by M. A. Larson
“If you can manage alone in these woods, I’ve no doubt you can manage some luggage!” he said with a hearty laugh. “Terryn! Can you picture this one in the forest by herself?”
The man he was addressing was slumped over, head resting on his arm. His table was covered in so many empty antlers that it looked like a herd of bucks had molted there.
“That’s Terryn, one of me best customers. A quality, quality man, that one. Now, what’ll it be, lass? Mutton? Rabbit? Ah, you look like a dragon girl to me.”
“Dragon?”
“I’ve only a spot of it left, and it’s dried and cured, not fresh. But it’s yours if you want it. Dragon meat is a rare treat, it is.”
The hunger pains in her stomach turned to nausea. “That’s all right.”
An old woman emerged from the back. She looked like a pink version of the man, with a pale dress and apron, her cheeks flushed and ginger hair poofing out from beneath her bonnet. She came straight across to Evie and took her hand.
“Now now, don’t give a moment’s thought to this one,” she said, rolling her eyes at the old man. “No doubt you’d like a room. Come with me.” She pulled Evie back toward the staircase. “Two silvers for the night, includes a meal and as much mead as you like. Horse eats free.”
Two silvers, thought Evie. Well, that’s easier than I expected. She took the compact out of her pocket, but the woman, Marie, suddenly stopped and faced her. She wore thin-rimmed glasses, and her face puffed out like dough that had risen beyond the edges of its tin.
“Now, my dear, I’ll give you our finest accommodation. It’s at the front, so you’ll have an excellent view of the lane. Supper is whenever you like, though the earlier is probably the better.”
“I’ll just get settled and—”
“Of course. Come.” She tromped up the stairs, the wood groaning and creaking beneath her. “Have you been to this part of the world before?”
“No.”
“Well, there’s much to see, much to do. Cinderella’s Castle is just below the Neck, only a day’s ride south. The sea is easterly—most folks enjoy spendin’ a bit of time there.”
“It’s tempting,” she said, “but I’m only passing through. I’m on my way to Witch Head Bay.” She hadn’t planned to lie, but was happy she did.
“Witch Head Bay?” said the old woman with a grimace. “Dire place, that is.” Evie had to stifle a laugh. Witch Head Bay was Basil’s home.
Finally they reached the landing at the top of the stairs. A thin hallway ran front to back, with several doors along it. The old woman curved around and tottered toward the front of the inn, then opened the lone door at the end of the hall.
“I’d think a girl like you would quite fancy a look at Cinderella’s Castle.” She turned back to Evie with a wink. “Pennyroyal girl and all.” Her eyes flicked down to Evie’s hand, to the compact. Evie quickly put it back in her pocket.
“Does she really live there?” said Evie, trying to change the subject.
“No, no, it’s only her family home,” said Marie as she continued into the bedchamber. She crossed to the window and propped it open with a small stick, letting in the rapidly cooling night air. “Cinderella hasn’t been down that way in years. Still a popular destination for families on holiday, though.” She turned a knob on an oil lamp and filled the room with warm light. There was a small straw bed and a table, and nothing more, though the walls were covered in paintings of ships at sea. “Here y’are, our finest room. Only the best for a Pennyroyal girl.” Then, with another wink, she was gone and the door clicked closed.
Evie took a deep breath. She’d meant to keep her status as a cadet secret, but there was no sense in worrying about it now. The elderly innkeepers seemed happy to have her, and happier still that she was a Pennyroyal girl. She went to the window and looked out at the view. She could see Boy down below, and Marie waddling out with a bucket of oats to feed him. Beyond that, she could make out a bit of the lane to the left in the torchlight, but the inn’s sign blocked everything to the right. And straight ahead, there was nothing but the blackness of the forest.
Lovely view, she thought with a smile. She turned back to her room, but there was nothing much to do there. Plus, the aromas wafting up from the kitchen had restored her appetite and made her stomach growl even louder than before. She tried to ignore that some of those smells could be cooked dragon and headed back out of the room. The stairs announced her as she came back down into the common room.
“Over here, lassie, near the fire,” said the innkeeper. His arms waved wildly, ushering her to an empty table near the hearth. He waddled into the kitchen and returned with an antler of some bubbling drink and the roasted leg of some unknown fowl that must have been as big as an ox. He plopped down on the bench opposite her. “There y’are, tuck in, tuck in. We don’t stand on ceremony here. Ye’ve got your drink, your supper. Napkin’s here.” He lifted the heavily stained tablecloth with a smile.
“Thank you for your hospitality, sir. Two silvers, I believe, was the price.” Beneath the table, she clicked open the compact and fished out two coins.
“Marie says we’ve got us a Pennyroyal girl. Isn’t that something? Don’t get many of them round here.”
Evie opened her mouth to lie, but then decided there really was no point. “Yes, but I’m only second class.”
“Tell me,” he said, leaning forward and fixing her with a serious stare. “What went on there last year? We get news round here, but you can’t always trust that, can ye? Give it to me from the horse’s mouth.”
“You mean . . . ?”
“With the witch! Is it true there was a witch inside the Academy?” His blue eyes bulged intently beneath massive white eyebrows.
“Well . . . I . . . I mean, I heard that one of the girls discovered a witch trying to pass herself off as a princess cadet.”
“Ah! Terryn, d’you hear? That bloke from Aberdown was right!” He turned back to Evie with excitement. “Go on, go on!”
“I don’t know the details, really, just that the witch was uncovered—”
“Aye, and with her, one of Calivigne’s wicked plots!” he said with excitement. Calivigne was the leader of the wicked witches, and the most feared witch in all the land. “I said to Marie, I told her, ‘If any of them Pennyroyal girls comes round here, we’ve got to give her the royal treatment. No questions asked.’”
Evie smiled and picked a piece of meat off the leg. It was all she could do to keep from shoving the whole thing into her mouth. Marie came back in through the front door, wiping her hands on her apron.
“Marie! Get over here!” called the innkeeper. “She’s tellin’ the story!”
Marie hurried over to join them. She scowled when she saw the food in front of Evie. “Is that what you’ve given her? You old black rat! Where’s the cream and cakes?” She smacked the innkeeper up the back of his head, then retreated to the kitchen. His face wrinkled into a smile, and he released one of his bellowing laughs.
“Old Marie, eh? Go on, I gave you the best bit of meat in the county.” A moment later, Marie returned with a plate loaded down with cakes.
“Oh, now put that away, dearie,” said Marie, taking the compact from Evie’s hands and setting it on the table. She clicked the lid closed and the coins rattled inside. “We’ll take no money from a Pennyroyal girl.”
“That’s what I was just sayin’ to her!” said the innkeeper. “You’ve always a room at the Riquet, Princess, at no charge. I don’t know what you lot did to that witch, but it seems you’ve put a right fear into all of them. They’re gone, the witches! The whole bloody crew! We haven’t seen one slinkin’ round here in, how long, Marie?”
“Last witch I recall seeing was months ago, right when business started to pick up. Lots more travelers these days. It’s like old times.”
“Some girl with a funny name, Ten
or Eleven or something of that sort. That’s what people who come to stay were saying. They’d bring the whole family to see Cinderella’s or spend a day at the sea. All talking about the girl with the funny name.”
Evie’s heart skipped a beat. Eleven was what she had been called when she’d first arrived at the Academy, before her friends had changed it to Evie instead.
“Well, anyway, eat up, eat up. I’ll see if I can rouse old Terryn there to give us a song, shall I?” The innkeeper shouted across the room. “Aha! A song, there, lad! A song!”
Marie patted Evie’s hand maternally. “You enjoy your supper, dearie. Whatever you need, you’ve got a home here.”
“Thank you.” As Marie got up to go, Evie glanced around the room. A husband and wife sat across from each other at a table in back. Terryn was still slumped across his table, only now an instrument sat next to him, a small, curved piece of wood with strings. Another man nibbled at a heel of bread and stared into the fire. Behind her, the door was shut tight and the windows were painted with reflections of the fire. It was full night now, and the warmth and glow of the inn made her content and happy. She felt more human than she had in a long while. She picked up the leg with both hands and took a bite. Then another. And another . . .
The music thundered up from below. Feet were stomping as fingers worked strings. The chorus of voices alternated between raucous singing and raucous laughter.
Evie had eaten so much that she felt uncomfortable. She was lying on her bed, flipping the dragon scale between her fingers. Not only had the blood faded and cracked away, but the scale itself felt lighter, like an empty cobnut shell. She brought the scale down to her eye, just as she had before, but nothing happened. Dragon’s blood had the magical property of being able to predict the possible. Anything that appeared in a dragon’s blood vision could come to pass given the right circumstances. But since the blood had faded, all she could see was a smudge of black. She slipped it over her neck with a sigh and tucked it inside her dress as another roar of laughter bellowed up from below. Her stomach felt so stretched that she didn’t think she’d be able to sleep, so she decided to go downstairs and join them.
They all had antlers in their hands, frothing down the sides, and pitchers of more on the tables next to them. They’d formed a circle with the tables and benches around Terryn, whose fingers worked the strings of his instrument like spider legs on silk.
“Ah, here she is!” he cried, his fingers never stopping.
“Come, come, lass!” cried the innkeeper, raising an antler in her direction. She walked over and took it, but remained standing.
“Go on, then,” said the man who had been absently staring into the fire earlier. He was wiry, with a perfect ring of hair surrounding a shining bald spot. And his expectant smile was aimed squarely at the innkeeper.
“All right, all right,” chuckled the innkeeper, stomping his foot on the bench. Evie watched with a smile as he began to sing so quickly that his mouth could barely keep pace:
“Ooooh, there once was an innkeeper in a forest so dark / When along came a dog with a bone and a bark / He shouted, ‘Me Master, do ye know where I’ve been?’ / ‘Me Master, Me Master, do ye know what I’ve seen?’”
Now everyone slapped their hands on their legs as fast as they could, all eyes on the innkeeper.
“Bloody hell,” he said, rolling his eyes with a cheeky grin, then, “‘I’ve seeeeeeeen . . . a magic bean, a murder scene, a grimy sheen, a flying queen, a dragon green—’”
“Aha!” shouted Marie. “Aha! Ye forgot the tambourine!”
The small crowd roared as the innkeeper shook his head with a smile. “So I did, so I did. Right! Round the robin!” He began to drink as everyone continued slapping their thighs and Terryn kept strumming. Then, around the circle, they all threw out a rhyme:
“A raw sardine!”
“Me mum Kathleen!”
“A dank latrine!”
Gales of laughter.
“A dry canteen!”
“A man obscene!” sang Marie, elbowing the innkeeper in the side as he drank. Then everyone turned to Evie.
“Uh, um, a pig who’s lean?”
“Hey!” they all shouted with approval.
“A . . . a . . .” stammered the husband.
“Ooooh!” shouted the rest.
“The bloody number thirteen, I don’t know!” shouted the husband, and they all laughed.
“Thank the Fates!” called the innkeeper, wiping foam from his mouth. He slammed his antler on the table. “Your turn, mate!”
The music and laughter started up again, and that’s how Evie’s first night as an ordinary member of humanity, not as a cadet trying to remain in the Academy, went on. She learned several new games and an array of songs, until Terryn had finally had enough and staggered up to his room. After that, the rest of the group began to dissipate. The bald man went back to his table and nursed a drink as he stared into the dying fire, hiccupping. The innkeeper and his wife began to tidy up, wiping down tables and collecting cups and plates.
“Can I help?” asked Evie.
“Oh no, lass, you’re a guest here and not to be doing any work,” said Marie, whose face had gone an even rosier shade of pink. “Up to bed with you. It’ll be best if you can fall asleep before this one.” She jerked her head toward her husband. “Snores like the devil’s band saw, he does.”
Evie smiled and moved toward the stairs.
“You’ll have no nightmares tonight, I’ll wager,” continued Marie. “My mother always said that nightmares come when a witch is killed. All them demons hiding inside the witch’s skin get out when she dies and travel through the world giving children nightmares. Well, there’s no witches round here, and no nightmares neither. Sleep easy, my dear!”
“Good night.” Evie went up the stairs and stepped into the dim hallway. Could that be true or was it only a folktale? Was the wickedness inside a witch released into people’s dreams when she died? If that were the case, Evie would welcome her nightmares—
Suddenly, her heart leapt like a buck at the snap of a branch. She patted her hips and found her pockets empty. She’d left the compact, and all her money, on the table downstairs. She had just turned to go back down when . . .
Boom! The front door of the inn exploded open, followed quickly by the screams of the innkeeper’s wife. Evie froze, holding her breath, her hand perched on the banister. It had gone silent downstairs. Even the bald man’s hiccups had stopped. Then she heard the squeak of hinges as the front door gently closed.
“Ladies,” said the innkeeper, a tremble in his voice, “welcome to the Riquet with the Tuft.”
There was no response. Only slow-moving footsteps across the wooden floor.
“I’m afraid our kitchen’s shut for the night, but—”
“Bring us drinks, then,” came a woman’s voice.
“Yes, Princess,” said the innkeeper.
“Princess?” whispered Evie to herself. She heard Marie’s feet shuffle into the back to retrieve the drinks. Wooden stools scraped across the floor. The only other sound was the rapid wheezing of the innkeeper and the pop of the dying fire.
“Charming establishment,” said another woman’s voice.
“Thank ye, Princess. She’s a nice old place.”
There were two princesses downstairs? And if they were princesses, why did she suddenly feel so frightened? Ever so slowly, she began to tiptoe along the banister toward the head of the stairs. The boards creaked softly beneath her. She gritted her teeth, trying to tread as lightly as she could. She clutched the end of the banister and leaned over the staircase . . .
Suddenly, a woman appeared at the bottom of the stairs. She was wearing a black dress, waves of golden hair pouring out from beneath a shining tiara.
Evie froze, her eyes wide. The woman hadn’t seen her. She was inspect
ing one of the oil paintings scattered across the walls. But all the woman would need to do was turn her head to catch Evie peering down.
“Here we are,” said Marie, though the joy was gone from her voice. The woman in black stepped away from the staircase, and Evie could breathe again. She heard the thunk of cups being set down.
“So what brings ye by at such a late hour, Princesses?” said the innkeeper, trying desperately to sound cheerful and doing a miserable job.
“We’re looking for Javotte.”
Marie gasped. Then Evie heard a loud thump as someone collapsed onto a bench.
“J . . . Javotte?” said the innkeeper.
“We heard she was somewhere round here. So if you’ll kindly point us in the right direction, we’ll just be on our way.”
Evie stepped down onto the landing, carefully lowering herself to keep the creaking stairs from giving her away. She grabbed the banister and leaned forward as far as she could. Now she could see a bit more of the room. There were three princesses, each of them dressed in black, with corpse-gray trim and sleeves. The two she could see had tiaras in their hair. Marie sat slumped against a table, and the innkeeper’s arms hung limply at his sides. One of the princesses sat alone at a table, sipping from her cup. Another roamed the room. She could see only the back of the third.
“I’ve no idea where to find Javotte, Princess,” said the innkeeper. His voice was frantic now, a jarring contrast to the joy and laughter it had held all night. “She hasn’t lived round here in years.”
“Surely you must have heard something,” said the princess seated at the table. “Go on, have a think.”
“I’m sorry, but I haven’t the first clue where she is,” said the innkeeper. “Last I recall hearing, she might’ve been off in the Snow Spindles—”
“She’s not in the bloody Snow Spindles,” said the princess, shooting to her feet and knocking the antler to the floor with a sweep of her arm. Evie jumped as foam spiked into the air, then splatted on the ground.
“I-I don’t know where she is, Princess, I swear it!”
