by John Moore
“I don’t think she noticed. She was pretty upset.”
“Good. Got to watch my reputation, remember.”
Although his reputation may have been intact, the Prince was in a sorry state. His clothes were punctured and rent, stank of smoke, and were spattered with bloodstains. His skin was crisscrossed with scratches, some of them deep and still bleeding, and his whole body was dotted with pricks and puncture marks. Dozens of thorns remained embedded in his flesh, some of them broken off beneath the skin; it took Ann the better part of two hours to pull them out with a pair of tweezers she carried in her bags. Wendell had more than a few thorns himself, and Ann had badly scratched her hands and forearms. Dusk had long since fallen by the time they got each other cleaned up, bandaged, smeared with salve, into fresh clothes, and were sitting around the fire in the clear star-lit night.
“What do we do now?” asked Ann. “Are you still on the quest?”
“Sure,” said the Prince. “Okay, we can’t chop through the hedge and it doesn’t look like we can burn through it, either. We can still try your idea of poisoning it. Right now, however, we are going to fall back on plan B.”
“What is plan B?”
“Wendell, tell the lady what plan B is.”
“We eat dinner,” said Wendell.
“There you go,” said the Prince. “In a situation like this, we always try plan B next. Things look a lot better when your stomach is full.”
THE BRIAR ROSE INN was the only hostel in the village of Briar Rose and thus was not imaginatively named, but nonetheless it was warm, well lit, and comfortable. It boasted a large public room that was filled, but not crowded, with a cheerful and boisterous lot; mostly the young couples of the village, off for an evening away from the watchful eyes of their parents, and a dozen or so of the village elders, regular customers who drank steadily, moved dominoes around a table, and kept a grandfatherly eye on the younger crowd. Charming and Ann were to able slip in and find a corner table without fanfare, leaving Wendell to stable the horses. The proprietor, a cheerful smile on his round face and beads of sweat on his bald head, promised that slices of roast beef and bowls of potato soup would soon be forthcoming, and his equally cheerful and round-faced wife served them with great tankards of ale. Ann, who was not used to crowds of strangers, edged her chair a little closer to Charming’s. The Prince was agreeable. Wendell bounced back in. “Sire! Look who’s here.”
He was leading an elderly gentleman who was the tallest, skinniest, and at once the most imposing man Ann had ever seen. A full beard of salt-and-pepper gray framed his face, gray curls sprang from his forehead, and a pair of alert and penetrating gray eyes stared from deep, narrow sockets. His nose was large and hooked; his fingers long, gnarled, and crooked. His clothes, though very well made, were plain and simple except for the black cloak he wore over his shoulders. It was lined with red silk and held around his neck with a short gold chain. He smoked a long, curved Meerschaum pipe that gave a faint, strange odor Ann had never smelled before.
“Mandelbaum!” said Charming. “Speak of the devil and up he pops.”
“Your Highness,” said Mandelbaum, bowing slightly from the waist. “Little Princess,” he said to Ann, bowing again.
“Sit down, sit down,” continued Charming. “Have a brew. You’re just the man we needed to talk to. And here you are. Funny coincidence, that.”
“It’s not a coincidence,” said Wendell. “Mandelbaum came here to join us.”
“I figured that, Wendell. I was being sarcastic. But, Mandelbaum, what could bring you down from your ivory tower?”
“Wait a minute,” said Ann. “Illyria is farther from here than my own castle. You would have had to leave before we knew ourselves that we were coming here!”
“That’s right. A magic mirror showed me your destination.” Mandelbaum took the pipe out of his mouth and sat down.
“You have a magic mirror, too?”
“Saw it in the marketplace at Yobindia and I couldn’t resist. Only thirteen hundred royals. Actually I paid a little more, but it was worth the extra royals to get downward compatibility with my crystal ball.”
The Prince nodded. “And they always want to charge you extra for the cable, too. But what about this grail thing? Is this a load of codswallop or what?”
Mandelbaum drew on his pipe and reflected. Eventually he said, “Grail rituals were an important aspect of ancient fertility cults. And some of the ancient priests commanded an impressive power, though in those days it could be but crudely used. But, young sir, the legends by which the Wicked Queen is attempting to trace this grail descend to us through the mists of antiquity. Even should one of these relics still exist, it would contain but a faded trace of its magical power.”
“You mean,” said Ann, “if we found this grail it would be useless?”
Mandelbaum thought again. Gentle puffs of smoke rose from his pipe. “Perhaps not. It could exert a subtle influence on a land. You couldn’t make a wasteland bloom, but the cumulative effects, over the long term, could be beneficial providing the grail were considerately used, and by the right man.”
“Or woman,” said Ann and then bit her lip as though she had revealed an important secret. Mandelbaum gave her a knowing smile.
“I’m afraid not,” he said. “There are symbolic connotations to a grail that are specifically female. Thus, only a male, the Fisher King, can master the grail and release its power. Now, a magic wand, say, or a staff of power, would be a male symbol that would be wielded by a woman.”
“I don’t get it,” said Ann. “Why?”
“Symbolism,” said Mandelbaum. “The basis of all magic. We are talking fertility symbols here. The cup is the female. It requires a male to release its power. The staff is the male. It requires a female to release its power.”
“But that just begs the question. Why should a cup be a female symbol and a staff be a male symbol?”
“Oh, for goodness sake,” said Mandelbaum with exasperation. “The cup is female because it represents the, uh, that is, it holds the man’s, um…” Ann was staring at him. “The staff symbolizes the man’s… oh, for goodness sake. Wendell, you know what I’m talking about, don’t you?”
“No, but if you say it’s true, I believe you,” the page said stolidly.
“Prince Charming, surely you understand why a cup symbolizes a woman and the staff symbolizes a man?”
“Er, to be perfectly honest, no. But look here. That hedge grew like a wildfire. It nearly ate me alive. There must be plenty of magic left in that grail, to maintain that hedge alone.”
Mandelbaum had been muttering something about the decline of the liberal arts. He looked up and said definitely, “There is no way an old grail could generate a hedge such as you describe. That is strong magic and fairly recent, too. Certainly well within the memory of some of the people in this tavern. I suspect we have merely to ask around to discover the solution to this problem.”
“Prince Charming!”
A thunderous voice bellowed the name across the hall, cutting conversations short throughout the room. All heads turned and all eyes focused on Charming’s table. The Prince sighed. “Looks like it’s time to sign a few autographs.”
“So, you’re the great Prince Charming.” The voice came from a huge bear of a man, swarthy and dark-eyed, clad in furs and leather. He wore a Roman-style short sword at his waist and carried a crossbow over his shoulder, a vicious-looking affair of dark wood and black-painted metal. His boots were tipped and heeled with copper bands; they left scars on the wooden floor as he swaggered across the room. The rest of the crowd suddenly decided to edge closer to the wall, out of the way but yet with a good view of the impending fight. The village elders stacked their dominoes and leaned back in their chairs, eyes watchful under thatches of white hair. “The great Prince Charming,” repeated the interloper, his voice fairly dripping with challenge. “Well, you don’t look like so much to me.”
“He must have forgot his
autograph book,” said Wendell.
“Just as well,” said Charming. “I don’t have a quill.” With an easy smile, his right hand absolutely nowhere near his sword, he rose and approached the man. Charming was by no means short, taller than average, in fact, and powerfully built; but the braggart towered over him by a full six inches and had shoulders like an ox. Had this been a betting crowd, Charming would not have been the odds-on favorite.
“Oh Wendell,” whispered Ann. “They’re not going to fight, are they?”
“I hope not,” said Wendell. “I hate it when the Prince kills someone just before dinner.”
“Bear McAllister,” said the Prince.
The big man started. “You know my name?”
“I saw you in the tournaments last year. You were pretty good with that crossbow, as I recall.”
“I’m the best there is,” bragged Bear. “I was the best then and I’ve gotten even better now. I can defeat any man alive in single combat, armed or unarmed. I’ve kicked ass in every kingdom from Illyria to Arondel. And yet, still, people refuse to accord me the respect I deserve. Even here in my home village, I constantly have to beat people up for not getting out of my way. Do you know why?”
“Because you’re a jerk,” muttered Ann.
“Because I haven’t got a reputation,” sneered Bear. “Because I don’t have a bunch of namby-pamby scribes running around pushing my name in every corner of the kingdom, or a hired bard to sing tales of my exploits that I’ve written for him. All I’ve got is the true fact of my own greatness. And facts don’t travel as well as fancy.”
“Life is tough.”
“On the other hand,” Bear continued, “suppose I was to run into one of these puffed-up papier-mache heroes. And suppose I was to defeat him in single combat. Now that would be a tale that would be told and retold.” He grinned slyly, revealing a mouth full of yellow teeth. Fists the size of hams clenched and unclenched.
“Have you got an apple?” asked the Prince.
This was not the reply the Bear was expecting. Nor, for that matter, was anyone in the room. Even Wendell was nonplused. “Does anyone have an apple?”
“No,” said the Bear. The rest of the room stared in silence.
“Wendell.”
Wendell shrugged and got an apple from the kitchen. He gave it to Charming with a questioning look. Charming winked. He walked across the room, turned, placed the apple on top of his head, and leaned back against the wall, hands crossed negligently at his belt buckle. “Okay Bear, let’s see just how good you really are.”
Bear chewed the inside of his cheek. He unslung his crossbow. “This?”
“That’s right. Should be an easy shot for you.”
“I don’t believe this,” said Ann. “Somebody stop him.”
“You want me to shoot the apple off your head with this crossbow?”
“Well, if you don’t think you’re up to it…”
Bear was working his jaws. He knew this was a trick but he couldn’t quite figure the angle. He looked around the room. Every eye was on him. He slipped a wooden bolt into the crossbow and slowly cocked it. The crossbow had a ratcheted cocking lever that made a slow grinding noise as he pulled it back. “I’m up to it. But you’re an awfully cocky young punk, aren’t you?”
“Oh, I wouldn’t say that. At the tournament, I saw you nail copper coins at four times this distance.”
Several of the bystanders nodded. Ann grabbed Mandelbaum’s sleeve. “Mandelbaum! He’s going to kill him.”
“He can’t. If McAllister shoots Charming, he’ll appear to have missed an easy shot. He’ll get his reputation all right. A reputation for killing a Prince by accident. A reputation for being a bungler. It’s the last thing he wants. But he can’t draw his sword and attack, either. It will look like he refused Charming’s test.”
“But what if he tries for the apple and really misses?”
“He won’t miss.” But Mandelbaum did not say this with certainty. He was not proficient in the military arts and the apple seemed an awfully small target. The room was long, and the lamps provided a flickering, uneven light.
Bear put the crossbow up to his shoulder and sighted along its length. He glowered at the Prince, realizing, although he wasn’t quite sure how, that he was being duped. Then he fired.
You couldn’t actually see the bolt in flight. McAllister’s weapon had over a hundred pounds of tension on it. You heard the twang of the bow and the hiss of the bolt through the air, but your eyes leaped immediately to Prince Charming.
Who moved so fast that to this day some of the villagers claim it was one of Mandelbaum’s illusions. One moment he was standing negligently against the wall, looking faintly ridiculous with an apple perched on his head, a look of polite boredom on his face, and his hands folded in front of him. In the next instant he moved. The eyes caught a flash of lamplight on steel, the memory retained a blurred impression of fluidly shifting muscles, and Prince Charming’s sword neatly cleaved the speeding bolt in midair, the two halves of the wooden arrow separating and piercing the apple a quarter inch apart.
“I don’t believe it,” said Ann. Mandelbaum shook his head in wonderment. Wendell only shrugged.
Bear stared dumbfounded. Charming stood stock still with both hands wrapped around Endeavor’s hilt, the gleaming blade still held in front of his face. Slowly, he allowed his shoulders to relax. He took the apple from his head, glanced at the two half-bolts protruding from it, and tossed it to the Bear. There came that fluid shifting of muscles again, and Endeavor disappeared back into its scabbard. Only then did the audience begin to clap.
The Prince nodded at them and walked forward, extending his hand to McAllister. Bear took it with some degree of nervousness, noting that Charming’s other hand was still resting on the hilt of his sword.
“You were saying?”
“Huh?”
“You were talking about reputations, as I recall. Something about my reputation being made by hired bards.”
“Uh, right,” said Bear. “Bards. Great for a man’s reputation. Um, you wouldn’t happen to know where I could hire some, do you?”
“No.”
“Right. Well then, I’ll just be off.”
“No, no, stay and have a drink with us.” Charming clasped the big man by the shoulder. “As a matter of fact, I was just looking for a man who could fill me in on some of the local folklore.”
“Uh, well, as long as you’re buying, I guess I can’t refuse.” McAllister sat down and introductions were made all around. “That’s a pretty nice piece of steel you carry, Charming. Your own armorer made it?”
“No, it was a gift.” Charming unbuckled his scabbard and passed it to Bear. The big man examined it respectfully.
“Very nice, very nice indeed. Excellent balance.” He unfolded some of the gadgets from the handle. “What’s this curvy thing? Some kind of nut pick?”
“It looks like a crocheting hook,” said Ann.
“It is not a crocheting hook,” said Charming. “Um, I think that’s for splicing rope.”
There then followed a long conversation on male-oriented topics, specifically swords, crossbows, sports, the best ale, sports, the local tournaments, hunting, fishing, sports, who made the best ale, and sports, while Ann simmered with impatience and drummed her nails on the table. After, in her opinion, far too much time had passed Charming began to question his adversary about the thorn hedge. Ann and Mandelbaum chipped in. But in response, Bear ran his fingers through his coarse hair for a while and shook his head. “There’s magic in that woods all right, but I don’t recall I’ve ever heard of no grail. These old timers” — he gestured at the village elders, who had resumed their game of dominoes — “would surely have mentioned it if there was. But those thorn bushes surround the castle of Princess Aurora.”
“Never heard of her.”
“It’s a strange story. That forest, you may have noticed, is a fairy wood and those are no ordinary thorn bushes.”<
br />
Charming, Ann, and Wendell exchanged looks.
“We did notice.”
“See, the old King Stephen built his castle in the center of that wood and he never got along too well with the fairy who controlled it. She was a bitchy little thing named Esmerelda. On the day of Princess Aurora’s wedding, she put a curse on the whole castle and cast Princess Aurora into a deep sleep. The legend goes that she can only be awakened by a kiss of a prince.”
“Oh, that’s terrible!” said Ann.
“What’s terrible?” said Charming. “That she was cast into a deep sleep or that she can only be awakened by a kiss?”
“That she missed her wedding. Do you realize how much work goes into one of those?”
“Think of her poor fiance. He missed his wedding night.”
“Shut up.”
“Then this hedge of thorns grew up around the castle and the whole thing was lost to sight. And that’s the last anyone ever saw of the King, the Princess, and strangely enough, Esmerelda too.”
The innkeeper came back with a platter of beef and refills of ale all around. The Bear and Wendell began to feed while the other three leaned back and pondered this story.
“Think of her,” Ann said dreamily. “Still sleeping, year after year, while leaves turn color and fall, and the seasons change, dreaming of the day her prince will come and awaken her.” She sighed. “Think of those unopened wedding gifts.”
“I wouldn’t put too much stock in that story,” said Charming. “A fairy’s magic isn’t that powerful. There are plenty of guys around who could break a spell like that. Like Mandelbaum.”
“In all modesty,” said Mandelbaum, “I am compelled to say there are not many sorcerers who are my equal. Nonetheless, Prince Charming’s assessment is largely correct. A grail may be too obscure and esoteric to waste much time on, but with an entire castle at stake, that wall of thorns should have been breached within hours.”
“You’re forgetting something,” said Bear, stabbing at a piece of gristle. “All the nobility of the kingdom was at the wedding. They’re all inside. As well as all the leading merchants, tradesmen, and moneylenders. It was a big wedding, you see. Everyone who was anyone was there. That damn fairy wiped out the entire leadership of this kingdom. Only peasants remained on the outside. There was no one left with the cash to hire a first-rate magician, or the leadership to take action.”
