Mendanbar made an almost undetectable movement with his fingers, and the green fire vanished before it ever reached the knight. The thin man looked around, startled. "What. . . ? Who did that?"
"I did," Mendanbar said. "I'm the King of the Enchanted Forest, and you can't work magic here without my permission. Particularly not on my guests."
"You are a poor, jumped-up excuse for a king, and I shall teach you a lesson you won't soon forget," said the thin man, and began muttering and gesturing at Mendanbar.
"Oh, dear," said the scullery maid. "Excuse me, Your Majesty, Your Highness, but I have to stop this." Stepping out from her concealment, she called, "Uncle Rothben!"
The thin man stopped gesturing and turned. "Ah, Annalisa. I see you have finally come to your senses."
"Not the way you mean, Uncle," the scullery maid said.
"Say the word and I will spit him where he stands!" Sir Harold said, glaring at the thin man.
"Do be quiet, Harold," said Annalisa. "He'd turn you into a newt or something before you even got close. Uncle, you can't think you're going to get away with kidnapping me in full view of all these people."
"Why not?" said the thin man, walking toward her. "Once we're married—"
"You're my uncle! I couldn't marry you, even if you hadn't stolen my kingdom." Annalisa backed away as the enchanter drew nearer, and bumped into Day-star.
"Don't be foolish, girl." The enchanter grabbed her wrist.
"That's quite enough of that," Mendanbar said, and raised his hands. Unfortunately, all the knights and heroes seemed to agree with him. They rushed forward in grand disorder, shouting and getting in each other's way. In the process, one of them managed to knock Mendanbar over from behind. Rothben glanced at the untidy knot of useless people, grinned, and began muttering a spell under his breath.
"Let go of me!" Annalisa pulled away and bumped into Daystar again. Grabbing at his arm for balance, her hand fell on the Frying Pan of Doom. With a cry of satisfaction, she pulled it out of his grasp, turned, and brought it down hard on her uncle's head.
With a noise like a bubble bursting in a pan of boiling water, Rothben the Great turned into an enormous poached egg.
There was a long, startled silence. Then Daystar said in tones of great satisfaction, "So that's what the Frying Pan of Doom does."
"The what?'' said Annalisa, staring at the poached egg.
"The Frying Pan of Doom," Cimorene said. "It appears that you are the proper person to have it. It's not burning your hand, is it?"
"No."
"Good." She signaled Willin to have the castle staff clean up the poached egg, which was oozing messily all over the lawn. "Then we don't have to hold the bake-off after all."
A murmur rose from the crowd. Sir Harold, who had been staring at Annalisa, shook his head and walked over to Cimorene. "Don't cancel the bake-off, Your Majesty. It was officially announced, and it ought to go through." He lowered his voice and added confidentially, "And some of the boys have really been looking forward to it. Not that they'd ever admit it."
So they held the bake-off after all. A barbarian swordsman with gigantic muscles and a fur cloak won with his Quick After-Battle Triple Chocolate Cake, though everyone agreed that Sir Harold's Hack-'N'-Slash Coleslaw had been a strong contender. At least one engagement was broken because the bride-to-be couldn't bear having a fiance who cooked better than she did, and four others were contracted on the spot by farsighted princesses and ladies who felt that such an arrangement might have distinct advantages in the long run. The barbarian was mobbed by princesses eager to taste his cake and by mothers eager to get hold of his recipe.
"All in all, a very satisfactory conclusion," Mendanbar said, stretching his long legs. The royal family, Willin, Tamriff, Annalisa, and Sir Harold had gathered in the throne room once everyone had gone home, to discuss the events of the day. Annalisa still carried the Frying Pan of Doom, having presented the barbarian swordsman with an enchanted silver ax from the armory and ten pounds of chocolate from the kitchen instead.
"I don't think we're quite done yet," Cimorene said, and looked at Annalisa. "How did you come to be in our kitchen?"
"After my parents died and Uncle Rothben seized the kingdom, my fairy godmother showed up in my bedroom in the middle of the night," Annalisa said. "She told me to leave right away and find a job as a kitchen maid in some other castle."
"Wouldn't it have been better if she offered to help you get your kingdom back?" Daystar said.
"Fairy godmothers tend to be very traditional," Cimorene said. "I doubt that it occurred to her. Was that all, Annalisa?"
"Well, she gave me a dress as shining as the stars and said I was to wear it to the ball. I thought that was a little strange. I mean, I didn't think kitchen maids got invited to balls. I've still got it around somewhere."
"What are you going to do now?" Mendanbar asked.
"She's going back to the Gracious Islands to be queen, of course," Sir Harold said. "And I shall be her faithful knight."
"No, I don't think so, Harold," said Annalisa gently.
"But you have to go back! You're the rightful queen!" Sir Harold looked thoroughly shocked.
"Yes, but I'm going back alone. If I'm going to be a queen, I need to do it myself. If you came, I'd depend on you too much."
Sir Harold looked as if he wasn't sure whether to be flattered or upset. "But what are you going to do about your uncle's cronies and henchmen? He brought in rather a lot of them after you left, you know."
Annalisa looked down at the Frying Pan of Doom and smiled. "Oh, I think I'll be able to handle them somehow."
"I don't know what Father is going to think of this," Tamriff muttered, shaking his head.
"He ought to be pleased," Cimorene said. "His magic creation has found its proper owner, defeated a powerful enchanter, and is about to restore the rightful queen to her throne. What more could he ask?"
"Your father made that?" Sir Harold said to Tamriff, waving at the frying pan.
"Well, he enchanted it. Before that, it was just Mother's best frying pan."
"I've always wanted a magic sword. Do you suppose he would do something a little less dramatic, if I asked very politely?"
Tamriff nodded. "There are plenty of lesser spells he could use."
"Then if Annalisa is sure she doesn't want my help at home—"
Annalisa nodded.
"—I think I'll go with you," Sir Harold said.
"In the morning," Cimorene said firmly. "It's much too late for you to leave now. You'll all be our guests tonight, and you can start off after breakfast tomorrow morning."
Sir Harold started to nod, then caught himself. "As long as you won't be serving poached eggs for breakfast," he said cautiously.
"No poached eggs," Mendanbar said. "And that really does take care of everything.''
"Not quite," Willin said. Everyone looked at him, and he coughed in mild embarrassment. "We appear to be in need of a new scullery maid."
The visitors looked at each other, Mendanbar chuckled, Daystar shook his head, and Cimorene threw her hands up in the air. "Put an ad in the paper," she said to Willin. "And this time, I'm going to interview everyone myself."
"Yes, Your Majesty," Willin said, bowing, and everyone laughed.
* * *
Quick After-Battle Triple Chocolate Cake
Transcribed by Patricia C. Wrede
Transcriber's Note: This is the original recipe as used by the barbarian swordsman. Amounts and instructions for somewhat more conventional kitchens are given in parentheses.
First, round up the prisoners and have them make a good fire. Pile shields around it to hold in heat. (Preheat oven to 350°.)
* * *
Assemble ingredients:
Butter the size of a good spear head (1 stick butter or margarine)
A good big fistful of brown sugar (½ cup brown sugar, packed)
A big fistful of white sugar (½ cup white sugar) A couple of eggs (2 la
rge eggs)
A good splash of vanilla (2 teaspoons vanilla extract)
Secret Magic Ingredient (2 Tablespoons blackstrap molasses)
Milk from a chocolate cow (⅔ cup chocolate milk)
A small fistful of cocoa (⅓ cup unsweetened cocoa)
Two or three fistfuls of flour (1 cup flour)
Pinch of salt (½ teaspoon salt)
Two pinches soda (1 teaspoon baking soda)
Hunk of chocolate, hacked into bits with second-best sword (1 6-ounce package semisweet chocolate chips)
Pick a small shield and clean it, then grease it up good. Sprinkle in a little flour and save it for later. (Grease and flour a 13" X 9" pan.)
* * *
In somebody else's helmet, beat butter and brown sugar and white sugar together—make sure helmet is clean before using! Add eggs and beat some more. Add vanilla and Secret Magic Ingredient and beat it all again. (In a large bowl, cream butter or margarine until fluffy. Add brown sugar and white sugar and mix thoroughly. Add eggs, vanilla, and blackstrap molasses, beating well after each addition.)
Stir flour, cocoa, salt, and soda together in whatever is handy. Add to batter, alternating with milk. Beat real good. Stir in chocolate pieces. (In a separate container, stir flour, cocoa, salt, and baking soda together. Beat into butter mixture, alternating with the chocolate milk. Beat for 1—2 minutes, then fold in chocolate chips.)
Dump batter into greased shield. Bake next to fire while gathering loot. Give helmet back to sucker who let you mix cake in it; promise him first piece if he gets too mad. Eat warm while counting loot. Serves two. (Pour batter into greased and floured 13" × 9" pan. Bake 35—40 minutes. Cake should be sort of flat and solid, not light and puffy. Let cool before cutting, or the pieces will fall apart and the gooey chocolate chips will get all over everything. Sprinkle with powdered sugar or top with whipped cream. Serves a lot more than two, even if everybody really likes chocolate.)
* * *
Notes from the Author
One of the things everybody seems to want to ask writers is, "Where do you get your ideas?" When people ask me this, my usual response is, "Ideas are the easy part. The hard part is writing them down." Which is perfectly true—practically every professional writer will tell you that—but doesn't actually answer the question.
So, for the benefit of everyone who really does want to know where the ideas come from, here are the stories of how the stories in this book came to be written.
The earliest tale included here is "Earthwitch." I wrote the original story in 1981, and as best I can remember, it began with the image of the terrified invading army sinking slowly into the ground. The original story was my attempt to explain how this had come about. It opened with the king, Evan Rydingsword, climbing the path to the Earthwitch's cave and ended with the scene on the mountaintop. The story never sold, but it had something in it that wouldn't let go of me. When Jane Yolen asked to see some of my older work for possible inclusion in this collection, it was one of the first stories I thought of.
After reading it, Jane told me she thought it was a possibility, but there were a number of things she felt were not adequately dealt with. To answer her questions, I had to add a second viewpoint, Mariel's, to the story. I also clarified the ending and polished up some of the scenes in the middle.
"Rikiki and the Wizard" was written in 1985 for the second Liavek "shared world" Anthology—a collection of short stories by different authors, all of which were set in the same city (or its environs). I had spent a good portion of one morning reading a book of American Indian folktales and had started wondering what sort of folk stories the Liavekans might tell each other, particularly about their not-too-bright chipmunk god, Rikiki. From there, the story practically wrote itself.
The next year, in 1986, I got two letters asking if I would write short stories for anthologies. The first was from Bruce Coville, who rather apologetically informed me that he was putting together an anthology of unicorn stories and the deadline was only two weeks away. Did I have any unicorn stories in my files?
I didn't. I checked the "Sorry, no I don't" box on the postcard he had included, put it in the outgoing mail basket, and sat down at my computer to work on the book I was supposed to be writing. But I couldn't stop thinking about unicorns. I knew there were unicorns in the Enchanted Forest; in Talking to Dragons, which had been published the previous year, I'd mentioned a well where unicorns drank. Naturally, Enchanted Forest unicorns would be beautiful and magical and intelligent—but, being intelligent, they would certainly know just how beautiful and magical they were, and would expect to be treated accordingly. . . . Two hours later, I had written five pages of "The Princess, the Cat, and the Unicorn," and I got up from my computer and tore up the little postcard. By the end of the week, the story was in the mail.
The other request I got in 1986 was from Andre Norton, who was putting together a series of Tales of the Witch World anthologies and asked me to contribute. Since the Witch World books were some of my favorites when I was in high school, I couldn't bring myself to say no, but coming up with the story was work. I reread all the Witch World books (that part was fun, not work) and decided where and when I wanted to set the story. Then I had to work out who the characters were and what sort of trials they would face, while trying to keep a Witch World "feel" to the story. The result was "The Sword-Seller." Writing it was an extremely conscious and deliberate process, more like the way I often work when I'm writing novels than the way I usually do short stories.
In 1987 I got another request letter. Jane Yolen was editing an anthology of werewolf stories—would I write one? I'd been rereading The Thousand and One Arabian Nights, and that background mixed itself up with the idea of werewolves and a somewhat humorous tone and became "The Sixty-two Curses of Caliph Arenschadd." I sent it to Jane.
She turned it down.
Not because it wasn't a good story, she explained, but because the anthology had taken on a darker tone, and a humorous story just wouldn't fit. These things happen; I only pouted for a couple of days. Eventually, I sold the story to Michael Stearns for his anthology A Wizard's Dozen.
Later that year I went on an extended trip to Europe. In Germany my then-husband and I drove along the Rhine River, visited Marksburg Castle, and ended up spending an afternoon at the Lorelei cliff. That night, the Gasthaus we stayed at was across the street from a bed-and-breakfast place occupied by a busload of energetic high school students on a tour. "The Lorelei" was, obviously, the result. I hardly had to make up anything at all.
In the spring of 1990 a friend and I visited England and Wales and happened to stay in the town of Harlech. The ruins of Harlech Castle, with birds nesting in cracks in the walls, grass growing between the paving stones, and plants trailing undisturbed out of empty windows, caught my imagination. "This," I said to my friend, "is what the Sleeping Beauty castle would have looked like if the prince had never come." And then I went home and wrote about it. The story turned out to be "Stronger Than Time."
The initial idea for "Roses by Moonlight" came from listening to one too many sermons about the parable of the Prodigal Son. I never found that parable altogether satisfactory; it's as if somebody left off the ending. The Prodigal Son comes home, but his elder brother won't come to the welcome-back party. The father goes out to talk to the brother, but the story ends before it says whether the brother went back to the party or not. And then I heard a sermon that dwelt at some length on the elder brother's attitude, and it got me thinking about his viewpoint. Or hers. . .
So that's where I started, with Adrian out in the driveway avoiding her sister's party, though the story took its own path very quickly after that. I finished it in 1994.
"Cruel Sisters" is based on a song, or rather, on several different versions of a particular folk song. Child's The English and Scottish Popular Ballads lists it as number 10, "The Twa Sisters," and gives two versions. I heard a third version, titled "Cruel Sister," sung by a friend many years
ago, and since then I have run across many others. The basic events of the story are always the same. And then, in late 1994, I heard a new version that referred to the king's three daughters in the first line. The middle girl disappears after that one line, and we're back to the jealous girl who drowns her sister over a man, but that one mention was enough to make me wonder—what did that middle sister think about all this? So I let her tell her story. I finished it in 1995.
"Utensile Strength" is the only story written specifically for this collection. Jane Yolen asked if I could include another Enchanted Forest story, preferably one that involved some of the characters readers would recognize from my books. I said I'd try. Over lunch with friends a few days later, I was complaining about the vast number of enchanted weapons that appear in fantasy books, comics, and role-playing games. "There are oodles of Lightning Spears and Fire Swords and Broadswords of Ultimate Destruction," I said, "but nobody ever does enchanted ordinary things."
"Like what?" asked my friends.
"Oh, like the Frying Pan of Doom," I said, and the minute I said it, I knew that frying pan belonged in the Enchanted Forest somewhere. But what do you do with the Frying Pan of Doom? Well, in all the fairy tales, they have to find the person to whom the magic weapon is meant to belong. And it's really only logical that the way to find the proper owner of a magical frying pan is to have a cooking contest. From there, it was all quite straightforward. Well, relatively straightforward, as much as anything in the Enchanted Forest is.
Editors usually ask for changes or additions of some sort when an author submits a story, so when I sent "Utensile Strength" to Jane, I was expecting a phone call. I wasn't expecting the particular addition she asked for, though. She wanted the recipe. It was the first time I ever did my "revisions" standing at a mixer instead of sitting at the computer. Two weeks and many chocolate cakes later, I hatched the recipe for Quick After-Battle Triple Chocolate Cake.
Book of Enchantments Page 16