Lies of Golden Straw

by E. L. Tenenbaum

  “A challenge within her abilities,” Merlin said.

  “A challenge within her abilities,” the little man agreed.

  He turned the matter over in his mind, then his face lit up in a way I wouldn’t dare consider a good sign. An evil smile rolled across his face.

  “Well, Mistress Miller, pardon me, Queen Emalyn,” he said to me directly, not bothering to hide the mockery in his voice, “as you are so adept with names, and as I spun for you three nights, I give you three nights to guess my true name. If you do, you may keep the child. If not, he will be mine. Now, Majesty, say you agree.”

  “I agree,” I choked out automatically.

  The little man grinned. He looked about the room as if he owned it and all therein. “We’ll meet here each time,” he concluded. “Remember, you only have three nights.”

  I nodded and he was gone.

  Merlin exhaled slowly and retracted his purple lights. Finally, he turned to me, a mixture of hope, despair, concern warring across his face. He knelt beside me and took my hand. “Are you okay?” he asked softly.

  I nodded and gave him a weak smile. “So we have our way out, right? I mean, it’s only a matter of finding one name. How difficult can it be?”

  Merlin replied with only a look. We both very well knew the answer to that.

  First thing the next morning, I ordered that every name directory in the royal library be brought to me. Kirkin oversaw their delivery with some amusement, no doubt thinking, as surely as the rest, that I was on a frantic search to find a fitting combination of names for my child. They weren’t entirely wrong. I was seeking a name for my child; the name that would ensure he would stay mine.

  As soon as the three thick leather tomes were brought to me, my heavy heart sank in despair. Even if I could read through every page, there was no way I would before my time was up. The little man had given me three nights, so I figured I had three days in the least, four if he followed the pattern of the tests. The only thing I knew for certain was that I could eliminate any name that sounded too ordinary, too normal, though little good that would do in a place with monarchs named as they were in the gallery below.

  Merlin was torn between once again seeking out the help of other mages and helping me sift through the myriad names.

  “Don’t you have a spell that could read all this for us?” I asked wearily. Three hours had already passed and I’d only been through about seventy of the thousands of pages.

  “I have a spell to read it out loud,” Merlin offered.

  I rubbed my dried out eyes. “Yes, please,” I eagerly agreed.

  Before he could begin, however, we were interrupted by a single knock at the door.

  “Enter,” I called.

  The door creaked open hesitantly, and then, as if the person on the other side was taking a deep, steeling breath, it paused before being flung open completely. Merlin and I stared at the visitor.

  “I just be in the neighborhood and thought to be stopping by,” a familiar voice boomed out.

  “Father,” I gasped. “What are you doing here?”

  I really, really did not have time for one of his visits, which were truly otherwise welcome, even with the added strain of diligently making sure he was within earshot so I could monitor, if not prevent, his incessant storytelling. Rainn usually found himself unusually busy with affairs of state whenever Father dropped in.

  Father returned my look with one of his own. “I be coming to see me grandson, of course.”

  “Of course,” I echoed dumbly.

  “Well?” Father pressed, when I still hadn’t made a move to get up.

  Merlin leaned over to me. “Why don’t you go and I’ll keep at it here,” he said kindly. “A break could do you some good.”

  I shook my head, but allowed my body to rise and lead my father to the nursery. I didn’t think a break would do me any good as I only had a few days to save my son. I would take a break when he was absolutely mine, not before. But I couldn’t protest further without arousing suspicion. So I went.

  Father’s face absolutely melted when he caught sight of his first grandchild, his delight so evident that his cheeks rose high enough to block the slits of his crinkling eyes. For a long moment he stood riveted over the bassinet, gazing serenely at the little bundle within. Slowly, carefully, he reached one hand in and just barely grazed the baby’s nose with his fingertips.

  “Absolutely perfect,” he said quietly.

  The pain in my chest sharpened.

  “Can I—Can I be holding him?” he whispered.

  I nodded and bent to lift the baby, kissing his forehead softly before placing him in my father’s arms. My father, the man who’d never shown me any real emotion, now displayed the entire range of his pride and joy with one simple, unwavering look at my son.

  But the moment didn’t last, as these moments of truth with my father never did. Father settled himself in the rocker, the same one I’d been sitting in last night when the little man came, and slowly started swaying back and forth, never once taking his eyes from his grandchild. The baby squirmed a little, his brow furrowing before relaxing again. Father chuckled upon seeing it.

  “He sure be a grim little man, like so,” he murmured. He kept rocking and when he spoke next, it was in his story voice. “Did I ever be telling you that once I be meeting an actual little man?” he asked. “This well before I be meeting your mother, when I still be in the service of Lord Blackwell, rest his soul.”

  “Oh?” I questioned disinterestedly.

  My eyes had already left my father and fixed themselves on the light coming in through the window. I wondered how much longer Father would be here. Too long, judging by the present state of his contentment. Dare I leave him alone with the baby, to fill his ears and mind with fabrications he couldn’t yet understand?

  “It be when once we be traveling through the Dark Forest,” he continued, not noticing I was listening with only half an ear. “You be knowing the Dark Forest, Daughter? It be sitting on the border with them other kingdom, them with the princess whose stepmother wanted to eat her heart?”

  “Princess Lyla,” I replied automatically.

  Princess Lyla of Calladium, who loved lilies and was married to Prince Daimyon, one time prodigal huntsman, who kept a bat as a pet, I mentally recited. Rainn would have been proud.

  I knew about the forest and the princess who’d somehow hidden within it for years. Even as a knight in the service of the mythical Lord Blackwell, I highly doubted my father had actually been there. It was called the Dark Forest for a reason. No one willingly entered it unless they were willing to fall prey to all types of unsavory magic.

  “In time, we be coming across a tidy little cottage, and I be only daring to stop because it be so quaint, out of place in so dark a place, though I didn’t be daring to get off me horse,” Father continued, strolling about in his sailor boots. “It was then I be seeing him, more that I be catching a glimpse of the magical man. He were not exactly dwarf, though that’s what I be expecting to find there. Rather, there be something odd about him. For he be a man rather impish in look, with a face that be neither old nor young. And though I could not be telling for certain, his eyes were not a pair, as in the light one eye glinted purple, the other green.”

  I snapped to attention, though I tried to hide my curiosity behind a forced coughing fit. It couldn’t be, could it? Could there actually be some truth to my father’s falsehoods? If there was truth to one, was there truth in all? How could he have known about the little man, unless he’d actually seen him? Was he only embellishing upon myth and rumor, or had he stumbled upon the truth this time?

  No, I soon decided. I knew, as well as Merlin, as well as everyone else in the village that my father was, and always would be, a liar. However, that didn’t mean some truth couldn’t worm its way in, against his better intentions. The wheels were turning in my head now, and though the thought was ludicrous, it was hardly any more so than a magical little man wil
ling to spin straw into gold in exchange for the miller’s daughter’s child.

  “Anyway, I—” Father went on to speak about some magical, giant snake with arms and legs he soon had to battle in a fig orchard, so I tuned the rest of his story out.

  I stood abruptly, startling Father, whose sudden jerking woke the baby. The baby whimpered and Father tried fruitlessly to quiet him. I finally took him and calmed him, enough so that when he’d been rocked back to sleep, Father understood when I returned him to his crib. I turned to leave the room, but Father hesitated.

  “You don’t be minding, dear, if I be staying here a bit longer?” he asked.

  I looked from him to the sleeping baby. The nursemaid would be close by. I nodded and he took the liberty of dragging the rocking chair closer to the crib, settling comfortably in it. I left the room, but didn’t dare hurry until I was already in the hall.

  I found Merlin where I’d left him in my study, standing before a writing stand and jotting down notes as a voice without a body reverberated in the air, reading out the names from the first book, the pages turning on their own. Merlin glanced up at me as the voice droned on.

  “You’ll never believe what I just heard,” I said, even before the door closed behind me.

  Merlin raised his eyebrows at me, indicating that he couldn’t very well believe anything that came out of Father’s mouth. I told him anyway, and as I spoke his eyebrows slowly lowered into a frown.

  “Millie,” he began.

  “I know,” I cut in quickly, “but is it really so ridiculous? We’ll just send someone in to check, that’s all.”

  Merlin’s frown deepened. “My master once spoke of a hideout in the Dark Forest,” he admitted. “But his magic will pick up on any pure magical’s approach. It’s part of why we haven’t caught him yet.”

  “So we’ll send someone else,” I countered.

  “Who?” Merlin wanted to know. “Who can be safe enough?”

  I thought about it. “I may have someone,” I said. “But first, what kind of protections can you offer a non-magical against the Dark Forest?”

  Merlin waved his hand dismissively. “Enough to hasten the trip,” he said shortly.

  I nodded. “Good.” I opened the door. “Kirkin? A moment, please.”

  Minutes later, Kirkin was racing out of the palace, entrusted with the singular task of finding a strange little man for his queen, carrying with him glowing vials containing spells for speed, spells against poison, spells for the protection of his mind and body. He knew only that he must travel quickly and in secret, that he could very well be the man to help his queen protect his kingdom’s crown prince.

  In the meantime, Merlin and I went back to sifting through names. Keeping ourselves locked up all day in the study, all day racing against, yet anxiously waiting for, night to fall.

  What’s In A Name?

  Immediately after dinner was over, Merlin and I made a show of staying up late in front of the fire, reading, playing chess, reminiscing about our childhood so as to not arouse suspicion. Father had stayed for dinner and then decided to stay in the palace overnight. He made a fuss about the state of the mill without him, but Merlin told me he’d hired a reliable man to help him, a man who’d already taken over most of his duties anyway. My father, who’d never seemed old and had always remained young through his stories, had aged since I’d come to live at the palace. I don’t think it was anything in particular that brought this about; rather, it was simply his turn to submit to time.

  When it was finally late enough for everyone else to go to sleep, Merlin and I stole into the nursery and waited anxiously for the little man to return. Between us, we had three long lists of the most ridiculous names we could conjure. Some we’d found in the books; others we’d simply made up ourselves.

  At exactly the same moment the little man had disappeared the night before, he appeared before us, grinning cheekily at the papers and pair ready to head off his challenge. He stopped before the baby’s bassinet, and my skin went cold watching him, my aching heart hardened. I had to will myself not to attack him, to beat him until my hands were bloody, to kick him until every bone was broken in his magical little body. I wasn’t a very violent person, normally easily kept anger at bay, but seeing that little man standing over my baby’s crib made my blood boil. He was lucky he didn’t dare reach in and touch him.

  He finally turned to me with an insolent bow. “No need to stand on ceremony, Your Majesty. I’m ready.”

  I glanced nervously at Merlin. He nodded back. I cleared my throat.

  “Is your name Abernathy?”

  The little man giggled. “That is not my name.”

  “Balzer? Beastrib?”

  “That is not and that is not my name,” the little man chanted, practically hopping with glee.

  How I wished to smack that smile right off his face. I went down the lists we’d prepared alphabetically, and the little man shot each name down, enjoying himself far too much.

  “Kaspar? Legstring?”

  “Not my name, not my name.”

  By then I’d heard the reply so many times, he hardly needed to say it at all. The chant of no, no, no would echo between the walls and beat me down long after he was gone. Even before I’d finished the list, some voice deep inside told me that the little man’s name wasn’t there. Still, I plodded on.

  As if sensing my thoughts, the little man interrupted his chorus of ‘no’ to say, “Save your breath, Madame Queen, my name is not before you.”

  “But this is only one list,” I protested. “We have more.”

  I flailed about for another roll of paper, containing yet another list of names that would not include the little man’s. In response, the little man snapped his fingers and the lists rustled slightly, glowing faintly from a green light. A low hum filled the air and after listening to it for a bit the little man snapped his fingers again and all was silent.

  “My name is not before you, my name is not beside you,” he said firmly. “You have two more nights.”

  And just like that, he was gone.

  I looked at Merlin, unable to speak from the force of anger and frustration coursing through me. All that time, for naught. All that time, and the little man had simply mocked us. What type of challenge was this when the result was already clear? What type of game were we playing, if the victor was already decided?

  I stormed out of the room, Merlin close on my heels, diving for the hand I was too quick for him to catch.

  “Millie, Millie,” he called as he hurried after me. “Your Majesty, Emalyn, where are you going?”

  I turned quickly. “I am going to try again,” I said, even before I was fully facing him.

  Merlin had to stop himself short to keep from barreling right into me.

  “All right, all right,” his voice was calming beside me. “Back to the books then.”

  We returned to the study and shut ourselves in, returning with a vengeance to the thick volumes and the conjurings of our imaginations. The little man would come the next night and one more after that, but no matter when, we would be prepared. This time we would get his name right. We had to.

  The little man’s smug confidence grated on me, and each passing hour only made me more anxious and irritable.

  “Everything all right, Emalyn?” Rainn asked me late morning of the second day.

  I was forcing myself to take a break in one of the small garden turnoffs, sitting on a bench, the grass cool beneath my feet, the little streams running past, a separation between this part of the garden and the rest. Morning glories, their faces still blue in the sun, ran rampant across the whole section, clambering over each other and around my feet as they escaped the trellis behind me. The baby’s carriage was parked beside me, the two of us isolated in our patch of faery-tale world.

  Rainn stepped over the water and peeked at the baby.

  “Yes,” I said shortly.

  He frowned. This type of response was unlike me, unlike us. Th
ere was an understanding in our relationship, a balance born of forthrightness, and I wasn’t playing by the rules.

  “Really?” he pressed.

  “No,” I answered, then forced myself to slow down, forced myself to inhale and exhale, to get my mind straight. “I feel drained,” I went on once I was ready, “and my mood is dark, but the royal Healer says it’s to be expected.”

  What I’d given was a conglomerate of the truth, but it still felt like a whole lie to me. I felt guilty when the king sat down beside me, stroked my cheek, and took my hand in both of his.

  “Let me know if there’s anything I can do,” was all he said.

  I nodded and he kissed my hand before walking away, but not without one last fond glance at the baby. My heart twisted. He was too good a man. I did not deserve him. I had finally given him the only thing a simple miller’s daughter could give a king, and I was about to jerk it away like that golden tablecloth. I was certain I would break his heart, and probably be killed, if I didn’t die first, because of it.

  Later that night, when the little man returned to the nursery, I began without ceremony.

  “Little man,” I addressed him as soon as he appeared, “Could your name be Muttoncalf? Melchior? Or Methuselah?”

  “That is not my name,” the little man said three times with an emphatic shake of his little head.

  I wanted to scream when he said that, but I forced myself to persist.

  “Simsimeon? Bartenburg? Mistoffolese?”

  “No, no, nope!”

  “Gerabaldinger? Hermeneutical? Hansoloen? Ya-lin-tang?”

  “Absolutely not, dearie!”

  Three hours later, my voice was hoarse, my mind and body so drained, I could barely move. Merlin had taken over reading the names at one point, even asking if he could cast his spell to read them aloud, all of which the little man agreed to with a sly cackle. He still looked as young and old, as fresh and energetic as ever, so it wasn’t just his responses but the entirety of his loathsome being that mocked our sorry state.