Quite Contrary

by Richard Roberts

  This one led somewhere. Through the mist, I saw an intersection up ahead. As my shoes carried me closer, I confirmed a T intersection, with branches left and right. The tunnel I’d come up didn’t continue. Instead, it ended at a gate.

  Rough stones formed an archway, in which a black iron gate blocked my path. This was one of those fancy gates with the scrolling metal bars. A plate in the middle read ‘Rose of Delphi.’ The name made sense, because I could see an underground rose garden on the other side. Oh, man, I wanted in there. I checked the latch and, to my surprise, it turned and the gate swung right open.

  That was way too easy. Suspiciously easy. On the other hand, I wasn’t about to let that kind of paranoia keep me out. I stepped through the gate and pushed it closed behind me. It swung easily either way, in no apparent hurry to trap me. Maybe this was just a rose garden.

  An underground rose garden. I only saw a single room, as big as a cafeteria. A vaulted roof didn’t let in any sunlight. All the light came from glowing fixtures up on the buttresses. They didn’t look like light bulbs, but let’s say they were magic. Did I care? They left the room murky, with shadows crisscrossed over the tangled rose vines covering the walls, twining over low walls or rocks or little statues or something around the middle, leaving only thin pathways free of thorns. Yeah, these were real roses, with wicked thorns everywhere. Flowers dotted the vines, all of them curled up tight.

  I took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. Then another. Some more tension went out of me. If I could find a spot where I wouldn’t get punctured for trying, maybe I’d sleep here. I hadn’t brought any food with me, but I’d be okay for the moment.

  I could hear my breathing, the faint hissing from back in the tunnels, and one more thing. Slow, irregular, drops of water fell from the roof near the center of the room, splashing loudly as they fell into a wide, circular pool. At its center rose a statue around my height. I picked my way along the narrow paths curiously, trying to figure out what the shape underneath so many interwoven vines could be.

  When I reached the edge of the pool, I was pretty sure it was a statue of a person. Hints of a chest, a narrow shape, and the uplifted arms were smooth where the gaps showed. A girl, I supposed. She knelt with her arms held up and forward, hands cupped around the biggest rose I’d ever seen. So big that I’d thought the rose was part of the statue at first. The words ‘as big as my head’ came to mind, but I dismissed them. Folded up tight, this rose was actually bigger than my head.

  The rose twitched; I scanned the room around me. None of the other vines moved. The rose wriggled and the petals unfolded. Still none of the other vines moved, only this one flower, opening up to reveal a girl’s face.

  It’s hard to tell just from a face, but I figured she was a teenager. With pink skin and no hair, only a crown of rose petals on all sides, it was even harder to tell. Red eyes opened and red lips smiled.

  “Hello,” she greeted me, “My name is Rose. Rhodon, if Rose seems a little too obvious, or Rose Red if it’s not obvious enough. What’s yours?” At least a teenager by the voice. Pretty. Having a pretty face and a pretty voice seemed to be a requirement in the world of magic. Somehow I’d gotten an exception.

  She was being polite, Mary. Don’t spit it back in her face just because the last couple of days have sucked. I made myself answer, “Mary Stuart. I don’t suppose you know who Red Riding Hood is?”

  “Are you Red Riding Hood already?” She winced, pain lining her smooth brow as she looked down at me with pity. “I was going to suggest you take that dress off, but I guess it’s too late. I’m sorry.”

  I grunted. “I’ll deal with it. What is this place?”

  “A shrine. A shrine to me, actually. The Rose of Delphi,” she said with a giggle. A wry giggle, and a small smile still tight with concern.

  “Seriously, I’ll deal with it,” I lied. “So you’re, what, a goddess?”

  “An oracle,” she corrected me. Well, more like answered. Cheerfulness crept back into this girl’s voice like a disease at every moment.

  It made it hard to get my back up.

  “Be careful about that. You get one question, and only one. That is, only one question I can answer as an oracle. I’ll be happy to answer as many questions as you like as a person. You’re from a city, right? The inner world? The world of order? That’s an American accent, but I’m not sure which American accent is which.”

  “You get a lot of Americans here?” I asked, one of my eyebrows cocking up all on its own.

  “Explorers and adventurers visit me often. Information is the easiest thing to take back with you, and some want to know where to find a greater treasure, or want help with the adventure they’ve stumbled into.”

  If that was a hint, I wasn’t going to take her up on it. “Is there anywhere to sit? I did a lot of walking today.” I wanted to change the subject. That and to stop my hamstrings from twinging. I didn’t know I was getting sore again until I stopped walking.

  “If you can clear a bench, be my guest. I’d help if I could, but I don’t control the vines.” She sounded apologetic.

  Clear a bench? The rose-covered lump behind me had a bench shape, but I wasn’t eager to grab a handful of thorns. Rose’s vines … I was not going to call her Rose. Rhodon’s vines … forget it, Rose was better. Whatever I called her, she had great vines. Unfortunately, ‘great’ meant ‘covered in wickedly sharp barbs the size of fingernails.’ I wasn’t about to be beaten by plant life. I lifted up one of my impenetrable shoes and wedged the heel into the mass, but stopped.

  “Are these part of you? Will this hurt you?” I asked.

  “They might be, but I can’t move them and don’t feel them,” Rose said serenely. She could do something, because the roses running down the arms of her statue had begun to open. They’d spread their petals too slowly for me to see it happening, but now it was obvious.

  I wasn’t going to tear her up just so I could sit down. That would be stupid. But she really seemed unconcerned. Forget it, I wanted to sit down. I kicked, and crunches and sucker-popping noises accompanied a mass of dark green and red being shoved to the side of the bench. I pushed the vines on the other side all the way off the end with the heel of my shoe. A place cleared, I sat down.

  It felt good immediately. It helped this place was so dim and pretty. I sighed.

  Rose let the silence stretch before she asked, “What happened?”

  I hunched my shoulders up and gave her the list. “I did a bunch of stupid things. I put on this tarty costume in the fairy tale woods, then I was dumb enough to charge into Fairyland, then I was dumb enough to tick off the queen and get dumped into Viking land, then I was dumb enough to run away from the only people who wanted to protect and take care of me, just because I resent a little thing like being expected to like it if some guy decides to get me into bed at sword point six years from now.”

  “All the way into the lands of the old gods, and then back here to the hidden paths of your cities,” mused Rose, “That’s quite a trip. You’re welcome to rest here as long as you want, but I can’t protect you while you’re here. I’m sorry.”

  ‘Welcome.’ Ha! She was lonely. I couldn’t blame her. A talking flower, stuck in one place all her life, hoping strangers will visit for an hour or two. I thought I had it rough.

  “Is there any way to stop being Red Riding Hood? How can I get out of this story?” I blurted. For pity’s sake, Mary! It just came out.

  Now my heart got tight and I tensed up all over waiting for the answer.

  “You mean that—” Rose started to say, then slurred into silence like a broken recording. She stared at nothing, and right about when I wanted to scream at her she blinked and her eyes lifted to mine again.

  “The honest answer, the answer you really asked for, is ‘no.’ I’m sorry, Mary. I’m so sorry,” she answered.

  “Just ‘no’?” I barked back, high and shrill. “No mysterious poems that can mean anything? No line of bullshit about the st
ars and escaping my destiny?” Mary, lay off her! She’s trying to help, and you just don’t like hearing the truth! I couldn’t lay off. “What kind of oracle are you?”

  At least I hadn’t made her cry. She just looked sad and resigned and used to this kind of abuse. Oh, and I’d broken my promise to Rat. You’re on such a roll, Mary.

  “I’m the kind of oracle who gives the true and complete answer,” she said, with the calmness I knew so well that meant she wanted to hide how I’d hurt her. “That’s why I can only answer one question, and why the priestesses of Apollo wanted to keep me forever, but wouldn’t let me be Pythia. When you asked, I saw your destiny, your future, all of your possible futures, I knew everything about your question, Little Red Riding Hood, the Wolf, and you. I held onto what I could. The real answer is ‘no’, and I didn’t want to get your hopes up. Do you want to hear the rest?”

  I grunted. It was that or swear at her.

  “Your magic, your destiny, and your story are tied up in a knot,” she went on when I didn’t. “There’s no way to untangle that knot, because everything you do ties the knot tighter. It has to, because you are Little Red Riding Hood.”

  “I am not Little Red Riding Hood!” I screamed at her, jumping to my feet.

  She waited for me to stop shaking and for the shame to hit. I hated that feeling. I wouldn’t let myself yell at her more to cover it up. I refused to be that kind of person.

  In fact—“I’m sorry,” I mumbled, although it hurt to say it.

  Rose looked just as pained. It couldn’t be easy to tell a twelve-year-old girl you’ve just met that she’s going to be murdered. I wasn’t sure if I wanted her to or not, but she continued, “You’re telling the story differently, but it still fits. Instead of being a victim or an easy seduction, you’re making the Wolf pursue you. He has to persevere and chase after a prize he wants badly, but the end is the same. However you tell the story, it ends with giving in to temptation, and death.”

  “Pardon me if I don’t lie down and accept that,” I mumbled bitterly. It was the most polite thing I could think of to say.

  Rose didn’t show a flicker of irritation at my sarcasm. “No, you won’t. I saw that. You’ll be who you are, and the Wolf will be who he is, and this could end a thousand ways, but all of them are a Red Riding Hood story. There’s only one way out, and you won’t take it because you don’t want to. I hardly saw any futures in which you were that desperate. You think it’s worse than death.”

  Don’t argue. Don’t jump to conclusions, Mary. Just listen. “Go ahead and tell me.”

  “You can go home. You can, but you won’t,” she told me.

  “It’s better than being killed. I guess it keeps me out of the Wolf’s reach. How do I get there?” I snapped.

  “Not easily. You can’t just find an exit like most explorers. They’re closed to you. You would have to rip yourself free. You would have to throw away your story, throw away all the magic in your life, and crush them out of you forever. Doing that and going back home are the same thing now. It’s difficult and dangerous, but it is possible, and if you do it you’ll go home and live the life you know you’re going to with no magic and no special story of your own.” She recited it all calmly and evenly. After all, she knew how I’d react.

  “Not ever, ever, ever,” I answered her just as calmly. I knew what kind of person I almost was. Being killed by a Wolf was better than that.

  My options really sucked, but if I had to be a Thenardier, I’d be Eponine.

  “I’m sorry, Mary. You needed to rest. You’re stretched to your last nerve, and I’ve thrown it all in your face again,” Rose whispered.

  “No, I’m sorry,” I hissed. I was. I really was. “There’s nothing happening to me I haven’t done to myself, and now I’m going to leave you alone because I can’t stay here and just talk after hearing that. I can’t rest here.” Already my legs twitched with the desire to get out, to be alone and away and escape this helplessness, to do something instead of stand here and talk about how useless everything would be.

  “I understand. Let me do one thing for you, at least,” Rose urged me, “Drink some water from my pool.”

  The pool her statue stood in. The vines of the rosebush wound right down into it, but the surface was clear. Crystal clear.

  “I’ll be fine. I have to swallow this news before I can handle anything else anyway,” I gruffed. I was straining to be polite. Rose hadn’t done anything to me. But I itched with my desire to be away, or to blame it all on her and get angry.

  “Please,” she insisted.

  Anger shot up from my feet to the top of my head, then passed out of me. Did I have a giant button on me that said, ‘This is how to get what you want?’

  Rose wouldn’t have any more chances to push it, and she was trying to help me. I sighed extra loud and took the step forward to kneel by the pool and dip my hands in. The water was cold, of course. Almost icy cold, but not quite painful. I lifted what I could hold in cupped hands and scooped it into my mouth quickly before it all ran out between my fingers.

  Cold. The water hardly tasted of anything. It was just fresh, spreading a pleasant chill through my body. My stomach unknotted. I wasn’t hungry, or thirsty, or even tired. My heart ached, but even my legs were merely stiff.

  I lifted my eyes to the flower and Rose explained, “This blessed water keeps me immortal.”

  “It helped. Thank you. It hardly hurt to say. “I’m going to go now. It was nice meeting you. It really was. None of this is your fault.”

  “Goodbye, Mary. I don’t remember if we’ll see each other again. I hope so.” She rolled up her petals, hiding her face. She hadn’t completely covered up the regret in her voice, and she didn’t want to watch me walk out on her.

  I turned around and took a step. Behind me, Rose’s muffled voice added, “Right now you want to run away from fairy tales. When you change your mind, remember: Once upon a time, there was a sweet little girl. Everyone who saw her liked her, but most of all her grandmother.”

  I kept walking. I didn’t care about fairy tales except the one I was stuck in, and if I’d needed any proof I wasn’t Red Riding Hood, those words were it.

  I walked out through the gate, shut it behind me, turned left and kept walking. We were both alone again, and both used to it. For me, I was going to see where these steam tunnels led. Now that the pool had calmed my body, I hoped walking would calm my feelings.

  It did. They didn’t get better, but they became calm. I walked through warm mist and stared at a tangle of pipes. I walked, and when I got to another T intersection I turned right, and then the corridor turned left again. The quiet hiss and tunnel scenery soothed my nerves. Eventually, I’d have gotten bored, but long before that happened I saw the first rat.

  I thought it was a rat, at least. Something dark and hairy scurried along a pipe over my head and disappeared into the foggy gloom. I kept on, and about the time I saw a four way intersection ahead, another little body bolted away from me along a pipe. It ran around the corner to the right, so I followed. I hate being bored.

  The memory felt wrong. The rat had moved wrong. I’d seen a bare rat tail, but I thought the animal had run upright. Around here, that wasn’t a surprise, but I wondered what I had really seen. I passed a mushroom growing on the surface of a pipe by my feet, then a pair of mushrooms sticking off a pipe over my head. The shadows in the mist ahead of me changed, and I walked through the haze into a much more chaotic stretch of tunnel.

  The pipes had been diverted. Some had shiny new fixtures turning to run across the middle of the tunnel. Others had new pipes rammed through and the edges sealed with coppery gunk. Holes pockmarked the walls, some still with lengths of pipe sticking out. Jumbles of pipe that were all connectors without connections looked like makeshift buildings attached to, well, any surface. This place was a village, and the not-rats were its inhabitants.

  A village and a forest. Or a farm. Moss covered large sections of the walls, floor,
and ceilings. Mushrooms, a couple the size of pumpkins, sprouted from whatever they felt like. Pipes, moss, little buildings, bare concrete and brick, whatever. The variety of colors and shapes bewildered me, and some had been cultivated. When a series of pinholes in a steam pipe sprayed nonstop steam on a row of mushrooms, what else could I call it?

  As for the not-rats, I couldn’t decide what they were. They were mostly black and brown-furred, some mottled or with white patches. They looked kind of ratty, but bipedal with an extra pair of arms. Not entirely bipedal. They ran on all sixes a lot. Face it, Mary, you haven’t got a clue. So, I just decided they were not-rats.

  They ignored me, going about their business. One used a fragment of edged copper to saw through a mushroom, then others descended to dissect it meticulously into parts, such as peeling off the top layer of the cap or shaving the flutes off the stem. A small team wrestled with a pipe, screwing it into the end of another pipe sticking out of the wall. I might as well have been invisible. Why shouldn’t they ignore me? I had no place in their weird little world.

  I crept through the tunnel carefully now, trying not to step on mushrooms or otherwise disturb the village. I had to duck under or step over pipes they’d diverted through the middle of the hallway, not just to be polite but so as not to burn myself. I could feel the heat radiating from some of these pipes without touching them, but the not-rats walked with bare pink feet along the metal blithely.

  Some of the mushrooms had faintly glowing bulbs instead of caps. Others curled the cap up the wrong way, like a flower. Out of one of those, a shining star rose, hovering in place, then zipping up in front of me.

  The light was a fairy, of course. A tiny little woman the size of my pinky, with wings that buzzed so fast I couldn’t make out anything but the golden glow. She glittered like glass, which kept me from telling how human she was. She was a gleaming thing with a female shape and blurry, shining wings. I did make out the opened mouth as she lunged for my face, but by this point, I’d learned that I just plain hate fairies. I’d been watching for it, and I swatted her right out of the air with the back of my hand. She hit a pipe, and a not-rat jumped on her, pinning her in all four arms and scurrying off as she struggled.