by Nina Clare
‘Oh, if only she would come back,’ agreed Harriet. ‘Now we’ve found the wand, we need not fear her return. Well, not so much as we did,’ she added, thinking of all the scrapes and messes they had all fallen into since her departure.’ Perhaps you should look in on the dragon,’ she suggested. ‘It would be dreadful if it escaped.’
‘I should.’ Myrtle got up. ‘And no doubt it’s hungry again. It likes its food as much as Rue does.’
It rained the day after Midwinter, then snowed once again, the slushy ground freezing overnight. It was not the gentle snow of Midwinter Eve; it was a wilful, capricious weather of another spirit. There were murmurs that there must be a darkling in the vicinity, for the weather always turned wild and vicious when such was among them. The copper fox shivered between north and north-west, baring his verdigris teeth.
Mortal and fae alike were confined to their homes, and the wand remained locked up in Mother Goodword’s desk until the weather altered and Rue could get out to put right the sprite and cow.
On the morning of the third day after Midwinter Eve, Rue could finally leave the school, the ground having cleared enough to walk out. The chestnut sprite had disappeared from the school grounds some time ago. She would have to track him down. But she knew where to find Elizabeth Martin’s cow, so she determined to undo that bad spell first. With the wand tucked carefully inside her cloak, she set off for the Martins’ farm.
There were still patches of snow, and more than one frost sprite tried to coax Rue into stepping onto a patch of ice, that they might have the fun of seeing a mortal slip and tumble. ‘Away with you,’ she scolded, as they darted across her path. ‘I’ve no time for games today.’ And then she promptly stood on a patch of ice, hidden by carefully laid leaves. Her feet flew out before she had time to yell, and she landed on her rear with a bump. The sprites were delighted, flitting round in glee.
‘Good thing for you I’m not a vengeful witch!’ Rue told them, ‘or I’d turn you into maybugs!’ The sprites laughed all the harder.
But there was no time or desire for revenge. She had an important quest to accomplish. On she marched, avoiding any patches in the road that had little deceiving carpets of leaves. It was a dull morning, the sky thick with pewter cloud, the sun still rolled up sleepily in its cloudy blankets, as Rue liked to think. She put up the hood of her forgetfulness cloak, more for warmth than for the need of invisibility.
She did not expect to see anyone else out at such a cold and gloomy hour, so it was surprising to hear hooves and a voice from somewhere up ahead on the Donwell road.
The hooves belonged to a donkey – a limping donkey, being slowly led by a man she did not recognise.
‘Come on, Jack, there’s a good fellow,’ coaxed the man.
Rue’s curiosity was piqued. She ought not to waste one precious moment of her time being distracted from her quest. She must ignore all interesting strangers and keep to her course. She must not get into conversations… but she did so dislike seeing an animal limping… she pushed back her hood to make herself visible.
‘Morning, sir!’ she called out. ‘What ails your donkey?’
The man looked up in surprise; to his mind, there had been no one in the road a moment before.
‘Morning, maid. I little expected to see anyone else at this hour and unfriendly weather.’
‘No more did I.’
The man waited for her to approach. ‘I don’t know what’s wrong with his leg,’ he said. ‘Is there a farrier in the next village?’
Rue drew close enough to see he was a young man, perhaps twenty or so years with a pleasant face. There was something about him that looked familiar, but she could not think what it was.
‘How long’s he been limping?’
‘It began a few days ago.’
‘An’ he’s been walking all this time?’
‘No. We got caught up in the snow and took shelter at the inn on the road. Had to spend all of Midwinter there, but it was no bad thing. Friendly folk. If only the ale hadn’t been sour. Landlady said there’s been a lot of trouble with sour ale and burnt bread in recent months. She thought my lamed donkey might result from mischief, seeing as it happened as soon as we stepped over the boundary into the neighbourhood.’
‘There have been odd things happening of late,’ said Rue, feeling uncomfortable at this admission. ‘Let me have a look at him. I’m good with animals.’ She felt it was the least she could do, seeing as he had been forced to spend all of Midwinter in a public inn.
‘He’s not fond of being touched by strangers,’ the man warned. But Rue had already found the place behind the ears where the donkey liked to be scratched. They were very like dogs in that respect. Her gran had always said Rue’s hands were big because they were full of quiet and calm, such as animals understood the language of, and her Ma had always added that it was a pity that Rue’s tongue and noddle didn’t carry the same qualities. It had been a family joke.
‘He likes you,’ said the man, sounding surprised.
Rue’s fingers, moving across the animal and down the limping limb, soon found the problem. ‘I don’t suppose you’ve a thick needle about you?’ she asked, her head bent over the mule’s raised hoof. ‘Or something like it.’
‘A needle? No. But…’ and he unbuckled one of the saddlebacks and rummaged for something. Rue was presented with a wallet containing such items as a traveller might carry: a knife and spoon, a shaving blade, and—
‘Toothpick,’ said Rue, taking the fine, sharp implement from the pouch. ‘Just the thing.’
The man squatted down beside her, interested to see what she was about. His soul had a pleasant smell, she thought, her trained senses picking it up, as his head bent near to her own. What a pity he was a stranger; such a nice young man would make an excellent match for Lizzie Martin. Mother Goodword had spoken about how people’s souls needed to be complementary in smell; this mellow, sweet scent was exactly what Lizzie needed to counter her honest, but slightly acidic fragrance. Perhaps…
‘That were the cause of all the trouble!’ Rue announced, straightening up and holding up the toothpick to show the tiny shard of acorn shell from under the horny part of the hoof.
‘Thank you! I’m much obliged!’
‘He needs treatment. He’s got seedy toe. It don’t hurt him, but he’ll get things stuck up there. You need to get the bad bit cut out, and then new horn will grow back just fine.’
‘Thank you! I’d have thought you a Wisewoman, if you were not so young,’ marvelled the young man
Rue beamed and thought he was an excellent young man. ‘I’m going to be a Wisewoman one day.’ Then her face fell as she recalled her present difficulties. ‘Perhaps.’ Then she recalled her newest idea regarding him as an agreeable solution to her failing assignment.
‘Come with me,’ she ordered, taking hold of the donkey’s bridle to turn him about. ‘I’ll take you to the nearest farmhouse, it’s just down this lane. They’ve a neighbour who’s first rate with horses and mules and the like. He’ll soon sort his hoof out. And the mistress is a right hospitable lady who’ll not see a stranger go past her door without giving him a hearty breakfast.’
‘But I’ve already breakfasted,’ said the young man. But Rue was on a venture. She would catch two birds in one net, for sure. She would put the cow to rights, and she would introduce Lizzie to this handsome young man who smelled clean and wholesome.
‘Do you care for cows?’ she asked over her shoulder, as she marched down the lane, with the donkey trotting companionably beside her.
‘Cows?’
‘Be sure to say nothing unkind about cows at the farmhouse.’
‘I have nothing unkind to say about cows,’ he said, hurrying to keep pace. ‘I think them very useful creatures.’
‘Excellent.’ Rue halted unexpectedly, a sudden thought striking her. ‘Are you a bachelor?’
‘A bachelor?’
He repeated questions a lot, Rue thought impatiently. She sta
red at him intently, to show she was waiting for a reply.
‘Are you… an unwed maiden?’ he answered, not in a rude tone, but clearly, he wished to make a point of showing how personal her remarks were. He had a good sense of decency about him. Lizzie would never consider a brazen peacock or a pert jackanapes.
‘I am,’ she replied. ‘Are you?’
‘A maiden?’ his mouth was twitching into a smile, while his eyes still looked a little surprised. He had light blue eyes. She hoped Lizzie liked light blue eyes. Some maidens were all for dark, brooding ones these days, according to the current fashion in ballads. She caught his meaning and laughed heartily. He laughed with her. This was all very promising. He had a sense of humour. Lizzie was very pragmatic on the whole, but she liked a good joke as well as anyone. She resumed walking.
They reached the farmhouse door. Good thing the feisty cockerel, who usually kept guard, was elsewhere. She didn’t want the donkey spooked by it, and lose her prize. She had no need to knock, for the door flew open.
‘I thought it was you,’ cried May Martin. I saw you from the front parlour, and I said, I declare, it’s Sister Rue with a donkey and a man! They did not believe me, but I was right!’
‘Sister Rue,’ said Mistress Martin, coming to the door. ‘What brings you at such an early hour and on such a cold day?’
‘Morning, Mistress Martin. I’ve a donkey in need of aid. And I’d like to see Lizzie, if she’s there.’ Rue peered into the hallway beyond the door, hoping for a glimpse of her friend.
‘She’s not back from milking,’ said Mistress Martin, eyeing the young stranger beyond. May was peering out at him with even more interest.
The stranger saw their curiosity and made a bow. ‘Excuse me, Mistress, I’ve no wish to trouble anyone. But if you’ve a neighbour skilled in farrier work, as this young lady has said is the case, then I would be obliged if I could employ his services.’
Rue felt proud of his polite manners and nice way of talking. He did not sound uppity, but neither did he sound uneducated. He was perfect.
‘Well,’ said Mistress Martin, still examining him, as though to take the measure of his worth. ‘Master Larkins is good with cows and sheep, to be sure, but it’s young Benjamin Larkins, his son you’ll be wanting. He’s the one gifted with horses. I’ll call my son from the meadows and he’ll take you to him.’
‘No need,’ said Rue brightly. ‘I’ll show Master…’ she turned to the stranger, with a questioning look.
‘Smith,’ said the young man with another bow of his head. ‘John Smith.’
Rue was a tad disappointed. John Smith was rather a dull name. So very common. It was hardly suited to a romantic hero.
‘That way,’ she said, pointing Master Smith in the direction of the milking shed.
‘What did you come for?’ Mistress Martin called after her.
‘Just a bit of Godmothering business,’ replied Rue.
‘Does your Godmothering business include the young man yonder?’
Rue shrugged, but there was no escaping Mistress Martin’s direct gaze. ‘Not exactly. At least, I didn’t intend for him to be. Perhaps. Perhaps not.’ She shrugged again. ‘Perhaps he only needs some farrier work and will be on his way again.’
‘Well, be sure to bring him to the kitchen while his donkey is stabled. I’ll not have a stranger pass by without tea and cake at the very least.’
Rue grinned. She had been hoping for such an offer. The longer she could keep Master John Smith at the farm, the more chance there was of him and Lizzie having a significant first meeting. Surely this would be an excellent morning’s work after all. Things were looking up.
Elizabeth Martin did not seem unduly impressed with John Smith. She gave him a curious glance on his first appearing in the milking parlour, then she shooed him out, telling him that a stranger would upset her cows, who were very particular about who watched them being milked.
It took Rue some persuading to get Elizabeth to agree to show them the way to the stable forge.
‘I haven’t time, Rue,’ she argued. ‘It’s a good mile, and I’ve a score of chores to get done this morning.’
‘What’s a mile?’ said Rue. What was the matter with this girl? She would never get herself wed if she spurned every good-looking fellow that came into her milking parlour. It was not as if it were a regular occurrence.
‘Why do you need me to show you the way?’ Elizabeth asked suspiciously. ‘You know well enough where Ben Larkins works.’
‘I’m barely a nodding acquaintance,’ said Rue, trying to look innocent. ‘He won’t care for me turning up recommending a stranger. They need a neighbourly introduction.’
Elizabeth frowned, and took forever to finish milking Clovis, a dun-coloured cow who regarded Rue as warily as her mistress did.
‘Where’s Gladioli?’ Rue asked, looking for the little Welch cow.
‘In the south meadow. Why?’
‘How come she ain’t here being milked?’
‘Because her milk still comes out blue,’ said Elizabeth grimly.
‘Oh. But does it taste good?’
‘It causes one to have the strangest dreams.’
Rue winced. ‘Well, I know how to put her right. I’ll come back for her when we’re done.’
‘Hmm,’ was Elizabeth’s wry reply. ‘Master Smith,’ Elizabeth called out as she hung her milking pail up, and tidied her stool away. ‘If Sister Rue offers to be-spell your donkey, be sure to decline. Her magic has unexpected consequences.’
‘Thank you for the warning,’ said Master Smith politely. ‘I did not realise she was magical.’
‘Shall we go?’ Rue said brightly. ‘Lead on, Lizzie. I’ll follow you and Master Smith.’
But Elizabeth strode away in front, and Master John Smith fell in behind. This was not quite as Rue had planned. When they paused a minute at the little brook to let the donkey drink, Rue took the opportunity of pinching Elizabeth’s arm. ‘Why are you being so unfriendly?’ she whispered.
‘Unfriendly? What are you talking about?’
‘To Master Smith. You’ve not said one word to him.’
‘And why, pray, should I have a word to say to him? He’s but a stranger passing through, and you’ve put me in a bad humour by taking me away from my chores. It’ll take me half the day to catch up again.’
‘You right-rude crosspatch! You don’t deserve a nice young man!’
‘Me, rude? Crosspatch? Why are you abusing me, when here I am obliging you by tramping across cold, wet fields for naught? If you think to be trying out your matchmaking business on me, Rosamund Richards, you’ve another thing—’
‘Hush! He’s coming. And it’s Sister Rue, and I’m not trying out nothin’.’
‘I don’t believe you,’ Elizabeth retorted. ‘I know you too well. I know exactly what you’re up to, and it won’t work.’
‘Excuse me, ladies, but if you care to direct me, I’m sure I can find my own way from here,’ said John Smith, looking between Elizabeth and Rue. ‘I have no wish to be any inconvenience, and I’m sure you’ve better things to be doing with your time.’
He spoke with such an amiable expression and sincerity in his manner that Elizabeth seemed in that moment to empty of all her crossness, and remember her manners.
‘It’s no trouble,’ she said in a softer tone. ‘And I’ve instructions to bring you back to the kitchen while your mount is stabled. Mama will not hear of you leaving us without tea.’
Elizabeth gave Rue a little glare as she spoke the last word. Rue grinned at her friend’s back as they walked on in single file. That was a little more like it. But, Mad March Hares! – what a work this matchmaking business was!
Ben Larkins seemed nervous of Rue on learning that she was a Godmother student, and said more than once that he did not care for any magic business to be going on about him. Rue assured him there would be no magic, only a regular donkey to be looked at, and then she let Elizabeth do all the talking while she pace
d up and down outside the stables to keep warm.
All should have been very simple. Benjamin Larkins should have led the mule away to tend to him, Elizabeth should have turned aside with Master Smith to talk to him all the way back to the farmhouse, and Rue should have said her farewells, once in view of the farm, and gone to the south meadow to sort out the blue cow. That was what was supposed to happen. And if it wasn’t for the large pine tree overshadowing the stable yard, there would have been no difficulty.
But there was a pine tree above her. Rue rubbed her arm with an ‘Ouch!’ as a pinecone dropped upon it. She thought little of it, except that she was unlucky to have been standing there at that moment, until a second cone fell, striking her on the shoulder. She looked up in surprise.
‘You!’ she cried. ‘So that’s where you went to!’
The runaway chestnut sprite glared down at her and aimed another cone.
She dodged it, and it struck Elizabeth instead. ‘Ow! What was that? A squirrel? No, a sprite – how comes it to have squirrel ears?’
That was the worst thing she could have said, for the sprite turned purple with anger, and a fierce rain of cones was let loose on the stable courtyard.
‘Don’t worry,’ Rue called out, pulling the wand from inside her cloak. ‘I’ll soon have him in a better mood. Stay still, won’t you!’ she called up to the sprite. ‘Ouch! I’ll put you right again, if you’ll just stop hitting me!’
Rue had spent the past two days of confinement perfecting a nice, compact spell to turn back the sprite and cow. She was quite pleased with her rhyme:
All unnatural forms unmake.
Only true form must you take.
She closed her eyes to concentrate, letting the words formulate in her mind, ready to speak, and activate the power in the wand.