Okay, that decides me. There’s no way I’m going over there to argue with him about whether or not I really want my hair cut off. If it turns out to be too much of a nuisance on the trip, I can just hack it off myself with a knife. Speaking of knives….
The visit to my favourite weapons stall cheers me up. By now the vendor knows me and has evidently made his peace with the dubious morality of selling sharp knives to a six-year-old. I guess the fact that I’ve turned up numerous times, still in possession of all my fingers, has convinced him of my trustworthiness. Since my bribe turned out to be useless and I won’t need my room at the inn any longer, I’m unexpectedly rich, so I splurge a large proportion of my remaining cash on a gorgeous set of throwing knives.
I’m admiring the sheen on one of them when someone taps me on the shoulder. Startled, I spin around, causing the person behind me to jump backwards out of reach of my blade.
“Whoa! Easy now. I wuzn’t tryin to hurt you or nothin.”
It’s a boy a couple years older than me. By which I mean a couple of years older than the age I currently look. Straggly blonde hair peeps out from under his cap and his patched, darned clothes are covered in bits of straw. It’s the strangest thing. I don’t recognise him at all, but his voice is inescapably familiar. “Who are you?” I demand.
He turns pale. I guess I shouldn’t have shaken the knife at him, but some things are impossible to resist. “I…” he stammers, eyes nervously following the blade.
Oh for heaven’s sake. I put the knife away in its sheath and smile at him in what I hope is a reassuring way. Sadly, that doesn’t help things either. He just gets a sort of dazed look on his face.
Okay, time to resort to the foolproof kick in the shins. To my surprise, he jumps nimbly out of the way as if he’d been expecting it. At my startled look, he grins showing a row of crooked teeth. “Can’t kick a stable hand. The horses try that trick too often.”
Everything clicks into place. “Stable hand. You’re the kid who brought me those apples. Thaddeus?”
He frowns a little at my use of the word ‘kid’, but nods, confirming my guess. “That’s me.” He gestures uncertainly towards the stand full of knives behind me. “Beggin’ your pardon for disturbing your… business, miss. I wuz just wondering how it’s going for you now. If you found someplace to sleep and all. You’s welcome to come back an sleep in the stable any time. I wouldn’t disturb you or nothin.”
Bless the little chap. No doubt he now considers me a permanent resident of his stable, to be fed and cared for along with the rest of them. “Thanks, I’ve got a place to sleep at the moment,” I say. “But I was grateful for those apples.” I run my eyes over his clothing a second time and an idea strikes me. “Look, Thaddeus, let me do something for you in return.” I grab his hand, ignoring his protests about needing to get back to work. Tugging him over to the section of the market where the tailors and fabric merchants reside, I insist on buying him a new set of ready-made clothes. Socks, cap, underwear, the works. Stint on the generosity? Not me!
Finally, the bemused object of my benevolence stands there clutching his squashy package, attempting to make a speech about how grateful he is, but I ignore it and seize his hand again. I’m not finished with him yet. After a brief stop at a conveniently placed bush where I badger him into donning his new outfit, I drag him onwards.
When we reach the green door, Thaddeus gives me a leg-up to reach the bell, following which we both stand there expectantly. The door flies open. I gesture proudly at my gaping companion in his new finery.
“Very good,” says the witch. Her hair looks mussed, as if she’s been taking a nap. Maybe she had to get up at dawn for something. “Keep it up.”
“So does that count as one of…?” My words peter out as the door slams and I’m confronted with a familiar view of the green-painted boards. I mutter a few curses and give the door a couple of good kicks.
“Here, watch out. You’ll spoil her paintwork,” Thaddeus cries.
“Oh shut up!” Turning on my heel, I leave him there and stomp back to the inn.
So much for ‘Doing Good’. If being generous ends up being this much effort every time, I highly doubt whether I’ll ever manage to lift the curse.
I ought to pack my equipment for tomorrow morning but I’m too disheartened. Instead, I fling myself on the bed and wallow in the infuriating unfairness of everything.
❖
The door is painted a sinister shade of green. It creaks slowly open before I’ve even reached for the bellpull. “Come in. I know why you’re here,” calls the woman inside.
I step through the doorway into the dim room, closing the door behind me. Herbs hang from the shadowy rafters. Various unrecognisable things are pickled in jars on shelves. A dark-haired figure sits by the window, working on a loom where a complicated piece of weaving is in progress.
“If you know why I’m here,” I say, “then you also know I’m willing to pay for what you can do for me.”
The woman rises from her chair and crosses the room towards me. Although she must be only in her 30s, she gives off an aura of power and wisdom that makes her seem much older. “The first thing you need to know is this,” she tells me. “I don’t ask for payment out of greed but to force you to stop and think about what you are doing. A decision like this is not one to rush. Even coming here, you show your choice to be a grave one.”
“Was that an intentional pun?” I ask.
She blinks. “What?”
“Never mind. Yeah, yeah, I can pay. Just get it over with, will you.” I flap a hand dismissively. Too many people have already lectured me about this. I just want to get back to fighting.
She’s gazing at me with a troubled expression.
“What?” I ask. “Do I have something on my face?” I turn to check my reflection, but the walls of her tiny cottage are bare. “Didn’t you ever think of getting a mirror in here?” I ask. “Not that you’d much enjoy looking in one,” I add under my breath. She’s a rather ugly woman. Good job she’s in a profession where it’s sort of expected. Or possibly even necessary. Maybe you get more power the uglier you are. Kind of like a status symbol. She must be really powerful.
The witch has wandered off to stare into the fire, ignoring my comment. After a moment, she turns to face me. “Wilhelmina Lang, I’m not convinced you truly understand the gift you’ve been given and the severity of the step you’re proposing to take.”
For crying out loud. “What exactly makes you think that?”
She glowers at me. “We’re talking about ending a life. Your attitude leaves something to be desired.”
“I’m a paying customer. My ‘attitude’ doesn’t have any bearing on the service you provide.”
She shakes her head. “I’m not here to serve anyone. I help people because I choose to. In return they offer me money or goods towards my livelihood.”
“Yeah, and I’m sure there are prostitutes who justify their lifestyle choices that way. Can we get on with it?”
For a moment she looks angry, then her face hardens into a smile. Reflected firelight gleams in her eyes in a creepy way. “Before that, I have a question,” she says.
“And?”
“What does the father have to say about it?”
I shrug. There’s a pause where I can feel my face growing red. My remark about prostitutes hangs in the air between us.
She raises her eyebrows. “You aren’t sure who he is?”
“I know who he is alright,” I say defiantly. “It’s just that he’s…”
She nods. “Married.” She turns back towards the fire.
I’m sick of her attitude. “Come off it! I’m a mercenary. I only get a few days in town between jobs. He was handsome and I’m a grown woman!” I point a finger at her. “Just because you’re too hideous to have a sex life doesn't mean you have the right to shame me for having one.”
She turns and glares, her eyes flashing in anger. “Your libido is immaterial. Anyon
e can accidentally conceive. If you feel shame, it should be for betraying the woman whose husband you bedded, for the marriage you helped destroy. Or for your lack of courtesy towards a person who was willing to help you.”
“I just want to get out of this mess,” I mumble. She stalks across the room and opens the door of a cupboard. Her last sentence hits me and I take a sharp breath. “Hang on, what do you mean ‘was willing’?”
“Don’t worry, little mercenary. I’ll help you alright.” Reaching into the cupboard, the witch pulls out a flat object, holding it carefully horizontal.
“What’s that?” I ask. I’m starting to feel dizzy. Is the fire giving off some kind of fumes? Everything looks hazy.
She advances on me, holding the object. “You wish to be rid of the child you carry. This shall be so. But for your lack of honour and the gaping void where your manners should reside, your body will return to the age where you should have learned these things.”
“Wha…” My lips have grown numb and my arms are heavy. I can’t think. She’s coming closer and getting taller with each step. The floor seems to be getting nearer too. I don’t understand what’s happening.
With a gloating smile, she holds up the object in her hands. My eyes try to focus on the image. It’s shiny. Like a mirror. But that can’t be right. If it were a mirror, it would show an image of me. Instead it’s a picture of…
Of a little girl.
7. The Golden Carriage
I jerk awake and lie there panting, covered in sweat. That stupid dream again! Ever since I was cursed, I’ve been re-living that scene in the witch’s cottage. It never fails to put me in a foul mood.
The cracks of dim light filtering through the shutters are getting paler. I lie groggily staring at them. There’s something rising up from the back of my mind. Didn’t I have something to do today? Wasn’t I supposed to…
Shit.
I’m still attempting to fasten the lacing on my dress as I scurry up the hill to the castle gates. Reaching the brow of the hill, the spectacle beyond the gates comes into view and I heave a sigh of relief at the reassuring degree of chaos taking place in the wide courtyard. Although it’s well past dawn, innumerable people, horses and dogs are milling around with varying levels of aimlessness. I haven’t missed the royal party’s departure.
I find Kayla wrestling her way out of a wriggling clump of three-horned goats. “Put them in the cart,” she yells at a goatskin-clad man bearing a three-horned staff.
“No need for that. They’ll run alongside, easy like,” he drawls. “They’s good runners.”
“No! We’re specifically instructed not to have loose animals.” She catches sight of me and shoves a hairy goat-ass aside, so she can stalk towards me. “You’re late!”
“The girl could ride one-of-em,” calls the goat man. “They’s good runners with passengers an all.”
“What are the goats for?” I ask.
Kayla brushes hair out of her face. “Archaic wedding tradition. Don’t ask. Look, there’s been a mix-up and we’re terribly short of carriage space. You might have to-”
“Don’t say I actually have to ride one of those things,” I say, wrinkling my nose. Behind Kayla, the goat man is beckoning, patting the back of the nearest goat in an inviting manner. Another goat is chewing the edge of Kayla’s cloak.
“No, of course not,” she says impatiently, jerking her cloak out of the goat’s reach. “But you’ll have to ride with a group of courtiers. The horses are all spoken for. I don’t suppose you’re tall enough to ride one, anyway.”
“Tall enough for a goat,” remarks the man.
She whirls around and shrieks at him. “Will you get those bloody goats into the bloody cart!”
“They likes running.”
“Where should I go then?” I ask.
“God knows! Just get into one of those.” She gestures to where dozens of carriages are lined up, waiting for the signal to leave. “And quickly,” she adds. “We’re leaving any second.”
“They’d better not contain any wizards,” I mutter, stomping over to the carriages. I’m not tall enough to see into any of the windows, so it’s a matter of choosing at random. As I’m walking past one carriage, its door opens and a chubby little girl (a real one) sticks her head out.
“Are you looking for your mummy?” she asks.
“Absolutely not,” I tell her. I’m long done with that woman. I carry on walking but she calls after me. “You can ride with us if you want. I have three dolls and I’ll share with you.”
“Can I pull their heads off?” I call back. A gasp is followed by noisy sobbing and then the bang of the carriage door closing.
“Move out!” comes a cry from up at the front of the baggage train. Near me the horses prick up their ears and footmen descend from the various carriages to release the wheel brakes.
A sense of urgency seizes me. I have to find a carriage NOW or else risk being left behind. I open a door at random and stick my head in. Full of fat old ladies. They all exclaim in delight when they see me. “Absolutely not,” I repeat and slam the door again. In the next instant the carriage moves off, bearing the fat ladies away. The one behind it is also pulling away. Jeez, I’d better get into one of these things without delay.
Crossing my fingers, I run to the last carriage in the train. It’s the only one that hasn’t started moving yet. Reaching it, I pull the door open and dive inside, just as the entire carriage jerks into motion.
“And who might this be?” someone says in a bored tone.
“It appears to be a child without its mother,” sneers another voice.
“Too bad. It looks young enough for the mother to still be worth some fun.” Laughter follows.
The carriage is full of lanky, indolent young men who’ve stretched themselves over all the seats, leaving not an inch of space for my tiny behind. They’ve even claimed the foot cushions for their dice and cards.
“Aren’t you going to offer a lady a seat?” I demand of them. My stately air is spoiled when the carriage jerks over a rut and I lose my balance, toppling into the lap of the nearest one.
“Well, it seems the lady has chosen her seat,” guffaws one of them. “Bit young for you, Londrew.”
“She’ll grow,” says Londrew, pulling me further onto his lap.
“Oh abso-bloody-lutely not!” I repeat, elbowing him in the face and jumping down. “I’ve decided I’d rather sit on the floor,” I announce. “It’ll be easier to play with my dolls and stuff.”
“Suit yourself,” they all yawn, failing to notice my complete lack of said dolls.
As we leave Druinberg behind, the scenery outside changes to the horribly familiar landscape of endless trees. What did I ever do to deserve such a glut of forest journeys? To make things worse, the carriage I’m in might look nice from the outside but its suspension is terrible. No matter how I try to brace myself on the floor, I keep getting jolted and rattled about. By the time we stop for lunch, I’m bruised and battered and ready to kill someone. I hobble out of the carriage, hoping for a sight of the goat man. He seemed expendable.
I end up behind Kayla in the queue for lunch rations. “Hey, do you think I could ride with the servants or something?” I wheedle. “The carriage I ended up in is too full. I had to sit on the floor.” My voice sounds horribly whiny, but, to be fair, I’m seriously bruised here.
“Just try one of the other ones,” she says distractedly.
Her lack of sympathy annoys me. “How did we end up short of carriages, anyway? I thought a royal trip would be better equipped.”
Kayla brushes hair out of her face and glares at me. “Look, you have no idea how difficult it is to organise an entire expedition! If you wanted a better seat, you should have bloody well turned up on time!” Grabbing her bowl of food, she stalks off. Sheesh.
Then I feel bad. That was bitchy of me. I’m grateful to Kayla for giving me a job. And I was late. And if that’s true about her organising this whole thing by hers
elf, then she’s doing an incredible job. Maybe I should-
A female voice interrupts my thoughts. “What a dear little girl. Did I hear you say you need a carriage seat?”
I spin around and get all starry-eyed in wonder.
It’s the princess!
Normally I wouldn’t care too much about being in the presence of impressive people, but there must be some little-girl hormone or something that overrides my adult reactions. Where the normal me would have smiled and thanked Princess Isla for her kind offer, my little-girl body refuses to do anything other than stare at her, open-mouthed, while my face turns a luminous red.
The princess is accompanied by a gaggle of ladies-in-waiting, all of whom are nudging each other and whispering. “Your Highness, please reconsider. We’re cramped as it is,” a stone-faced matron holding a tray of food hisses into the princess’s ear.
“It’s true, Highness,” says another lady on her other side. “Where on earth would she sit?”
“But just look at her.” The princess gestures to me. “She won’t take up much room.”
It pains me to surrender my dignity like this, but there’s no way I’m going back to that horrible nightmare of the young men’s carriage. Besides, this is the princess! If I ride with her, there’s an excellent chance I’ll find an opportunity to help her in some way. And helping a princess is surely better and worth more than helping a normal, ordinary commoner. I put on a serious face. “Excuse me, your highness. I’d very much like to ride with you. But would you have room for my dolls as well? I wouldn’t like for any of them to be left behind.”
The princess laughs. It’s a beautiful laugh that reminds me of the tinkling of a chandelier. “Oh, you’re just adorable,” she gushes. “That settles the matter. We’ll find room for you and your dolls. Go and get them and then meet us by the big gold carriage over there.” Ignoring the fluttering and exclamations of her retinue, she bends to my height and then points towards the royal conveyance. She needn’t have bothered. It would have been obvious to a blind man that the huge gilded contraption was made to transport a princess.
Turn Me Back! (novella) Page 5
