CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Sir Stephan was indeed talkative. He had a small manor in Frell, a wife, four daughters, and two hounds. The hounds were the joy of his life. “Smarter than pigs, cats, and dragons all rolled together,” he said. As we rode, he recounted tale after tale of their bravery and cleverness.
“When do you think we’ll reach the giants?” I asked when he stopped for breath.
“Three days, I should think.”
The day of the wedding! And we might arrive after it ended.
“Can we go any faster? I don’t need much sleep.”
“Maybe you don’t, and I’m eager to get back to those ogres. But the horse needs his rest. We’ll go as fast as he’ll take us.”
I kicked the horse, hoping to spur him on and hoping Sir Stephan wouldn’t notice. Sir Stephan didn’t, and the horse didn’t either.
Sir Stephan began a tale about exhausted horses and a charge against a dragon. When he finished, I hastily changed the subject.
“Do you like serving under the prince?”
“Some might not fancy answering to a youngster,” he said, “but I’m a toiling knight.”
“What’s that?”
“Not so noble I can’t curry my own horse, nor so greedy I have no time to serve my king.”
“Is Char a ‘toiling prince’?”
“That’s a good description of him, little lady. I never saw a lad, page or prince, so eager to learn to do a thing right.”
According to Sir Stephan, Char was almost as wonderful as the hounds. He wasn’t only eager to learn, he did learn, and quickly. He was kind. They had departed Frell late because of his kindness. The cart of a fruit-and-vegetable seller had overturned in the road ahead of them.
“When the seller began screeching that everyone would trample his precious tomatoes and melons and lettuces, Char had us right the cart; then he spent the better part of an hour on his hands and knees, rescuing vegetables.”
“As he rescued me.”
“You’re a long mile prettier than a grape or a squash, and you needed a long mile less rescuing. I never caught an ogre so neatly before.”
I turned the conversation away from me and back to Char.
“He’s smart and he’s steady, the prince is,” Sir Stephan continued. “Too steady, maybe. Too serious, maybe. He laughs when there’s something to laugh at, but he doesn’t play enough. He’s been with the king’s councillors too much.” Sir Stephan was quiet for a rare moment. “He laughed more in a morning with you than in two weeks with us. He should frolic with the young folks more, but they’re on their best behavior with a prince.” He turned his head. “Except for you, little lady.”
I was alarmed. “Did I behave badly?”
“You acted natural. Not like a courtier.”
Manners Mistress would consider me an utter failure. I smiled.
We spent our nights at inns. The first night I retired to my room soon after dinner. I set my Agulen wolf on the table next to my bed so he could protect my sleep. Then I opened my magic book.
On the verso was a letter from Hattie to her mother. On the recto, one to the same lady from Olive. I read Hattie’s first.
Dear Mama,
Is not my penmanship much improoved? I have been practicing my flurrishes. The words may be harder to read, and Writing Mistress dispares of my spelling, but when you stand away from the page, is the result not charming?
Sir Peter’s daughter has vanished. Madame Edith says she was called away in the night. However, I suspect that Madame Edith is lying and that Ella has run off. There was always something devious and deceetful about her, although her father is such a charming, rich man.
My new tresses are divine, and I emmerged among the other girls again two days ago when they arrived. I suspect my locks may have vanished with Ella. A hartless prank to play on me, who always treated her with kindness. But I still hope she has come to no harm and has not been eaten by ogres or captured by bandits or caught fire or fallen into bad company, as I often imagine.
The rest of the letter recounted the compliments Hattie had received on a new gown. She ended with a farewell and the largest flourish of all—Hattie.
The recto:
Deer Muther,
I hav ben feeling poarly all week. I hav hedakes espeshly wen I reed. You allways say to much reeding is bad for the iyes but Writting Mistress wont lissen. She called me littel moar than an iddiot and sed ther will be no hop for me when I am gron if I dont lern to reed better.
Hattie says Ella was bad to leeve but I think she was bad not to tak me to.
Ella did everything Hattie toled her to. I wish peepul did wat I want. Its not fare.
Yoar mizrubbel dawter,
Olive
The whole page was full of blots and cross-outs. Each letter was formed with a wobbly hand, as though the writer didn’t know how to hold a pen. Poar Olive!
Her letter was followed by a sad tale about the genie in Aladdin’s lamp. He had been forced by Aladdin’s false uncle, the magician, to take up residence in the lamp and had been given power to grant everyone’s wishes but his own. Before he was captured, he had been in love with a goose girl. The genie spent his years in the lamp longing for her and wondering whether she’d married someone else, whether she’d grown old, whether she’d died.
I closed the book, weeping a little. I wasn’t confined to a lamp, but I too was not free.
The size of things began to grow shortly after we started out on the third morning. In the past, objects far away had always appeared smaller than objects close by. But now, the old rule stood on its head. The trees near us were dwarfed by the trees in the distance ahead. At ten o’clock, I saw a pumpkin as wide as I was tall. At eleven, we passed one as big as a carriage.
At noon, we saw a giant. He was building a stone wall out of boulders. It was already twice my height, and I shuddered to think of the livestock it would pen.
When the giant saw us, he trumpeted his pleasure. “Oooayaagik (honk)!” he called, dropping a rock and thundering toward us, his mouth open wide in a huge smile of welcome.
Our horse reared in fright, and I struggled to keep my seat, till the giant reached down and touched the beast gently on his muzzle. He quieted instantly, and even nuzzled against the giant’s thigh.
“Aaaope! Aiiiee uuu koobee (screech) ooob payiipe aau,” I said. It meant “hello” in Abdegi. “We’ve come to attend the wedding of Uaaxee’s daughter,” I added in Kyrrian. “But are we too late?”
“You’re just in time. I’ll lead you there.”
The farm was two hours away. Koopooduk, the giant, strolled next to our horse.
“Is Uaaxee expecting you?” he asked.
“No,” I answered. “Will she mind?”
“Mind? She won’t be able to thank you enough for coming. Giants love strangers.” He paused. “And friends too. Lots of friends and strangers will be there.”
We traveled in silence for a while, with Koopooduk smiling down at us.
“Are you tired? Hungry?” he asked presently.
“We’re fine,” Sir Stephan said, although I was starving.
“Everyone is polite, except giants. We say when we’re hungry. Never mind. There’s lots to eat at a giant’s farm.”
Uaaxee’s house was visible an hour before we reached it.
“That’s her house,” Koopooduk announced, pointing. “It’s nice, isn’t it?”
“Enormously nice. Hugely nice,” Sir Stephan said. “Don’t you think so, lass?”
I nodded. My heart began to pound so hard I thought it would catapult me backward off the horse. Soon I might find Lucinda. Soon I might be free.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
I tightened my grip on Sir Stephan’s waist.
“Do you think to be my corset?” he complained. As we approached, Uaaxee opened the door to look for new guests. We were still a distance from the house, so I was able to see her whole. Close up, giants were whatever part was nearest—a skirt,
a bodice, a trouser leg, or a face.
She was three times as tall as a grown human, but no wider. Everything about her was long and narrow: head, torso, arms, legs. However, when she saw us, the long oval of her face changed. She smiled so broadly that her cheeks became peach round, and her eyes behind her spectacles became slits of delight.
“Aiiiee koobee (screech) deegu (whistle)!” She lifted Sir Stephan off the horse and then saw me. “Two people! Oooayaagik (honk) to both of you! Welcome! The wedding will be in a little while. Udabee!” she called to her daughter, the bride. “Look who’s here.”
The daughter, surrounded by friends, waved to us.
“I can’t stay, madam. I just brought this young lady to find her father.”
“Her father?”
“Sir Peter of Frell,” I said.
Uaaxee beamed. “So this is his daughter! He never said a word.” She turned toward the house. “Where is he? I’ll find him. He’ll be so glad you’re here.”
“Please don’t,” I said quickly. “I want to surprise him.”
“Surprise! I love surprises. I won’t tell.”
Sir Stephan mounted his horse. “I must go. Goodbye, Ella, madam.”
“But how can you leave the party? You didn’t even come in!”
Sir Stephan looked up at Uaaxee’s long face, even longer in distress.
“Madam, it grieves me to go,” he said. “Only a matter of the utmost urgency could take me away.” He winked at me. “Please don’t be sad. I’ll only be able to comfort myself if I believe you are happy.”
Uaaxee smiled through tears. “At least let me give you food for your journey.” She hurried into the house, calling behind her, “I’ll only be a moment.”
“Toiling knights are also diplomats,” I said.
“When we have to be. I’ll tell the prince I left you in large, good hands.”
Uaaxee returned with a hamper from which protruded a chicken wing as big as a turkey. Sir Stephan galloped off and Uaaxee hurried away, diverted by new guests.
I entered the house and joined the throng. I could see nothing except the people (or parts of them) nearest me: a group of gnomes arguing about mining techniques, and the skirts of two giantesses. How would I manage to find one human-sized fairy? The only clue would be her tiny feet, and they would be hidden by her skirts.
Giants crowded around a table so tall that I could walk beneath it without bumping my head. On the other side, I came to a stool loaded with food for the small people. While I searched, I might as well eat. I filled my plate (a saucer as big as a platter) with a slice of potato, three foot-long string beans, and a balloon-sized cheese puff.
It was impossible to eat this food and walk. With a napkin draped over my arm and trailing on the floor, I made my way to one of the giant pillows that lined the walls of the dining hall—couches for humans, elves, and gnomes. I would watch the crowd while I dined.
The silverware was too big. I looked around to see how others were managing. Some struggled with knives and forks the size of axes and shovels, some stared at their meal in perplexity. And some dug in with bare hands.
The string beans and potato slice were easy. I held them in both hands and ate. Not so the cheese puff. It oozed when I bit in, and half my face was covered with cheese.
As I cleaned myself, a gong rang out. The deep, booming sound resonated in my chest. The wedding would begin soon.
I followed the crowd as it trooped outdoors. Unconfined by walls, it thinned, and I was able to take in more of the guests at a glance. And there was Father, only a few yards ahead of me, also searching. I stood still and allowed several giants to separate us. Then I hurried to stay close behind them. In their midst I slipped past Father.
After half an hour we reached a cleared field where stands had been erected for giants and smaller peoples. A few humans had arrived and had seated themselves. I slipped behind a tall man, where I would be well concealed. I was close to the aisle and in a good position to scrutinize the feet of new arrivals. The ladies had to lift their skirts as they climbed. At each step up a boot appeared or a slipper peeped out. I counted them off.
Ordinary foot. Ordinary. Large. Quite large.
The benches were almost full. Father arrived and seated himself far from me.
Ordinary foot. Small, but not small enough. Ordinary. Ordinary. Ordinary. Very tiny! Very tiny!
The two lady fairies, accompanied by a gentleman (who was surely a fairy too), squeezed into the row only two below mine. The gentleman was stoop shouldered and one of the ladies was fat. But the other satisfied every cherished idea of a fairy: tall and graceful, with huge eyes, skin as unblemished as satin, lips as red as pomegranate seeds, and cheeks the color of early sunset.
The stands were too crowded; I couldn’t approach them, but I’d watch to make sure they didn’t leave.
The wedding began.
The bride and groom came into the field holding hands. She carried a sack, and he carried a hoe. Each wore trousers and a white smock.
At the sight of them, a roar rose from the giants’ stands. Giants screeched, moaned, grunted, and hummed that the bride was beautiful, the groom was handsome, they would be healthy for long and forever, and this was the happiest day in anybody’s memory.
Aside from enormous smiles, the couple ignored them and began to plant a row of corn. He prepared the ground, and she dropped in seeds from her sack and covered them with moist earth.
As they finished, clouds rolled in and a gentle rain fell, although the sky had been clear when the ceremony started. The giants spread their arms and tilted their heads to receive the drops.
I looked down at the fairies. The two plain ones were smiling, but the beautiful one was rapturous. She seemed to be singing, and tears rolled down her cheeks.
The giants pantomimed their lives together. They farmed and built a house and brought a series of older and older children from the audience into the imaginary home, and then more babies for grandchildren. It ended when they lay down in the grass to signify their deaths together.
Then they sprang up. Benches were overturned as giants poured onto the field to hug them and exclaim over the ceremony.
I stayed in my place, marveling. These giants were lucky to see their lives laid out so sweetly before them. Did the pantomime help? Did it stop ogres from eating you? Did it prevent droughts and floods? Did it keep you from dying before your children were grown?
Except for the beautiful fairy and a number of giants, everyone started back to the house, including Father. I stayed to watch the fairy, hoping—praying—that she would reveal herself to be Lucinda. She pushed her way to the newlyweds through a crowd of relatives and well-wishers.
In a few minutes the giants drew away from her. The bride and groom clutched each other. Both were crying. Uaaxee appeared to be pleading. She crouched before the fairy so that their faces were level, and her eyes never left the fairy.
The fairy stroked Uaaxee’s arm sympathetically, but Uaaxee flinched at the touch. Finally the giants turned and walked slowly back to the house. The fairy watched them go, smiling blissfully.
This had to be Lucinda. There was every sign of it. She had probably bestowed a gift on the newlyweds that was as gladly received as mine had been.
“Lady …” I called, my heart pounding.
She didn’t hear me. As I spoke, she vanished, without even a puff of smoke or a shimmer in the air to mark her departure. Now I knew for certain she was Lucinda, the only fairy in the world who would disappear in plain view.
“Fool!” I called myself. “Idiot!” I should have spoken to her the moment I suspected who she was. She could be in Ayortha by now, or soaring over an ocean.
I returned to the house and found that the giants had grown somber, although the small people were still merry. I wandered through the hall, munching on this and that, while watching out for Father. Where should I go next? How could I continue my quest?
The other fairies might still be her
e and might know where Lucinda had gone. Quickening my pace, I began to search, and in a few minutes I saw them, standing together and looking as sorrowful as the giants. When I had almost reached them, Lucinda materialized in their midst, still smiling.
I pretended to be utterly absorbed in the problem of cracking a gigantic walnut I had taken from the banquet stool.
“I won’t waste my breath telling you how wrong it is to disappear and reappear as you do,” the gentleman fairy told Lucinda. “I hope you don’t plan to do it again in the middle of this crowd.”
“No, Cyril. How could I leave the scene of my greatest triumph?” Her voice was musical. I smelled lilacs.
“What horror did you visit on this poor couple?” he asked.
“No horror, a gift!”
“What gift, then?” the other lady fairy asked.
“Ah, Claudia. I gave them companionship and felicitous union.”
Cyril raised his eyebrows. “How did you accomplish that?”
“I gave them the gift of being together always. They can go nowhere without each other. Isn’t it splendid?”
The walnut almost slipped from my hands.
“It’s frightful,” Cyril said.
“What’s wrong with it?” Lucinda thrust her head forward defiantly.
“They’ll hate each other within a month,” Claudia answered.
Lucinda laughed, a pretty, tinkling sound. “No they won’t. They’ll love each other more than ever.”
Cyril shook his head. “If they argue—and all loving couples argue—they’ll never be alone to recollect themselves, to find ways to forgive each other.”
“You know nothing about it. Not all couples argue, and these two won’t. They’re too much in love.”
“Imagine he bites his nails, and she doesn’t like it,” Claudia said. “Or she rocks back and forth when she talks, and he doesn’t like it—they will never have any respite from the quality they don’t like. It will grow and grow until all he sees in her is rocking and all she sees in him is nail-biting.”
“My gift has nothing to do with nails and rocking. It has to do with the heart, which loves to be near that which it loves.”
Ella Enchanted Page 9