Whiskerella

by Ursula Vernon

  “Okay,” said Wilbur.

  “Ralph is older than either of us,” Harriet repeated.

  “Okay . . . ?”

  “I wouldn’t do that to him,” said Wilbur gloomily. “It would be awful to inherit our castle. The moat’s leaking and the furnace has been making weird noises.”

  They walked along in silence for a while. Crickets chirped in the woods. Harriet stared up at the sky through the trees. The moon was pale and distant and shone almost like a glass slipper.

  “Okay,” said Harriet, ticking off plans on her fingers. “Let’s see. We’ll need to throw another ball, and then I’ll go along with Whiskerella and see if I can’t find this fairy godmouse of hers and get a few things straight.”

  “And find Stinky,” added Wilbur.

  “Right, and find Stinky.” Harriet pictured a nervous lizard widdling all over the palace and shuddered. “In fact, we should try to find Stinky first.”

  Wilbur yawned and put a hand over his mouth. “Do you think we could go to bed first? I’m really tired and it’s so late it’s practically early. I’m not going to be good for much when we get back.”

  “But he could widdle on things, Wilbur! On all the things!”

  “I beg your pardon,” said a cultured voice from overhead, “but can I be of some assistance?”

  CHAPTER 15

  It was the bat ambassador.

  He dropped out of the sky and landed in front of them as easily as Harriet might sit down in a chair. His feet weren’t much good for walking on, so he braced himself up on his wings. This made him rather shorter than Harriet and Wilbur, but it didn’t seem to bother him much.

  Harriet bowed. The ambassador dipped his head in return. Wilbur looked from one to the other and said, “Errr . . . uh . . . oh! Right!” and bowed as well.

  To the ambassador’s credit, he did not ask questions like “Why are you looking for a lizard with a bladder problem?” For an adult, the ambassador seemed very sensible.

  “I see,” he said. “Perhaps I can help. I will scout the outside of the castle and see if I can find him for you.”

  “That would be really helpful,” said Harriet gratefully. “He’s probably a bit freaked out. And covered in fairy dust.”

  “Sort of like glittery flour,” said Harriet. “Gets into everything.”

  “Fascinating,” said the bat. “We don’t have fairies in my country, I’m afraid.”

  “There aren’t any bat fairies?”

  “No, indeed. We have witches and banshees and cunning-folk—and vampires, of course—but no fairies.”

  “Rather like your Ogrecats, I believe.”

  Harriet nodded. Ogrecats could live on seafood and soy protein, but some of them didn’t want to. It was occasionally Harriet’s job to go around and explain why eating the neighbors was frowned upon in civilized society, and then to hit them repeatedly with a sword until they understood the explanation.

  “Well, we’ve got fairies,” she said. “They give people magical gifts and sometimes it’s great—I can cliff-dive from anywhere!—and sometimes it’s terrible. Like poor Whiskerella got cursed to go to the ball in pinchy glass slippers and a pumpkin coach. With a lizard.”

  “Named Stinky,” said Wilbur.

  “Hopefully I can catch the fairy and talk to her,” said Harriet. “But we’ll need to hold another ball so she shows up.”

  She clutched her forehead in both hands. The idea of even more dancing was grueling.

  The bat ambassador made a high, chattering sound that startled both Wilbur and Harriet, until they realized that he was laughing. “Another ball! Well, perhaps I can help with that too. But first, let us find your lizard before his bladder suffers too greatly . . .”

  He leaped into the air, flapping his wings, and was immediately airborne. He swooped once past their heads, then winged his way into the darkness.

  CHAPTER 16

  As it turned out, finding Stinky wasn’t the problem. They found him on three separate occasions.

  Catching him was another matter.

  Stinky was fast. And nervous. And slippery with something that Harriet desperately hoped was slime and not something of a more widdle-some nature.

  “I give up,” said Wilbur as Stinky bolted past them for the third time, vanishing into a pipe. Harriet lunged after the lizard and jammed her arm in the pipe. Her fingers just brushed his tail.

  “He could widdle on everything! My mother will lose her mind! I’m not even allowed to have newts inside the castle!”

  “I’m sorry,” said the bat ambassador, clinging to the side of the tower. He looked apologetic. “I fear he is easily located, but not easily trapped.”

  “Do you have lizards in your country?” asked Harriet, interested.

  “Yes, but they are as large as your quail. We use them as beasts of burden. For small pets, like your newts, we keep moths instead. They assist us in hunting insects.”

  “Fascinating as all this is,” said Wilbur, “I’m going to bed. I have to get up in like three hours.”

  “But Stinky!”

  “Stinky will still be here tomorrow,” said Wilbur. “I have absolutely no doubt that Stinky is in no danger from predators. I don’t think a predator could get within twenty yards of him.”

  “But—!”

  Wilbur gave Harriet a Look and went into the castle. Harriet sighed.

  “I too must roost,” said the bat ambassador. He stifled a yawn behind his wing-claws. “As entertaining as hunting such an . . . interesting . . . lizard has been, it is nearly morning, and we bats must sleep during the day.”

  “Well, maybe he’ll turn up,” said Harriet with a sigh. She had to admit that she was getting a little tired herself, and also her ball gown had been through rather a lot this evening. It had not been designed for clinging to the backs of carriages, fairy dust explosions, hunting lizards, and multiple trips through the stable yard.

  “Oh, I doubt that,” said the bat ambassador cheerfully. “She seems like a lovely hamster. A most gracious host.”

  “It’s different when she’s your mom,” said Harriet.

  “Very true,” said the ambassador gravely. “It has been a pleasure, Princess. Good luck with your lizard.”

  Harriet waved to him and followed Wilbur into the castle.

  She slept late that morning, and didn’t wake up until her mother came into the bedroom.

  “It was only a little slime,” said Harriet, sitting up. “Hardly any. A dress that can’t handle slime is a stupid dress.”

  The hamster queen had known Harriet for her daughter’s entire life, and so she did not bother trying to explain the finer points of clothing. Nor did she try to find out where the slime had come from. The hamster queen was a firm believer that a little carefully applied ignorance made parenting easier for everyone.

  Instead she said, “You’ll need a new dress.”

  “What? Why?”

  “For the bat ambassador’s ball.” She clasped her hands together. “He said that he enjoyed the last two so much that he would like to throw another one here. He’s overseeing all the arrangements, though, so that your father and I can come to the ball as guests instead of worrying about everything. Isn’t that nice of him?”

  “Definitely!” said Harriet, although for slightly different reasons. The ambassador really had helped her. For a grown-up, he was very cool. Now she just had to find a way to sneak out and catch the fairy in the act, and save Whiskerella from a life of never-ending dances and cucumber sandwiches.

  “I’m looking forward to it so much,” said her mother happily.

  Astonished by how agreeable her daughter was being, the hamster queen practically spun out of the room.

  CHAPTER 17

  Preparation for the ball hit a snag the next day.

  “Har
riet,” said her mother, in a dangerously calm voice, “did you let one of the newts sleep in the castle with you?”

  “A newt?” Harriet was baffled. “No. I have not done that since I was like seven and you yelled at me for sneaking tadpoles from the kennel.”

  “Are you certain?” asked her mother. “Because someone has widdled in the hallway. In three places.”

  “Are you sure it’s not lizard widdle, instead of newt?”

  Her mother looked down her snout at Harriet. “Is there any particular reason you would suspect a lizard?”

  Harriet did several mental calculations, and all of them involved many more explanations than she wanted to make. “Errr . . . asking for a friend?

  “Annnnyway,” said Harriet hurriedly. “When’s the ball?”

  “Two days,” said the hamster queen. “I have had a replacement dress made since you managed to destroy the last one.”

  Harriet groaned. “Can’t I just wear my usual clothes?”

  “No. The bat ambassador will think you’re being disrespectful, after all his effort. It would be an international incident.”

  Privately Harriet thought that the bat ambassador would think it was hilarious, but this didn’t seem to be the time.

  Two days, she thought. Her mother was talking about something, so she smiled and nodded. Two days. I’ll go down to Whiskerella’s house and lie in wait for the fairy. She has to come out for the ball.

  She wasn’t quite sure what she’d do once she encountered the fairy. Convince her that what she was doing was wrong? Whack her repeatedly with a sword? Harriet was a firm believer in improvisation.

  The biggest problem, ultimately, was getting out of the castle right before the ball. Sneaking out was easy, but Harriet’s mother was going to come looking for her right before the ball to make sure that she actually showed up.

  Harriet knew that she couldn’t do it alone, and she also knew that she wanted Wilbur with her. Wilbur was very reliable in his own way, even if he wasn’t really cut out to be a warrior.

  That left one person to carry out the deception back at the castle.

  “Yes,” said Harriet. “Look, it’s very simple. If anybody asks, I just stepped into the bathroom to—err—powder my ears. You just saw me a minute ago.”

  Ratpunzel did not have a skeptical bone in her body. She twisted her tail in her paws and said, “Well . . . okay . . . but isn’t your mom going to think you’ve been in the bathroom for a long time?”

  “Tell her I’m afraid I’ll widdle in the hall,” said Harriet, and hurried off to find Wilbur.

  CHAPTER 18

  Harriet met Wilbur an hour before the ball was due to start. They climbed down Ratpunzel’s tail, out of the window, and scurried into the bushes before anyone could see them.

  “This would be faster if we could take the quail,” said Wilbur glumly.

  “Yeah, but the stable hands know to get Mom if I try to ride Mumfrey out before a ball.” Harriet sighed. She had tried to escape dancing a few too many times in the past, and now it had caught up with her. They were going to have to walk to Whiskerella’s house.

  “It’s a shame we can’t take Heady,” said Harriet. (Heady was Mumfrey’s hydra friend.)

  “She’s helping cook for the ball. They’ll definitely notice if she goes missing.”

  “Oh, well . . .”

  They scurried down the road toward the village. Whenever a coach went by, they had to dive into the bushes in case it was someone going to the ball.

  By the time they reached the cottage, they were both covered in leaves and bits of twig. Whiskerella came out to meet them.

  “Did you fall into a forest?” asked Whiskerella.

  “New fashion,” said Harriet cheerfully. “Twig chic.” She dusted herself off as best she could. “Is the fairy here yet?”

  “No,” said Whiskerella hopefully. “Maybe she won’t show up?”

  “Why are you helping me, anyway?” asked Whiskerella abruptly.

  Harriet looked at her blankly. “What?”

  “You’re helping me. You’re stopping this fairy. Why?”

  Harriet spread her hands. “Have you seen those princes? Nobody should have to marry one of those guys!”

  The other hamster groaned. “I kept trying to be nice, hoping they’d be less awful. But they were like . . . awful all the way through!”

  “Like onions,” agreed Harriet. “You keep peeling off layers and yup, still an onion. Only . . . y’know . . . with awfulness instead of onion.”

  Whiskerella had the briefly stunned look that many people wore when hit with one of Harriet’s metaphors. Harriet carried on. “Anyway, your mom builds hospitals for sick mice. I couldn’t do that. But she’s trying to make the world a better place, and so am I.”

  Misty came out of the cottage with three mugs of cider and handed one to Harriet. “I hope she lets me come along as the coach-mouse this time . . .”

  “If she doesn’t, come up tomorrow,” suggested Harriet. “Maybe Stinky will come out if he sees you there.”

  “I hope so,” said Misty. “I’m worried about him.”

  “Judging by the quantity of widdle, he’s doing fine.”

  Misty opened her mouth to say something but was cut off by a sound.

  It was a very strange sound. It was the noise that glitter would make if glitter made a noise. It went:

  It was the sound of fairy magic.

  Light sprouted up from the ground and fell back down in shimmering bands of fairy dust. A figure formed in the heart of the light, swathed in magic.

  Whiskerella winced. Harriet grabbed for her sword.

  “Hello, my dearrrr!” sang a voice. “I’ve come to help you yet again!”

  “Halt!” cried Harriet. “She’s not going to the ball!”

  CHAPTER 19

  vThe fairy looked at her. She was a plump, jolly mouse with twinkling eyes, tiny wings, and a wand with a star on it, and Harriet suspected that she could turn violent in an instant.

  “And who might you be, my dearrr?” asked the fairy, rolling her Rs magnificently.

  “I’m Princess Harriet Hamsterbone, and I’m here to save Whiskerella.” She eyed the wand. It looked loaded. “She doesn’t want to go to balls anymore. She’s not interested in any of the princes.”

  “Nonsense,” said the fairy, and even though there weren’t any Rs in nonsense, she somehow managed to roll the ones that weren’t there.

  “Tell her, Whiskerella!” said Harriet.

  “Eh?” Whiskerella was watching them with a bemused expression. “I don’t know anything about vampires . . .”

  “About the princes!”

  “Oh, them.” Whiskerella made a face. “They’re awful. Except Wilbur, he’s fine. But I don’t want to marry him.”

  The fairy godmouse was starting to look less jolly and more irate. “I’ve given you a grand opportunity to go to the ball and marry far above your station, and you’re complaining about it?”

  Harriet noticed that she’d stopped rolling her Rs. This seemed like a bad sign.

  “It’s not that they aren’t good enough!” said Whiskerella hurriedly. “I’m very grateful! It’s just—uh—I’m not really feeling an emotional connection—”

  “No, they’re not good enough,” said Harriet. “I mean, have you met the princes A, B, and C? They’re dreadful. Whiskerella’s worth ten of them. Put together.”

  The fairy wheeled on her. “This is your fault!”

  “Interfering wretch! I heard about what you did to poor Ratshade!” cried the fairy.

  “Poor Ratshade?” Harriet grabbed for her sword. “She cursed me! I was an infant!”

  “And instead of being saved by a prince like a normal person, you threw her into a hamster wheel and chopped her magic off!”


  “And I’d do it again!” shouted Harriet.

  Wilbur leaned over to Misty and said, in an undertone, “I think negotiation has gone off the rails.”

  The fairy was seething. The twinkle in her eyes had been replaced with a gleam. “Well, you’re not wrecking this fairy’s magic,” she said. “Whiskerella will go to the ball!”

  “My name is Misty,” said Misty. “And you turned my pet lizard, Stinky, into a coach-mouse, even though I offered to go instead. And now he’s gotten lost up at the castle and he’s widdling on tapestries, so you can’t turn him into a coach-mouse. And I think he’s well out of it!”

  The fairy godmouse blinked at her. Misty folded her arms and glared.

  “Well, there you go,” said Wilbur hurriedly. “No coach-mouse, no luck. And there’s no newts to turn into quail, either.”

  The fairy spun around to face him. “What happened to the newts?”

  “Wobbly quail,” said Whiskerella grimly. “Which newts aren’t even supposed to get, but you turned them into quail, and now they’re at the vet getting fitted for orthopedic shoes. I’m a little annoyed about that, let me tell you!”

  “I don’t think being dead is going to make me very happy—” Whiskerella started to say.

  And then she stopped.