."

  "My friend?" said the farmer. "Oh, her. Gretal, this is Wil… er, Wilhemina."

  "A pleasure," said Gretal, not sounding very much like she meant it.

  "Entirely mine," said Willuna, sounding equally sincere. Willuna had the feeling that she didn't much care for this young woman, though she couldn't say exactly why.

  "What did he save you from?"

  "I'm sorry?" replied Willuna.

  "He was on an adventure, wasn't he? Playing the part of the hero?" Gretal eyed Willuna up and down. "Although the brochures made it seem like the damsel in distress would have much more heave in her-"

  "What's going on out there?" said the farmer. "I promised Wilhemina peace and quiet."

  "She'll have it soon enough," said Gretal, "once we've done away with that troublemaker."

  Willuna looked down at her bosom. "I have plenty of heave," she muttered to herself.

  "'We?'" said the farmer to Gretal. "You're in league with the Miser, that shrivelled old grouch? Do you know what he did to me? To us? I can't believe you're responsible for all that!" The farmer thrust a finger out indicating the crowd outside, the stump, and what was sure to be a firey end for the Old Woman.

  "I'm not!" said Gretal. "She is! Your precious Old Woman!"

  Willuna bounced up and down on the balls of her feet, still admiring the upper front part of her dress. "Pert and perky," she said.

  Gretal took the farmer's hands in her own. "We have every reason to believe she's behind all the recent troubles. All those graveyards robbed, the evil that befell our good king. Before she came, nothing ever happened. Wonderful, perfect nothing. You should have seen all the strange things she was carrying…" Gretal scratched at her head. "How she managed to keep all that stuff up under her skirts we'll never know. Anyway, none of it could be to our benefit." She looked up into the farmer's eyes. "She's the one who sent you away from me."

  "Oh," said the farmer, relenting just a little, "we don't know that for sure."

  Gretal stepped back and opened the front door. The Miser was mid-rant, a large collection of odd bits of this and that surrounding his stump, all of it supposedly having been pulled from under the Old Woman's skirts. He thrust a packet of something out over the crowd and shouted, "…and these magic turnip seeds!"

  Gretal closed the door.

  "Oh," said Idwal, "Well…"

  "If you want to be with me," Gretal told the farmer, "this is the only way. You'll see. We'll be back to normal in no time."

  Out she went. The farmer went to close the door behind her, staring out at the crowd in disbelief. "They're going to do it," he said. "They're really going to do it."

  "Will you stop them?" asked Willuna. "Will you fight them? Will you make them dance if needs be?"

  "They're all I've ever known," he said, turning to her.

  "No," said Willuna, "they're not. You've known a king who loved your gift, and another king who gave you his trust. You've known seven dwarves who mourned for their lady and you've known a princess who…"

  "Who was sad to finally become a queen?"

  "Yes. This village is what you know best, but it's not all you know. Will you give up what you know best in order to save the life of an old woman?"

  The farmer turned back to look out at the crowd and, Willuna supposed, at Gretal. He looked so very sad and she was surprised to find that she wanted to give him a hug. "Well," he said finally, "I suppose you've had to hide from an entire kingdom." He turned back and gave her a smile that wasn't much of a smile at all. "I suppose it's no very big thing for me to give up a plain old village."

  'Well," said Willuna, becoming very imperial, "maybe it won't come to that. Now here is what you're going to do."

  "Me?"

  "You. They're your people. Don't worry, you'll be adequate."

  "I'll be stuttering."

  "Nonsense. Stand tall! Chin up! Chest out! Give them poise, show them pageantry!"

  "How do I look?"

  "Commanding. Righteous. They won't recognize you."

  ***

  The Miser was of course blabbering on, and Idwal wondered how the old crank hadn't yet managed to die from the poison he was spewing out. Apparently the Old Woman was the source of every evil on the planet, from sore feet right through to wars and plagues, and it was the village's job, nay, duty, to put a righteous end to her.

  Idwal moved through the crowd, heading for the front, his left foot heavy, his right foot heavier, the both of them seeming to take on the density of lead. There were four rough rows of his fellow villagers left, then three, and every step he took closer to the front of the mob was another silent good-bye.

  He could see Gretal up there, standing beside the Miser, looking pretty in spite of herself, and looking fierce. And then there were no more villagers to hide him and he was saying good-bye good-bye good-bye to the maiden of his heart's desire, because there was no hope in him that she'd want anything to do with him after this was all said and done.

  Gretal met his eyes and she could read his intent. She looked at him sadly but said nothing to give him any relief.

  Idwal gathered in a breath, held it behind his teeth for this one last moment where he still belonged in this silly old village where he'd been born and raised by each and every one of those people around him. And then he let it out like a sword thrust and said, "Did you bring your dancing shoes?" and the Miser shut right up.

  Idwal turned to the crowd. "Some of us are too young to remember the war
s, thank goodness."

  "Well put," said Jan, from the front of the crowd.

  "But you elders," Idwal went on, "you were witness to travesties and injustices. I, um, well, I can't help thinking that it must have looked a bit like what's going on here today."

  "Oh, quite moving," said the Miser, not so much rolling his eyes as rolling his voice. "She's a witch, she's evil, someone give me a torch."

  "Is your case so weak that you wouldn't even let her have a trial?"

  "What more proof do you need?" The Miser pointed at the Old Woman who had yet to say a word. "This creature is a consort of devils, a purveyor of malicious potions, a… a… well, I'm forgetting one. Did I show you the evil turnip seeds?"

  "You know," said Jan, folding his arms. "The boy has a point. Not much there that really sounds like proof. Now I don't much like the idea of a witch coming round our part of the world, but I like even less the idea that we're the type of folk who'd set a woman on fire just because some stranger said so."

  There were murmurs and nods and general all-round assenting in the crowd. Idwal could feel the tide shift. He had done it, just like that, he had saved the Old Woman's life.

  The Miser could taste the change in the air too. "Fine," he said, "a trial it is. Where's your nearest river?"

  "River?" said Idwal. "What do you need a river for?"

  ***

  They'd retreated back to the inn, Idwal and the princess and the old woman. Idwal had escorted them into one of the rooms. He paced. The princess paced. The old woman sat on the bed, head turning, watching the argument.

  "That's the way it's done," said the princess. "Everyone knows that."

  "I didn't know it," said Idwal. "Just so I'm clear on this… if we see her float-"

  "She's a witch."

  "Who comes up with these things?"

  "It's tradition."

  "So is marrying off daughters. So in order to prove her innocence we have to drown her?"

  "Precisely."

  "Sounds about right," said the old woman, who seemed to be enjoying herself a great deal more than any decent condemned person should.

  "But we know she's a witch, what with the wishes…" Idwal glared at the old woman, "the seeds."

  "Well," replied the princess, "there's no separate test for good witches and bad witches, so we'll just have to hope we have the right kind. Our real problem is that she's all skin and bones. I've seen ducks with a better chance of drowning."

  "Ah!" said Idwal, reaching into his pockets, "I have that covered." He pulled out an assortment of rocks and laid them on the bed. "Your innocence," he told the Old Woman. "They'll weigh you down."

  "What if they check her pockets?" asked the princess.

  "Ha!" Idwal next pulled out a needle and a spool of thread. "We'll sew them into the hem of her skirts."

  "Not bad," said the princess. She grabbed the needle and thread and kneeled at the Old Woman's feet. "Now there's just the little problem of the dear lady's need to breathe."

  "There are reeds near the bridge."

  "Reeds?"

  "They're hollow. Cut one off and you can breathe through it. All the children do it."

  "I was a child. I never did it."

  "Come to think of it, what do child princesses do?"

  "Mainly I was just praised and adored." By this point it had become painfully clear that the princess had absolutely no idea about how one goes about sewing. She held up the needle and thread. "Make this go," she said.

  Idwal bent down to take over the sewing duties. There was a knock at the door.

  "It's time," said the Miser from the other side.

  The princess rushed over to the door. "Just a moment!" she said. She turned back to Idwal and whispered, "There's no lock!"

  "We've never needed them," Idwal whispered back.

  The princess rolled her eyes. "What is wrong with you people?"

  The door handle turned. The princess shoved her shoulder against it. Idwal sewed and sewed. One rock sewn in. Two.

  "Let us in!" cried the Miser. "There's justice to be served!"

  "I'm not decent!" said the princess.

  "Why start now?" asked the Miser, still clawing at the door from the other side.

  "Oh now," said Jan's voice from the hallway, "there's no need to get nasty."

  Another rock finished. Idwal started on the fourth.

  "They're up to something!" yelled the Miser. "In! In! We must get in!"

  The door was rammed. The princess tumbled backwards over the bed, knocking the Old Woman off and onto Idwal who landed flat on his back. The Old Woman ended up on top of him in an unfortunately suggestive pose.

  "Aha!" shouted the Miser, thrusting out an accusing finger. "I knew I had forgot one! Succubus!"

  ***

  The crowd moved, sluggish and dull, down to the river. The Miser had his yellowed twiggish fingers dug into the Old Woman's arm, dragging her along. Idwal fought his way through, trying to protest. He saw the princess ahead of him, jogging alongside the Miser. He could hear her, saying how the king would never allow such a travesty as this trial to go on, that he had always been a friend to magic-users.

  The Miser was one of those people who had the amazing ability to completely not hear whatever they didn't wish to take in. So it was with the princess' protests; she might as well have been yelling into a hole in the ground for all the impact she made.

  They made the edge of the river. Idwal shouldered his way through the crowd. "This drowning deal is ridiculous!" he said. "Couldn't we just ask her a lot of strongly-worded questions? Like 'hey are you evil you gosh-darned old, um, hag?'"

  The Miser turned to him, smiled. "No more words." He turned to address the crowd. "And now we shall see! In the name of the king, let this trial commence!"

  "Wait!" said Idwal. "If she's so all-powerful why haven't we all been turned into toads or bats or some other thing that little boys put into the pockets of little girls?"

  "Hm," said Jan, rubbing a hand over his bald head. "The boy has a point. A very good point."

  "A splendid point indeed," said the Miser, all courtesy, and then he shoved the Old Woman into the water. "Oops."

  The Old Woman made very little splash, and bobbed up almost instantly. Her many skirts swirled around her as the water pushed her along. Idwal threw off his vest and kicked off his boots, readying himself to jump in after her.

  "Why not give her a moment?" said the Miser, in a reasonable tone of voice which irritated Idwal right down to the roots of his hair. "Let us all see her innocence and be done with it. You are sure she's innocent, aren't you?"

  Idwal ground his teeth. He had no idea what to do - save the old woman but let the accusation of witch-craft lead her right to a fiery ending or let her go under and prove her innocence. He looked around desperately for the princess, wanting her advice, but she'd vanished. Idwal felt let down, he had just been coming to count on her… mainly for insults, but still it would have been good to have someone from outside his village's mind to give him perspective.

  "My my," said the Miser, strolling along like it was a lazy Sunday afternoon, "look at her float."

  "Sink woman, sink," muttered Idwal under his breath.

  "And she's floating, and she's floating…" The Miser rubbed his hands together. "So, who has a tinderbox? Or we could just stone her to death from here, I'm flexible."

  And then the Old Woman went under.

  "Yes!" shouted Idwal, "look at that old bag drown!" He turned to the Miser. "I think a celebration is in order. Care to join? I'm a mean hand on the old fiddle."

  Much to Idwal's surprise there wasn't anything to be seen on the Miser's face. For a cranky old fellow who spent most of his time broad-casting his various displeasures to the world he seemed rather sedate. Idwal felt like he'd been robbed. He knew it wasn't very nice of him but he really wanted to get a good gloating in. But instead of being a good sport the Miser merely shrugged his pokey shoulders, then turned and began to walk off.
>
  Idwal hurried around to block the old boy off. "That's it?" Idwal said. "You're just going to toddle off after all that talk about justice?"

  Idwal looked down. The Miser had a small heavy bag in his hands. It jingled a little as the Miser withdrew his fingers and pulled tight its drawstrings. "I'm fine either way. Now, out of my way boy, I have some serious counting to do."

  Idwal let the Miser brush by. Someone had paid the old crow of a man. This hadn't been about justice, at least as far as the Miser was concerned; it had only been a show. Who would do such a thing? The magician was the only person Idwal could think of who would do something so rotten, but what good would it do him? Did the magician hate the Old Woman? Was this a distraction? If so, a distraction from what?

  Idwal's head snapped around.

  Where was the princess?

  But what about the Old Woman? She couldn't still be alive down there, could she? What chance a witch could conjure herself a set of gills?

  He didn't know if the princess needed his help. He didn't know if the Old Woman was past needing his help. He stood still, desperate to go dashing off in two directions at once.

  But in the end, he at least knew where the Old Woman was, more or less. He would have to leave the princess' whereabouts a mystery for now, even though the not knowing made for a dull aching place in his chest. Idwal pushed past the villagers and waded out into the river, finally diving under where the river bottom made a sudden steep downturn.

  He swam down, scanning, moving through the orange-brown light that the river let shine through. A couple of bossy-looking trout swam along, giving him a quick inspection as they flashed by.

  He turned to look upstream, then turned again and looked the other way. He stopped, and broke out in a grin. The Old Woman was there, halfway between the surface and the bottom, breathing through a reed. Below her, hanging onto the Old Woman's ankle with one hand and a rock with the other was the princess. She also had a reed clenched in her fingers, but it was obvious that the surface was far too distant for the reed to reach. As Idwal swam toward them the princess smiled up at him, waved hello with a finger, then her eyes closed and she drifted away.