Elspeth lowered her arm and looked at the stick. “What?” She shrugged. “I was only joking.”
Gene made no further attempts at humor as Elspeth packed up her bedroll and tried once more with her hair before giving up. Heroes didn’t have time to worry about how their hair looked. After all, that’s probably why George Washington wore a wig.
“How are you feeling this morning?” she asked as she approached Dumpty, who was busy smacking the dust from the same shoes he’d used to kick dirt onto the fire.
“My vertigo is just fine.” He coughed. “My pride, on the other hand . . .”
“Oh, don’t be silly,” said Elspeth. “No one thinks any less of you for it. According to Krool, a strength can become a weakness. And I think he’s right about that. But a weakness can also end up making you stronger, if you’re able to overcome it.”
Dumpty’s scarred face softened, and for the moment he forgot all about his dusty shoes. “How is it that someone so young could be filled with so much wisdom?” he said.
“Pfft,” said Elspeth with a dismissive wave of her hand. “I think I probably read that on one of those cat posters. Anyway, you should be proud that you’ve never let this thing stop you from doing what you’ve had to do.”
“Thank you,” said Dumpty. “I appreciate that.”
“Okay,” said Winkie, smacking his hands together with purpose. He tightened the armadillo’s saddle then climbed upon its back. “Let’s get moving here.”
“Pardon me,” said Dumpty, “but before we continue on, don’t you think we should first formulate some kind of a plan?”
“Well, I hate to admit it, but I thought Krool’s idea made a great deal of sense,” said Winkie. “Entice the witch with the promise of power.”
“Begging Your Majesty’s pardon,” said Dumpty. “But I’m afraid the entire matter is not quite so simple. We face several problems as I see it. First of all, as a mog, Mary Mary may appear to us as any number of animals, people, or . . . meteorological phenomena. We also have no idea as to where she lives other than somewhere in the Thick, which covers no small amount of jungle.”
“The smell,” offered Elspeth. “Did you notice it? When she appeared as a torcano. The odor was quite strong. Like charcoal.”
“I did notice that,” Bo-Peep confirmed.
“Yes, I suppose that might be one way to find her,” said Winkie.
“In that case I should lead the way,” Gene volunteered. “After all, I have a very keen sense of smell. In fact, I’m picking up something right now.”
“Sorry,” said the armadillo. “That was me. I think I ate a stink bug.”
“But what happens if and when we do find her?” asked Bo-Peep. “With the powers she possesses she could easily destroy us all.”
Elspeth thought for a moment. “As I understand it, she gets that power from the golden pear. So all we have to do is take it from her.”
“And how do you suggest we do that?” asked Winkie.
When Elspeth failed to answer right away, Krool took the opportunity to chime in. “May I?” he said.
“Sure.” Winkie sighed. “We’d love to hear what is undoubtedly a brilliant idea.”
“Brilliant in its obviousness,” said Krool. “In fact, as dim as you all might be, I’m surprised none of you thought of it. That’s what happens when you’re too nice. It clouds your judgment.”
“Just tell us the idea, would you?” said Elspeth with a huff.
“Having been witness to more than my share of executions,” said Krool, “there’s one thing I’ve noticed and that is that one’s head seems to be very instrumental in keeping a necklace from falling off.” Krool turned to the three brothers. “And that’s where you boys would come in.”
Cory looked at Winkie then back at Krool. “Wait a minute. Are you suggesting we chop off her head?”
“Those swords of yours aren’t just for shaving your legs, are they?” Krool sneered. “Of course I’m suggesting you chop off her head. Can you think of a better way to put her out of our misery? To get your queen and my money back?”
The brothers exchanged uneasy glances among themselves. In their limited time in the service of the king, they had never once had to bloody their swords, much less chop someone’s head off. Beyond the grisly nature of such an endeavor, there was the issue of proximity. In order to chop off a witch’s head, you needed to be in her general vicinity, and the idea of being that close to Mary Mary held little appeal for the boys.
“Sometimes you have to get your hands a little dirty in order to accomplish your objectives,” said Krool. “Well then. Now that we have a plan in place, what exactly are we waiting for?” With that, Krool turned and started down the switchback trail, leaving the others standing in silence.
“So?” said Winkie at last. “Is that it then? Our plan is find Mary Mary and chop her head off?”
“If I think of a better one, I’ll let you know,” said Elspeth.
Winkie sighed, and then he took a quick moment to thank Beatrice for the use of her personal space.
“No worries,” she said. “And be sure to say hello to Manuel on your way to the Thick.”
“We will indeed,” said Winkie.
The group formed a single file and followed Krool down into Torcano Alley on their way to find the evil witch and relieve her of the golden pear. And, in the process, her head.
A low fog clung to the ground and shrouded the jungle floor in a thick powder gray. The trees that rose out of the mist were gnarled and pitted, with irregular branches, roped with broad, spiraling vines. The ground from which the roots of the trees nursed was barely solid, covered in loose mud and slippery swamp moss. Even on the brightest of days, the Thick was a world of constant darkness and perpetual gloom.
There was one tree more contorted than its neighbors, as if it had grown that way on purpose in order to accommodate the small shack that sat upon the platform built at the very top of it, among the most deformed of its branches.
The hastily and poorly built shack, like the tree that hosted it, was carpeted with moss and striped with creeping vines. A dim lamplight glowed in the sole window, a glassless, rectangular opening no more than a half foot high and ten inches across.
If one were both brave and foolish enough to climb that tree, branch to crooked branch, and stand upon that creaky platform and stretch up onto tiptoes and peer into the window, his eyes would have met with a most troubling sight. The single room was beset with litter and covered in filth. On the table and on the floor, wriggling maggots feasted on scraps of food, discarded and left to rot. Mold coated the walls in a blackish green, and the exposed rafters were heavy with the webs of large, quick-moving spiders.
A stained and ragged mattress lay on the floor in one corner. Upon that mattress sat a large burlap sack. Spilling forth from it were glass jars full of one-hundred-sixpence notes.
Across the room, tucked away in the shadows of the far corner, was a small cage, perhaps two feet high. Made of sticks tied together with strong, woody vines, the cage, like the shack itself, seemed to be constructed with little know-how. Lying on the floor of the cage, on her side, curled up in a desperate effort to conserve body heat, was Queen Farrah.
Her face shone gaunt and waxen through the tight slots between the sticks. Lack of sleep and food had greatly affected her ability to control her thoughts and had lessened her capacity to cling to any sense of hope. Still, her eyes never left the tiny window as she waited, hour after hour, day after day, for the appearance of a familiar face. And then a face did appear, so suddenly that it caused Farrah to sit up quickly. It was the first time she’d moved since morning. She lurched not forward in anticipation but to the far end of the cage in retreat.
The face, its black eyes reflecting the light from the lamp, searched the room fervently, though quite in vain, for a Germese Stranglerat is far too large to fit through such a tiny opening.
This did not stop the animal from staring hungrily at the cag
e across the room. Outside the shack, its claws scratched at the wood and its long and powerful tail whipped about wildly, as if overdue for and in desperate need of a good strangling.
And as its nails scratched and its tail quivered, its nostrils began to twitch as well when hit with a new and alarming odor. As quickly and as silently as it had appeared, the stranglerat was gone, scampering quickly down the tree trunk and off in the opposite direction of the stench of burned charcoal and the crimson steam that left a trail through the fog as it moved across the jungle floor toward the shack.
The witch emerged from the gray, floating just above the boggy earth. Only mildly affected by gravity, her gnarled hands and feet propelled her quickly and effortlessly up the trunk of the tree.
Farrah’s tiny body stiffened and surged with adrenaline as the door to the shack burst open. Through the bars she could see the witch’s chalky eyes, bathed in an orange glow from the lighted lamp and dripping pale-yellow acid onto the floor.
She carried, tucked beneath her right arm, a bundle of sticks. With her foot, she kicked the door, slamming it closed as forcefully as she had opened it, then walked slowly and deliberately toward the cage and dropped the bundle of sticks with a clatter.
She leaned forward and gave the cage a sharp kick and peered in through the top. Acid sizzled as several drops hit the cage and seeped in through the cracks, landing very close to where Farrah sat.
“Well,” said Mary Mary. “You’re still alive.” Her voice was not at all what you might expect from someone so monstrous. It was deep and resonant but smooth and clear—not the raspy, cackling tone normally associated with witches. Furthermore, it sounded less like a person talking and more like the voice of someone deep down in her belly who had been swallowed whole.
“I may not be alive for long if you don’t let me go,” said Farrah.
“And why would I do that?”
Mary Mary exhaled a reddish puff of air and sat down next to the cage. She picked up two of the sticks she had dropped and, with some strips of vine, began lashing them together.
“Because you got what you wanted,” said Farrah. She pulled herself to her feet and moved her face close to the bars. “You got the money. I’m of no use to you now.”
“If that were true,” said the witch in her smooth, hollow voice, “then you would no longer be alive. The day you become of no use to me will be your last.”
“Then what is it?” Farrah pleaded. “What more do you want?”
“I don’t know,” said the witch. She took another stick and began connecting it to the first two. “Attention, I suppose.”
“Wait a minute,” said Farrah. “You mean, you’re doing all this just to get attention?”
“You say it as though it’s a minor thing,” said the witch. She stood again and walked to the fireplace. There she picked up a log from a small woodpile on the hearth and tossed it in. “I will tell you that attention is every bit as vital as food and shelter and warmth.” She aimed an index finger at the log. A white light shot forth, instantly setting fire to it. She returned to where she had sat before and went to work once more on attaching another stick to what was starting to look more and more like the beginnings of a tiny wall.
“But just think of the attention you’d get if you returned me safely to the castle,” Farrah said. “Why, there would be a parade in your honor and a statue in the courtyard.”
The witch looked quickly in Farrah’s direction and hissed out a bloodred cloud. “Let me tell you what I don’t like,” she said. “I don’t like being spoken to as if I’m an idiot. Statues and parades are for the beautiful and the noble. Look at me. Look at me!”
Farrah fought to keep her gaze on the witch’s white, seeping eyes.
“Have you ever seen a statue that looked like this? Have you?”
“That doesn’t mean there couldn’t be one.”
Mary Mary scoffed at this, then held up the grouping of sticks for inspection. “His and hers cages,” she said. “So romantic. They should be here soon. That is, if the beasts don’t get them first.”
By then, Elspeth and the others had been slogging through the Thick for several hours. With Gene’s acute sense of smell, he and Elspeth had taken point with Dumpty and Bo-Peep following closely behind. After that came Krool then the three brothers with Winkie now riding upon Cory’s right shoulder. The armadillo had been released into the wild long before they’d entered the forest, and for Winkie to try and walk on his own, the mud would have been up his waist.
“I don’t believe this,” Krool grumbled as the ground became gloppier with each step forward. “You mean to tell me that nobody thought to bring along a map of this place?”
“I told you, a map to this place doesn’t exist,” said Dumpty. “So far, no one has had the guts to try and make one, so I’m afraid this remains uncharted territory.”
Just then a light breeze shifted and brought with it something to Gene’s newly twitching nostrils. Elspeth noticed and quickly held up a hand as a way of calling for quiet. “What is it, Gene?”
Gene closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. “Charcoal,” he said.
“Okay,” said Elspeth. “I think we should—”
“And passion fruit,” Gene continued. “With a soupçon of wild honeysuckle and just a . . . hint of sweaty gym sock.”
“I don’t care about any of that nonsense,” said Elspeth. “Just tell me about the charcoal.”
“It’s coming from that direction,” said Gene.
The sudden realization that they were close to Mary Mary was seen as equal parts triumph and catastrophe. This is what they’d been searching for, but was it really what they wanted to find?
“I suggest we end all verbal communication until further notice,” said Elspeth. “The longer our presence is unknown to Mary Mary the better.”
“Agreed,” said Winkie. “No talking.”
“That means you,” Elspeth said, staring crossly at Gene. “No talking.”
“Okay,” said Gene. “You don’t have to tell me twice.”
“No talking,” said Elspeth for the second time.
With a deep breath Elspeth sampled the air, and she could smell it too. She signaled silently with her hand and the group followed her off the path, wading through the tangled brush. The three brothers’ swords would have been useful here, though hacking one’s way through the undergrowth is not a particularly quiet way to go so the weapons remained sheathed.
By now the scent of charcoal was no longer faint but strong and biting. It seemed that Mary Mary must be very close by, yet they could see no sign of her. Elspeth stopped at the base of a particularly crooked tree. Gene sniffed the air silently while the others watched and waited for further instructions.
“Okay,” Gene blurted out suddenly. “Now I’m getting charcoal and garbage.”
“Shh!” said Elspeth, clamping her hand over Gene’s mouth.
But it was too late. From high atop the tree came the sound of a wooden door on rusty hinges being violently thrown open. Looking up toward the noise, they noticed, for the first time, the old shack upon the platform. Also standing on that platform was Mary Mary, gazing out across the Thick with those soulless white eyes. Elspeth and the others stood nearly motionless. The three brothers placed their hands upon the grips of their swords as the witch parted her shriveled black lips and hissed out a small, bloodred cloud.
Rings around those ghostly
Eye sockets full of mostly
Acid, acid, please don’t look down.
Chapter
17
Silently and breathlessly they huddled as close to the trunk of the tree as possible while squatting down, dipping low into the cover of the fog and ferns. Peering out from behind the leaves they could see the witch, pacing about the platform like a prowling cat. Her clouded eyes scanned the perimeter of the jungle, searching for the source of a sound she wasn’t quite sure she had actually heard.
Several drops of acid fell from her
eyes over the edge of the platform, and they hit the surrounding plants with a burning hiss. Luckily for those hiding below, Mary Mary’s eyesight was not terribly sharp. In the end, the witch decided the noise had been the result of her imagination, and she stormed back into the shack, slamming the door behind her.
Elspeth and the others exhaled slowly, relieved as one might be who has come within inches of the hornet’s nest without actually stepping in it. Dumpty’s eyes met Elspeth’s, and she turned her head sharply away from the tree as if to say, “Let’s get out of here.”
Dumpty nodded in agreement, and Elspeth led the way, inching as quietly as possible back in the direction they’d come. Only when they had reached the path and decided they had put sufficient distance between the witch and themselves, did anyone dare to speak.
“Well, that was awfully close,” whispered Winkie from his perch upon Cory’s shoulder.
“Yes,” said Dumpty. “That could have gone badly for us. The question is, now what? How do we go about the business of chopping off her head?”
It might have seemed logical that attention would go to Bo-Peep as King William’s chief military advisor or to Dumpty as his Minister of Intelligence. Instead, all eyes turned to Lady Elspeth the Conqueror, Duchess of the Deadlands, regional junior chess champion, and master strategist.
Elspeth gnawed at her lower lip as she often did when locked in a fierce chess battle. Other than that, the similarities between chess and her current situation were few. Certainly the goal of each was to make sure the pieces were all positioned for success. And though she’d lost plenty of matches in her career, she’d never been blasted with a bolt of lightning or turned into a muskrat as a result.
But heroes did not beg off when faced with challenges, and as much as she would have loved to defer to one of the others, she did not.
“First of all,” she said, “we have to lure her out of that shack and into a trap. And for that, we’ll need bait.”
Long Live the Queen Page 12