by E. D. Baker
The rain began to fall in grass-flattening sheets. A cackle of laughter as loud as thunder drew Grassina back to the window. She jumped when a jagged bolt of white light struck the ground at the edge of the moat, the boom so loud it made her ears ring. Wrinkling her nose at an acrid smell, she stepped closer to the window. The flash of lightning had shown her something so unbelievable that she had to look again to see if it was true. A figure dressed all in black was capering in the field below with her skirt hitched up and her skinny legs dancing across the lightning-singed ground. Her hair was flying as she twirled and spun, making snatching motions with her hands all the while.
“. . . if you would just think of others. Oh, for . . .” Chartreuse hopped off the bed, grabbed Grassina’s shoulder, and spun her around. “Have you heard a word I’ve been saying? I told you not to make a spectacle of yourself like that again! We’re going to be the talk of the entire kingdom. No one will want to marry either of us!”
“I don’t think they’ll be thinking about us at all,” said Grassina. “Not after they see what’s going on outside.”
“What are you talking about?” Chartreuse said, peering out the window. “There’s nothing out there except . . . Is that Mother? What is she doing in the rain?”
A bolt of lightning hit the ground, narrowly missing the prancing woman. Leaping into the air, she kicked her legs high and flailed her arms, then hunched over and slapped the ground. Although the girls had to clap their hands over their ears to still the ringing and make the thunder bearable each time another bolt struck, they were unable to look away from the cavorting queen.
“This is horrible!” Chartreuse shouted during a lull. The thunder had been so loud that everything else sounded muffled and distant. “We can’t let anyone see her like that!”
“And what do you propose we do about it?” Grassina shouted back.
“We can . . . You should . . .” Chartreuse’s voice trailed away as she tried to think. Then, nodding to herself, she declared, “We’ll go see Father. He can talk to her.”
“What can he do?”
“I don’t know. He’s her husband. She’ll listen to him before she’ll listen to us.”
“Are you crazy?” Grassina asked, following her sister into the corridor. “You know what she’s like now. She doesn’t listen to anyone.”
Chartreuse stopped long enough to glare at Grassina. “If you have a better idea, I’d be happy to hear it!”
Grassina swallowed and shook her head. For the first time in ages, Chartreuse actually wanted her suggestions. It was too bad that she didn’t have any to give.
Flickering torches lit the girls’ path through the dungeon, making shadows jerk and waver around them. Because every surface was made of stone, every sound had its echo, with a hollow note that made even the most innocent noise seem sinister. Water seeping between cracks made the floor glisten and slippery to walk on and the air already sour with mold and decay smell even more pungent. One section of the corridor was so cold that Grassina could see her breath, yet there were no crosscurrents of air and there was no reason why it should be colder. Chartreuse shivered and hurried on, calling to Grassina when she lingered to look around. They were passing a cell with rusty bars in the tiny window when Grassina thought she heard voices; she peeked inside, but no one was there.
The only sign of life they encountered was a spider weaving its web across a doorway. “Listen!” said Grassina when she thought she heard something faint and far away and . . . Someone coughed and the sound echoed in the nearly silent hall. Following their ears to the door of their father’s cell, they peeked inside and found him sitting hunched over a small table. “And to what do I owe this honor?” he said, having looked up from his quill and parchment when he heard the girls’ hesitant knock.
“We’ve come to ask for your help,” said Chartreuse. “Mother is dancing in the thunderstorm and making a spectacle of herself.”
King Aldrid looked puzzled. “I’d like to help you girls, but I don’t know what I can do about it. The queen has been avoiding me. We haven’t spoken in days.”
“I knew we shouldn’t have asked him,” Grassina blurted out. “He can’t even leave the dungeon.”
Chartreuse gave her father a pitying look. “Don’t worry, Father. As soon as I come into my magic, I’ll get you out of here.”
King Aldrid cleared his throat. “That won’t really be necessary. Your mother’s spell kept me here for only three days. I could have left any time after that.”
“Then why didn’t you?” asked Grassina.
“To be honest, I’ve been avoiding your mother. As long as she doesn’t see me, she leaves me alone. I’ve been able to handle the kingdom’s business from down here, probably better than I could if I were upstairs running into Olivene. One flick of her finger and I’d be a rat again. Believe me when I say that no one wants a rat ruling the kingdom. If word got out that the king of Greater Greensward had been turned into an animal . . .”
“So what are we supposed to do about Mother? She has to be insane to do what she’s doing!” said Chartreuse.
“She could get herself killed!” said Grassina.
“Your mother isn’t insane. Just because she doesn’t behave the way she used to doesn’t mean that she doesn’t know what she’s doing,” said the king. “I’m sure that whatever her reason is, it has something to do with her magic.”
“But does she have to do it where everyone can see her?” wailed Chartreuse.
“She probably thinks it’s more fun that way,” said Grassina.
The king coughed behind his hand. “She probably does,” he said, chuckling to himself.
Eight
Mwowr! screamed Chartreuse’s kitten, slashing at the nose of the other cat. The larger honey-colored animal hissed and backed away, its ears flattened against its skull, its tail puffed out to twice its usual size.
Barking joyfully, a wandering hound took off after the cats, chasing them around the moat to the lowered drawbridge. A tinker stepped out of their way as the cats tore past. The kitten streaked over the gap in the boards, but the older cat missed its footing and slipped, falling through the gap and into the moat with a splash. As the kitten disappeared under the portcullis, the cat floundered in the water, its eyes frantic as it turned in circles, trying to find a way out. It might have made it had one of the larger fish that lived in the moat not come by and dragged it under the water. The cat yowled as it sank below the surface; then all that was left to show that it had been there were a few drifting bubbles.
Grassina stepped to the edge of the moat, clutching her bucket of toadstools as she peered into the silt-laden depths. Then out of the water shot Chartreuse, spluttering and splashing, her streaming hair half covering her face. Blood mixed with water trickled from a scratch on her nose as she made her way to dry ground, paddling at first, then wading when her feet reached a rocky ledge.
“Need a hand?” Grassina asked, bending down to reach for her sister.
Chartreuse looked startled when she saw her and not at all pleased. “No,” she said, her lips stiff as she climbed out of the water. “I don’t need anyone’s help, especially not yours. I hope you’re happy. Rinaldo left at dawn this morning, and it was your fault. I just know he heard about your turtle incident.”
Ignoring the gaping mouths of the farmers and merchants who had witnessed her misfortune, Chartreuse pushed her way through the usual morning crowd that had come to do business in the castle and limped across the drawbridge. Grassina saw her stiffen when Pietro passed under the portcullis, giving him only the briefest of nods. The prince turned as if to follow Chartreuse, but seemed to think better of it and continued across the drawbridge. Grassina shook her head when he stopped to talk to a group of farm girls carrying heavily laden baskets. She was watching the girls vie for his attention when her gaze fell upon a middle-aged man in homespun on the back of an old plow horse, its sides lathered from running too long and too fast. The man’s face
was pale despite his exertion, and his eyes had a hunted look.
The man was still astride his horse, arguing with the guards stationed at the end of the drawbridge, when Grassina approached them. “I’m telling you,” one of the guards said to the man, “you can’t see the queen. She’s indisposed and won’t see anyone.”
“But it’s important! A terrible thing has happened, and Queen Olivene needs to know. I have to talk to her.”
“Perhaps I can help,” said Grassina, stepping up to the guards.
Seeing the princess, the guards dipped their heads in deference, then swatted the man when he didn’t do the same. “ ’Tis Her Royal Highness Princess Grassina,” said one of the guards. “Show some respect.”
“Pardon, Your Highness,” said the man, slipping off his horse and turning to Grassina. “My name is Hal of Darby-in-the-Woods. Dare I ask if you can help me? I must see the queen, yet these men tell me it isn’t possible.”
“What would you see her about?” asked Grassina. “I need to know if I’m to help.”
The man shuddered as if what he had to say was too horrible for words. Glancing furtively at the guards, he inclined his head toward Grassina and whispered, “A pack of werewolves attacked my village last night. I came at first daylight. We need the help of the Green Witch. Three men are dead and two others were bitten, yet still live. We locked them in farmer Gib’s shed, but who knows if it will hold when the change comes on them.”
A sick feeling soured Grassina’s stomach. “The guards were right, you can’t see my mother now, but maybe I can talk to her for you.”
“Would you?” Hal asked, hope displacing some of the fear in his eyes. “We’re in sore need of her help. Frankly, we’re surprised she hasn’t come already, seeing that the Green Witch knows everything that goes on in Greater Greensward.”
“Not everything,” said Grassina. “And it’s come as a surprise to us as well. I’ll go see the queen, but I don’t know if she’ll help.”
“Thank you, Your Highness,” said the man. He looked so grateful that Grassina found it almost embarrassing.
The day before, Olivene had moved her magical paraphernalia down into one of the cells, turning it into a workroom where she could concoct her potions and practice her spells. Grassina had yet to visit her there and had been putting off taking her mother the toadstools she’d demanded. Now, after promising the villager that she would talk to her mother, Grassina could no longer delay.
She thought at first that it might be hard to find her mother in the warren of rooms that made up the dungeon, but a thump, her mother’s screech, and an even louder crash told her where to look. Grassina bit her lip, wondering what her mother had done this time. Following a loud tapping sound, she turned a corner where a damp fog smelling of rotting meat and skunk cabbage enveloped her. The fog was oozing out of the wall just outside her mother’s door, growing thicker the longer she stood there. It was enough to make her eyes water, so she wiped them on her sleeve and tried to take shallow breaths as she took one step, then another. When the wall in front of her bulged and receded, she had to rub her eyes. Everything looked different from inside the fog. The ceiling seemed to shift above her, the floor rippled at her feet, and a window opened in a wall, then closed with a snap. Taking two quick steps, Grassina left the fog behind, and suddenly everything looked normal again.
Light flashed in staccato bursts from a doorway up ahead. “Oh, no, you don’t!” shouted Queen Olivene. There was a thump and the light flashed brighter, then died down to a wavery, uneven glow. Steeling herself against whatever her mother might do, Grassina reached the door and peeked inside. Olivene was standing in front of a large cauldron, stirring its contents with a spoon as long as her arm. Each time the spoon made one full circuit of the pot, it hit the rim with a loud tap.
A book lay open on a table near the door. Grassina craned her neck to read the spell titled “Releasing Trapped Magic.” She’d read only a few words when she smelled the fog again, so she stepped into the room to get out of its way and bumped into the table.
Olivene spun around and glared at her daughter. “What are you doing here? Don’t just stand there staring like a gargoyle—come in and give me those toadstools.” Before Grassina could move, Olivene had crossed the room and snatched the bucket from her hand. “Here,” she said, thrusting the spoon at her. “Make yourself useful.”
While her mother examined each toadstool individually, Grassina stirred the viscous liquid, wrinkling her nose at the frothy, hairy scum that floated on its surface. “There’s something I need to tell you,” she said.
“When I’m finished,” her mother grumbled. Then she sniffed another toadstool.
Light flashing in the corner of the room made Grassina turn her head. A lidded wicker basket sat on the floor, isolated from the rest of Olivene’s belongings. Tiny lights sparked through the gaps in the weave, like coals flaring in a dying fire. Suddenly, the basket fell on its side with a thump and began to roll. As it passed Olivene, she kicked it without looking up from what she was doing, sending it thudding into the wall. The basket buzzed angrily, then rolled back into the corner and flung itself upright.
“Let this be a lesson to you, girl,” Olivene told Grassina. “Never collect insects in a thunderstorm expecting to get more effective lightning bugs. The darn things spark, but they don’t have any real light. The crickets are the worst—it made them bad-tempered and smarter than they should be. Can’t do a thing with them!”
“Why did you choose crickets?”
“Bugs are bugs, aren’t they?” Glancing at the cauldron, Olivene said, “Watch what you’re doing!” and pointed a crooked finger at the bubbling liquid. Grassina looked down to see it burble and ooze over the rim. “Hit it!” shouted Olivene. “Use the spoon and whap it hard!” Grassina whapped the concoction with the spoon, sending droplets flying. The liquid stilled, then slurped back into the cauldron.
“What’s in this pot, anyway?” Grassina asked.
“None of your business!” Olivene snapped. Elbowing her daughter aside, the witch dropped in three carefully selected toadstools one at a time. When the third one was sucked in with a glorp, the liquid frothed as high as the rim of the pot before settling back down to a steady seethe.
Olivene’s long nose quivered when she leaned over the pot and sniffed.
“I really need to tell you something,” Grassina began.
Her mother held up her hand imperiously, saying, “Not now! Can’t you see that I’m busy?” After another deep sniff, she dumped the rest of the toadstools into the pot, crowing with delight when it turned a sickly shade of blue. While Grassina retreated to the doorway, Olivene took a grisly-looking hook off the wall and dipped it into the pot, pulling out a dripping stocking.
“If you want something done right, you have to do it yourself,” said Olivene, draping the stocking on a ring embedded in the wall. “That makes two pairs. Get a little potion on your clothes and suddenly no one wants to wash them for you. I was going to make you do it, but I decided that the wash water would work just fine as the base for my next potion. Hand me those leech lips and stand back. I should get a good reaction when I add them!”
Grassina studied the bottle labeled “Leech Lips.” Some of the little, brown, squiggly things inside smacked themselves while others smiled or pouted. She told herself that it was the water’s sloshing that made them move, but she wasn’t so sure.
“I came to tell you that werewolves attacked a village last night,” she said, handing the bottle to her mother.
Olivene’s eyes brightened. “Really? Where?”
“Darby-in-the-Woods. A man came to see you about it.”
“Did they kill any of the werewolves? Darby-in-the-Woods isn’t far from here. I could be there and back in two shakes of a snake’s tail.”
“I don’t think they did.”
“Then why are you telling me about it? Unless someone has collected a werewolf ’s whiskers or the last hair on the tip o
f its tail, I’m not interested.” Uncorking the bottle, Grassina held it over the cauldron and shook out a few blubbering lips. The liquid seethed for just a moment, then became as placid as a lake in winter. “Drat!” muttered Olivene.
“You’re the Green Witch,” said Grassina. “It’s your duty to protect the kingdom.”
“Duty schmooty! Do you see a ring on this finger?” Olivene shoved her hand under her daughter’s nose. “I’m no more the Green Witch than you are. If you don’t mind, and even if you do, I have to get back to work. Now scat! I don’t have time for all this tongue flapping.”
“If you’re not the Green Witch, then who’s going to protect the kingdom? And what should I tell the man? I’m sure he’s going to want . . .”
The basket filled with lightning bugs fell over with a whump—bursting open and letting all the bugs escape in a crawling, skittering, leaping, flying rush. “Now see what you’ve done?” shouted Olivene. “You’ve distracted me. It’s going to take hours to catch those pesky pests, and I still haven’t finished my laundry!”
“Maybe I could . . . ,” Grassina began.
“Get out!” her mother shrieked, taking off her shoe and hurling it at her daughter.
Grassina darted from the room, ducking when the second shoe sailed past her head. Olivene was still shouting at the insects as Grassina turned the corner, grateful that her mother had cast a shoe and not a spell.
“What’s the ruckus about?” King Aldrid asked from an open doorway.
Grassina stopped and turned. She hadn’t realized that her mother had claimed a room so close to her father’s. “Did you know that Mother is no longer the Green Witch? It makes sense, of course. I mean, the Green Witch is the most powerful and the nicest witch in the kingdom, and no one can claim that Mother is nice anymore. But if she isn’t, then who is? Do you think we should . . . Wait a minute. What’s wrong with you?” She took a step closer, noting his sunken cheeks and the dark circles under his eyes. “You look awful!”