In the Coils of the Snake

by Clare B. Dunkle

  A few feet in front of Miranda, a fountain bubbled up in a wide basin, bobbing in five uneven jets of water that sparkled and sang. The water spilled over the sides of the basin into a shallow channel three feet wide that ran down the center of the cave room; composed of large chunks of light blue stone, it was designed to look like a brook’s natural bed. It broke the flow of the water into small rapids as it twisted out of sight around the long bend of the cavern room.

  “The elf lord Girzal was our last guest,” said the goblin King. “He stayed here for several months as his ransom was being arranged. He and Marak Blackwing became somewhat cordial, and he pronounced the place quite livable. Hunter, I realize it’s bright for you, but farther down the cave, you’ll find a small cavern off to the side that isn’t lit. It has hooks in the floor for your tent.”

  Hunter looked slightly relieved. “Ransom?” he muttered, looking around with a little more interest. “What ransom could elves pay?”

  “The elf lord’s youngest daughter Lim paid it for him,” answered Marak Catspaw. “She lived with the goblins for three months as a guest before she accepted the terms of the ransom. Then she became the goblin King’s Wife, and her father went free.” Hunter grimaced in disgust.

  “Miranda,” continued Catspaw, “the dwarves have added new rooms suited to a human, and you can reach them through the stair case over there. This door will be locked, these quarters will be guarded, and the guards in the outer room will bring you your meals. Hunter, you may stay here as long or as short a time as you like. You’re a guest, not a prisoner, but if you leave, you won’t be allowed to come back. Tattoo, you’ll remain here as long as Miranda does, and I’ll have the guards bring you whatever you need. You can sleep in a tent, too, if you like,” he suggested. “Remember, you did when you were little.”

  Under the scrutiny of his monarch, Tattoo tried not to look dismayed. Miranda felt no such constraint.

  “So I have to stay locked in here for the rest of my life,” she declared.

  “Of course not,” replied Catspaw. “Just for the rest of the elf lord’s life. Then you can come back into the kingdom.”

  Miranda gave him a suspicious look. “You promised me,” she warned, but he only smiled at her.

  “Don’t worry,” he answered. “I’ll keep my promise.” And the goblin King left.

  Elf, human, and goblin sat and gazed dejectedly at the fountain for several minutes, each depressed for a different reason.

  “Tattoo,” began Miranda, “is your mother really — I know what Catspaw said — but Sable can’t be dead, really?”

  “We’re making her stay alive,” growled Tattoo” but it doesn’t work very well, and I don’t know what good it does when she won’t stay alive on her own.”

  “You don’t mean that elf woman is your mother?” exclaimed Hunter. “Stars above!” Then he turned red when they both looked at him. “Sika, don’t you believe that goblin claptrap,” he insisted. “Nir would never attack a woman, much less an elf woman. He didn’t even let us hurt the revolting humans we found near camp — no offense,” he added hastily. “They didn’t look like you.”

  “It’s not a lie,” declared Tattoo. “I was on duty when my mother came in. She looked horrible, dead white and covered with dirt. First, she told Marak — he hesitated — “well, she said what he told you, anyway. And then she fell right down, not four feet from him. We thought she’d fainted, but she wasn’t breathing. Seylin said he knew some spells that could do it, but not delayed and at a distance like that.”

  Miranda covered her face with her hands, overcome at the thought of Sable dying because of her.

  Hunter furrowed his brow in thought. He pulled his set of knucklebones out of his tunic and began absently tossing them and catching them. “Nir didn’t put a spell on that elf woman to kill her,” he said slowly. “And he didn’t attack that other elf woman, either, the mother of the goblin King.” He glanced bemusedly at Tattoo’s silver face with its faint black lines. “It’s a shame you both didn’t take after your mothers a little more. But Nir just affects elves, that’s all. I can’t explain how he does it. He can be too much,” he continued, waving his hands. “Too much, and not even know it.”

  Tattoo raised his eyebrows. “So you’re saying that the elf lord affected my mother to death?”

  “I just mean,” said Hunter, “that if he told her to drop dead, she’d do it.”

  “My mother? You don’t know my mother!” scoffed Tattoo. “She’s not about to drop dead to please an elf man, and don’t think they didn’t try to make her do it, either. No. I know what happened. The elf lord told her to take herself off, and she gave him a piece of her mind. He just wasn’t used to being talked to like that, him with all his affected elves.”

  “No, no, no!” declared Hunter. “That isn’t what happened.”

  “Well, it happens that my mother’s dead,” pointed out Tattoo. “And your elf lord is, well… He trailed off, glancing at Miranda again. Another silence fell.

  “Let’s have some food,” suggested Hunter, opening his pack.

  Miranda raised her face from her hands and gazed at him reproachfully. “How could you think of eating at a time like this?” she demanded.

  “At a time like this?” he wondered. “Well past the time for the evening meal, which we haven’t eaten yet. I know, we’ll take a walk first and see the rest of this dismal hole. That’ll work up an interest in food.”

  It took the three of them almost an hour to reach the end of the curving cavern. The milky walls and randomly spaced pale green columns continued, as did the occasional mats. The small artificial brook hurried along the middle of the cave floor, bridged periodically by narrow slabs of stone. It reminded the wanderers that they were walking downhill.

  After some time, the curve of the cavern became more pronounced. Hunter stopped and looked around suspiciously. “It’s as if we’re in a giant snail shell,” he said.

  “We’re walking in a spiral, yes,” agreed Tattoo. “It makes sense if you think of this as an elf prison. You elves are active, and a spiraling tunnel gives you plenty of room to take walks without using up too much space. These mats are for elves, too, to use instead of chairs. Marak is right, this place was designed just to suit you.”

  Hunter looked unimpressed, but in another minute he gave a cry of delight, unintentionally confirming Tattoo’s remarks. They had come around a sharp bend and arrived at the center of the spiral, a large circular room. The channel of water ended in a deep pool as large as the room was wide. Stone steps in front of them descended into the clear water, and ripples cast their waving lines on the walls and floor. Hunter couldn’t have been more thrilled.

  “A place to bathe!” he cried. “Even underground.”

  Tattoo dipped a finger into the water. “It’s frigid,” he announced sarcastically. “It’s everything an elf could wish.”

  Miranda was hungry by the time they made their way back uphill to the fountain. A low table waited by the door. On it were plates of meat and cheese, rolls, buns, meat pies, sweets, and a bowl of fruit. Miranda and Tattoo realized that someone had thoughtfully raided the pantries for them, but Hunter was very wary.

  “Don’t touch that stuff, Sika,” he ordered. “It’s probably poisoned. I thought of this, so I brought food with us.”

  “Oh, good,” said Miranda loyally. She sat down and surveyed the dinner Hunter handed her. A strip of dried deer meat and a stale round of bread. Then she watched Tattoo devour a meat pie. The goblin caught her wistful look and grinned.

  “I’d especially avoid these jam tarts,” he suggested, biting one in half. “The cooks always poison them first.”

  “You’re probably right,” said Hunter, relenting. “We shouldn’t be rude. I suppose we could bring ourselves to eat a little goblin fare. Here, Sika.” He handed her an apple.

  Miranda was happy to discover that the Daylight Spell worked underground. She wished it could keep her asleep night and day. The mont
hs since she had left home had been a series of painful sore rows and shocks, and this last setback had put her beyond feeling altogether. She wasn’t even unhappy. She just felt worn out and listless. After all, she reasoned, she wouldn’t be able to see Nir anyway. He was still on his trip. She couldn’t face even imagining how she might feel when she knew the elf lord was back home.

  Hunter took Miranda on walks with him and fed her his elf food until it ran out, but his attitude completely baffled her. He hated the subterranean prison intensely, and he had lost all of his old companions, but he was much more cheerful than she was. She didn’t realize that elves were naturally optimistic and didn’t ordinarily worry, as Nir had pointed out. Hunter wasn’t really happy, but he didn’t see any reason why that should interfere with his fun.

  In Miranda’s room was a shelf of books, and a couple of nights after their arrival she came downstairs deep in the tale of Robinson Crusoe. Hunter was examining a buttered croissant suspiciously. Tattoo dozed on a mat nearby. Lonely and homesick for goblins, Tattoo spent as much time with the two of them as he could.

  “That’s not elvish,” commented Hunter, looking over her shoulder at the book as he ate. “Is it goblin?”

  “It’s English,” she said absently. “A story.”

  “Oh, chronicles,” said the elf.

  “I can read it to you if you like,” offered Miranda. “It’s about a man who suffers shipwreck at sea.” Then she thought that Hunter might not understand this. “His ship, his boat, sinks in the middle of the sea — that’s like a huge lake. And the man has to live all alone on an island and find everything he needs.”

  “I didn’t know your family knew how to do that kind of thing, Sika,” admitted Hunter, considerably impressed. “Nir says we elves used to go fishing in boats made of hides, but no one in my family knew anything about it. My father fell through lake ice, though, and drowned.”

  Miranda was puzzled by these remarks, but Tattoo was a veteran of Kate’s English classes and spotted the confusion at once. “That man on the island isn’t Miranda’s relative,” he said from his comfortable position on the mat. “He isn’t anybody’s relative; he’s just made up. Imaginary, like a dream.”

  Hunter was astounded. “You’re learning the history of a man who didn’t exist?” he demanded. “Why would you bother to do that?”

  “Because it’s interesting,” said Miranda. “When I think about his troubles, I forget mine for a while.”

  “You want imaginary troubles to forget real troubles?” asked Hunter. “I don’t have to read a big long chronicle for that. I’ll just imagine I have a stomachache.”

  He rolled around on the floor, moaning and holding his middle. Miranda was disgusted. She headed back to her room to enjoy her book in peace. Hunter sat up laughing as she passed.

  “Wait! My stomachache’s gone!” he exclaimed. “I feel wonderful.” But she marched up the stairs without looking at him. “She’s mad at me,” he sighed. “Now we’ll never find out what happened to the man who didn’t exist. And what will we do for fun now that we can’t tease Sika? I know,” he suggested, giving the goblin an appraising glance. “Do you know how to play knucklebones?”

  • • •

  Miranda was glad to have normal food again, and she thought that Hunter would like it as well, but the poor elf simply hated it. He couldn’t reconcile himself to his new diet at all.

  “I can’t get over how horrible it is,” he insisted to Tattoo one evening before Miranda came down. “Like this brown stuff. What do you call it?”

  “Chocolate cake,” answered Tattoo, glancing at the wedge Hunter was waving about in the air.

  “This chocolate cake,” continued Hunter. “I can’t even begin to guess what it’s trying to taste like.”

  “Like chocolate?” suggested Tattoo, helping himself to a slice of his own. Hunter gave him a pitying glance.

  “I don’t know how you ever got to be so big and hulking on food like this,” he remarked. He rummaged in his pack for a minute. “Here,” he said, handing Tattoo a piece of dried meat and taking a piece for himself “The last of my stock. just wrap your silver lips around that.”

  Tattoo tore off a shred and ate it. “Haven’t you people ever heard of salt?” he demanded.

  “Now, that’s food to savor!” exclaimed the elf, brandishing his

  “My own kill, too, the night before we got locked in here.”

  Tattoo looked more interested, and gnawed at the meat again. “My father used to hunt with the old goblin King,” he said, “but I’ve never hunted, myself.”

  “You’ve never hunted?” cried the elf. “At your age! Where does your meat come from, then?”

  “Mostly from sheep,” replied the goblin.” Sheep walk right up to you if they know you.”

  “Oh, you’ve missed so much!” exclaimed Hunter. “There’s nothing like it, your own food running wild, beautiful, and carefree through the forest. And you find it and follow it, bring it down and bring it back home, and you feed your whole camp with your efforts.”

  Tattoo watched the animated Hunter, mildly impressed. The goblins didn’t respect the pretty elves, but this was an achievement he couldn’t boast of.

  “Why, you take that deer you’re eating now,” said the elf. “I didn’t even have my hunting partner that night. I had to stalk her and bring her back alone.”

  Tattoo choked and swallowed with an effort.

  “Her!” he shouted. ‘And now I’m eating her! Oh, you people are just barbarians!” He flung the rest of the meat onto the ground and stomped off down the cavern. Hunter watched him go, more bewildered than offended.

  “What’s wrong with him?” he wondered as Miranda came down the stairs. She had heard the last of the conversation.

  “Goblins never eat female animals,” she said. “They think mothers are sacred.”

  “Now, that’s funny, Sika,” remarked Hunter. “He just called me a barbarian. Doesn’t he know that goblins are the barbarians?”

  • • •

  A few nights later, Miranda sat staring at the fountain, despondently wondering where Nir was.

  “Miranda,” whispered a soft voice. She looked around in surprise. A large, fluffy black cat crouched on the stairs that led up to her room.

  “Seylin!” she cried. The black cat flattened his ears and switched his tail.

  “Do you mind keeping your voice down!” he hissed. “I don’t want Tattoo to know I’m here.”

  “It’s all right,” she said. “Hunter talked Tattoo into going swimming with him. He didn’t want to, but Hunter teased him and made fun of him until it was just easier, I think. Why don’t you want him to know you’re here?”

  “I didn’t just come to cheer you up,” replied Seylin. “I need information. Within the last two months, something completely unexpected has happened: a healthy band of almost seventy elves has returned to their ancestral homeland. But almost immediately, things have started to go wrong. They’ve lost arguably their most magical female to a goblin marriage, and they’re about to lose their most magical male as well. The band doesn’t have very many descendants of the noble families. I’m afraid they won’t survive it.”

  “Catspaw promised me that he wouldn’t kill Nir!” exclaimed Miranda. “Why are the elves going to lose him?”

  “The goblin King means to keep his promise, but that won’t save the elf lord for very long,” opined the cat. “The lord has already caused enough harm to get himself killed several times over, and I very much doubt that he means to stop.”

  They went upstairs. With a shimmer, Seylin changed back into his regular form and pulled from his pocket a pen, a bottle of ink, and a small scroll. He unrolled it, and Miranda saw that it was blank.

  “Recent events have shown me just how little we understand the elves,” he said. “I have to find out why the elf lord keeps doing these irrational things, and you’re the only one I can talk to.”

  “I’ll tell you anything that will he
lp,” she promised. “But why would Tattoo care that you’re here?”

  “He won’t, but he’ll tell the guards, and they’ll tell Marak Catspaw,” answered Seylin. “The King’s mind is already made up about this, and he’s happy with his conclusions. He’s already forbidden me to discuss this with Arianna. If he knew that I had been here, he might tell me not to come see you again, and I would have to obey him. That would limit my choices in a very critical matter.”

  Miranda had not been able to talk to anyone about Nir since the day she had met him. She talked about life in the elf camp for hours. Seylin was a good listener, and he surprised her by taking frequent notes, unrolling the small scroll farther and farther as the night progressed. By the time he ran out of questions, the scroll was several feet long.

  Miranda lay on the bed with her hands over her eyes. The talk had stirred up her battered feelings, and her heart was aching. Seylin tapped his pen against his knee, looking back over his copious notes.

  “I still don’t understand it,” he remarked. “The more I know, the less I understand.” He rolled up his notes into the same tiny scroll as before. “And here you are, at the center of a fight between the two greatest lords of our day. I suppose you could consider that an honor.”

  “I wouldn’t say that they’re fighting over me,” protested Miranda gloomily, staring at the stone ceiling above her. “Catspaw certainly tossed me aside without a fight. Now Nir will come home in a week and find out that he has to give me up, too. He’ll just pick one of the elf girls to marry. It won’t be hard, they’re all beautiful.” She sighed. “And now I know that I haven’t even saved his life.”

  “That’s not true,” observed the handsome goblin. “The elf lord would definitely be dead tonight if you hadn’t struck your bargain with Marak Catspaw. You bought him time and more important, you bought me time as well. Maybe I can find the key to this puzzle before it’s too late.”