Voice for Princess (v1.1)

by John Morressy

  “Then he threw that wizard down,” Dan said.

  “Just in time, too,” one of the crowd added, and his words were received with approving murmurs.

  “It kind of went against the grain, Master Kedrigern, but food is food, and we were hungry. And after all, we’re rats.”

  Kedrigern understood and sympathized, and wished he could say so. But all he could manage was a faint grunt. Small as it was, it sent Alf into a state of high exhilaration.

  “Hear that, lads? He’s coming round!” the rat cried in a joyous litle voice. “We’ll be men again before you know it!”

  Kedrigern knew, and intensely felt, every passing instant; but in truth it was not long before he could move stiffly and speak intelligibly. As he swept away the straw covering him and pulled himself erect, the rats gathered in a semicircle, balanced on their haunches, looking up at him expectantly.

  “You’ve saved my life, gentlemen, and—I sincerely hope—the honor of my wife. That remains to be seen. But first, is everyone here?” he said.

  Alf made a quick headcount and assured him, “All here, Master Kedrigern!”

  “Very well.” Kedrigern extended his arms and looked down on his rescuers. “I want you to close your eyes tightly. Now, take five deep breaths, very slowly, and hold the fifth.” He began to speak in a deep monotone, working intricate figures with his hands. The words came faster and faster, and then he brought his hands together with a loud clap, and suddenly the little cell was very crowded, as forty-seven husky working men, stonemasons and sappers and woodcarvers, stood where forty-seven rats had been an instant before.

  Kedrigern raised his hands to silence their happy uproar. Alf sprang to his side to assist him, whispering, “Quiet, lads! We don’t want them to know anything just yet.”

  “Where do we start, Alf?” said one large man in a deep slow voice.

  “The armory, Dan. There’s a passage that will let us in by a secret door. Once we’re armed, we can spread out.”

  “Is there a way I can get to the west wing unseen?” Kedrigern asked.

  “There’s a private staircase, and a secret corridor that opens into the chimney corner. I’ll show you the way.”

  “Thank you, Alf, and good luck. I’d like to be going with you, but when I think of Princess in that villain’s clutches…”

  “Say no more, Master Kedrigern. Just between us, I don’t think we’ll have much trouble. There’s few in this castle willing to fight for Grodz.”

  Alf led the way from the dungeons to a staircase landing, where he paused before a blank wall of smooth stone. He studied the surface for a moment, then reached up and pressed three of the smaller stones in sequence. The wall swung open without a sound. Alf glanced at the wizard, a workman’s pride in his eyes.

  “Go to the left, up the staircase, and take the second door on the right,” he said. “All you have to do is press. The doors all open from this side.”

  Kedrigern clasped Alf’s hand firmly, and waved a farewell to all the others. “Best of luck, men,” he said, and turned to the left.

  His torch revealed a surprisingly neat passageway: no dust, no bats, and scarcely a cobweb to be seen. It appeared that the secret corridors of Castle Grodzik were busy thoroughfares.

  At the second door he paused for a moment to choose his magic. Grodz was not going to get off easy, and if he had anyone with him, they were in for the same treatment. When he was set, Kedrigern worked an all-purpose protective spell, doing his best not to confront the fact that this is what he should have done hours ago, when he first suspected that something was amiss. He placed his fingertips against the narrow door and pushed very gently.

  It swung open silently. Kedrigern slipped out into the chimney corner and stood for a moment, listening. He heard no sound save the crackle and the low mutter of the fire. He sidled around the flames and peered into the chamber.

  There was no evidence of disarray, no sign of pursuit and struggle. He wondered, for an instant, if Grodz had carried Princess off to his own bedchamber—and then he saw Grodz’s gleaming black boots standing by the bedside.

  He sprang into the chamber, arms flung wide, and cried, “Turn and face your doom, Grodz! It is I, Kedrigern of Silent Thunder Mountain, come to avenge—”

  “Keddie! Is it really you?” said a startled voice behind him.

  “Princess!”

  She jumped from the chair by the opposite side of the fire.

  Books tumbled to the floor unheeded as she ran to Kedrigern’s arms.

  “You’re well, fit, and sound! He didn’t hurt you!” she said, her words muffled by the kisses she rained upon him.

  “And you, my dear—he didn’t—”

  “He tried, Keddie. But he didn’t succeed.”

  Kedrigern gave a long sigh of relief and held her close for a time, too happy to speak. She was safe, he was alive, Grodz was thwarted. All was well.

  “What happened to you, Keddie? Did he poison you?”

  “He put a paralyzing drug in the sauteed morels. He assumed that if I couldn’t speak or gesture, I’d be helpless. And he was almost right.”

  “But you outwitted him!” she said, hugging him.

  “I had some help. What about you, my dear? How did you escape him?”

  “Grodz insisted on escorting me to our chambers. To protect me from the rats, he claimed. I remembered what you had said, about not smelling a rat, and I was especially observant, circumspect, and wary all the way here. There wasn’t a hint of rat, so I began to suspect his motives.”

  “Good girl. Clever girl. Excellent thinking.”

  “He acted the perfect gentleman. He even insisted that I bolt the door from inside—”

  “The insidious swine!” Kedrigern snarled.

  “—But my suspicions were aroused. I changed into my robe, and settled by the fire with my books. I wanted to be ready. After a time, I heard a noise, and there was Grodz, standing by the bed, very quietly removing his boots. He must have slipped in by a secret door.”

  “He did.”

  “Well, it didn’t take long to figure out what he was planning to do, so—”

  “The villain!”

  “—I let him have it. I read it straight from the book.”

  Kedrigern looked down into her jubilant face, puzzled. “You let him have a stream of synonyms? What good did that do?”

  “Oh, no. I was reading the other book, Keddie,” she said. She dashed to the scattering of books that lay beside the chair and brought one to him, displaying the words embossed in red on the black cover: Spells For Every Occasion.

  “Wonderful, my dear! I’m proud of you, truly I am. Tell me, which one did you use? How did it work?”

  Princess, looking very pleased with herself, pointed to the boots. “Why don’t you ask Grodz?”

  Kedrigern walked over, peered into one boot, and finding nothing, looked into the other. There was Prince Grodz, small and helpless and very very angry. Kedrigern let out a great roar of laughter. He took Princess by the hands, and they danced in a ring around the boot.

  Princess collapsed on the bed, laughing. Kedrigern looked down at Grodz, a broad smile on his face. “Well, Prince Grodz, how do you like it?” he asked cheerfully.

  The prince, enraged, attempted to hop out of the boot but fell back. He glared up at Kedrigern with his jeweled eyes and puffed himself out in his most threatening manner.

  “Brereep!” he said.

  Fourteen

  and one dear call for me

  Castle Grodzik fell to Alf and his men without a struggle. No one, it appeared, had ever really been on Grodz’s side. The enthusiasm with which his jailers had jailed, his torturers had tortured, and his executioners had executed had all been a sham. Actually, they had carried out their work with the deepest loathing and reluctance, compelled to cruelty by fear of the greater cruelty of Grodz toward anyone who displeased him.

  Or so they claimed. And after thumping a few heads and kicking a few posteriors, A
lf and the others decided to accept the lugubrious protestations of innocence and settle down to enjoy the fruits of victory. It was, they agreed, much nicer and far less messy to be heroic liberators than agents of vengeance.

  Though he felt no ill effects whatsoever, Kedrigern—at the adamant insistence of Princess—spent the next two days lolling about their chambers in a warm robe, sleeping late, being tucked in, and sung to, and fed tidbits, and generally cosseted and coddled, like a sick child. It was not unpleasant, but two days of it was quite enough for him.

  On the third morning of the post-Grodz era he was up early, dressing in his customary clothes, eager for something to do.

  “Keddie, are you sure you’re all right?” Princess inquired earnestly as he tugged his boots on. “Don’t you think it would be wise to rest, repose, and recuperate for one more day?”

  “I feel fine, my dear. Bubbling with health. Bursting with energy.”

  “Maybe so, but remember, you were poisoned.”

  “I wasn’t poisoned, I was drugged. It’s a different thing altogether.”

  “I still think you ought to take care of yourself,” said Princess.

  “What I need most right now is something to do. And I’m sure there’s plenty to be done in Castle Grodzik. There are always a lot of loose ends dangling about when a tyrant is deposed.”

  “Things seem to be going smoothly so far.”

  “I’m glad to hear it,” said the wizard. Rising, he reached for his tunic. “I’ll just look around. If everything is going well, we can start for home all the sooner.”

  “Must we rush home? I thought we might stay here for a few weeks.”

  He looked at her in horror. “A few weeks?”

  “It’s nice here, now that Grodz is out of power. Everyone’s grateful to us. Let’s enjoy it, Keddie.”

  “A few weeks?” he repeated, making it sound like a death knel. “What about my work? And Spot? Think of poor Spot, all alone, worrying… And my clients! What about my clients?”

  “We never go anywhere. I want to enjoy it while I can.”

  “But a few weeks…”

  “All right, then, a week. We’ll stay a week. It’s just so nice to get away. We really needed a vacation, Keddie.”

  “What vacation? Is this your idea of a vacation? Did we need betrayal? Dungeons? Assaults on your virtue?” Kedrigern demanded, his voice rising with each phrase. “Did I need poison?”

  “You weren’t poisoned, you were drugged,” she said calmly. “Besides, think how nicely things worked out. Think of the good we did.”

  “Think of the strain. The anxiety. This is what happens when you travel, my dear. I’ve said it all along, but you never listen. Now you know. Travel is deadening.”

  “A week, Keddie.”

  He flung up his hand in despairing surrender. “All right, a week.”

  Things were indeed going smoothly at Castle Grodzik, as Kedrigern learned during his stay. Alf and his companions, though they lacked experience in running a principality, were honest workmen, accustomed to getting things done in an orderly fashion and repairing structures that had fallen into dilapidation. These were precisely the skills most needed at Castle Grodzik. During his brief sway, Grodz had directed all his efforts toward his machinations to the neglect of everything else, and now there was a good deal that required fixing. Alf and his men went to work, and everyone at the castle pitched in wilingly.

  The household staff, no longer working under the constant threat of flaying, flogging, or mutilation, were a tad slower but much more cheerful. They could not do enough for their liberators. The master cook, when he recovered from the shock of learning how Grodz had tampered with his work, insisted upon serving Kedrigern generous portions of superbly prepared, and unadulterated, sauteed morels each day for lunch. The court calligrapher, a man who had spent the reign of Grodz doing his best to remain anonymous and unobtrusive, emerged from the scriptorium to present Princess with an elaborate scroll proclaiming her Grand Enchantress and Deliverer of the People of Castle Grodzik. It was on fine vellum, with illuminated capitals and at its top a charming depiction of a very angry toad glaring out of a boot. She was quite touched by the citation, and showed it to everyone.

  In the early afternoon of the day before they were to depart, a dusty and bedraggled stranger arrived on foot at the castle. He stumbled through the gate, into the courtyard, as Kedrigern was walking off a huge platter of sauteed morels. Kedrigern nodded to him, and the newcomer addressed him in a weak, despairing voice.

  “There is thirsty I am, good sir. May I have a drink from yon well? I will then crawl off somewhere to die,” he said feebly.

  “Are you sick, my boy?”

  “Look you, now, if I were sick I could hope to get well. But I am Red Gruffydd, and there is no help for that.”

  The name rang a bell. Kedrigern stared hard into the dim blue eyes, scratched his chin, concentrated, and at last said, “Red Gruffydd, of course! But what are you doing here, in such a grim mood? Last I heard, you were household bard to a great lord.”

  “If I may have a sip of water to wash away the dust of the road, I will relate the whole dismal tale. Otherwise, I will die of thirst altogether.”

  “Have all the water you want, my boy,” said Kedrigern, taking the mournful youth’s arm and leading him to the well. He drew up a bucket of cold, clear water and handed it to Red Gruffydd, who drank off nearly half of it without a pause, poured a bit over his head, and then noisily drank the rest. Gasping with relief and repletion, Red then sat down in the shade of the well.

  With the dirt washed away, he was very pale. His eyes were light blue rimmed in red, his brows almost invisible.

  Kedrigern recalled Rhys’s description of him as “whining, whey-faced Red Gruffydd,” and judged it unkind, but accurate.

  “You have heard of me then, have you?” Red asked.

  “Yes. Someone… a person I met mentioned your name,” Kedrigern said.

  “Ah, there is famous I was, sir. Bardd teulu to Llewellyn Da when I was a mere boy, so I was, and a favorite of the king himself. The king would visit the castle of Llewelyn Da regularly for no reason but to hear me tell a tale. But that is all over now, and I am bardd teulu no more. It is the life of a wandering minstrel for me, or begging along the high road,” said Red with a sigh. “Maybe I will even have to work.”

  “What happened?”

  The ex-bard shrugged listlessly. “That is something we would both like to know, sir. One night I had the court on its feet, cheering and throwing gold pieces. The very next day, look you, I told Llewellyn Da a story, and he said it was the worst thing he ever heard in his life, and threw me out.”

  “Some people don’t have a very good sense of humor.”

  “It was not a funny story at all, it was a tale of mystery. Would you like to hear it, and judge for yourself?”

  “Why not?” said Kedrigern. He settled into the shade, stretching out his legs, and relaxed. A good lunch, a sunny afternoon, and now a mystery tale told by a first-rate bard: a pleasant way to pass the time, he thought comfortably.

  “There was a pretty young milkmaid, and she married a great king,” Red Gruffydd began. “Now, you may not believe that, and I cannot make much sense of such a match myself, but there you are, there is no telling with some people… a milkmaid and a king. Hard to say what things are coming to, when milkmaids and kings forget their proper places. But there is not much you and I can do about these things. It was a great wedding, and when the feasting and the dancing were done, they went to live at the king’s castle. Now, this king—I think I should have told you this at first—this king had been married eight times before, and each of his wives—no, nine times, it was nine wives he had and the milkmaid number ten—each of his wives had disappeared shortly after coming to the castle, and no one knew how or why. The milkmaid, Betty—yes, her name was Betty—she was completely in the dark about the disappearing wives. That should not surprise anyone, though. What shou
ld a milkmaid know about the goings-on at the castle, I ask you?”

  “Not a thing.”

  “Right you are. And she did not. But the very night they came to the castle, the king said to her, ‘Lottie, there is one…’ Of course, that was her name, Lottie was her name. Am I confusing you?”

  “No. Please go on,” said Kedrigern.

  “ ‘Lottie,’ he said, ‘there is one thing you must never do, if we are to be happy together. You must never look behind the green door at the end of the hall.’ And Lotie said, ‘I will not.’ And the next day the chamberlain of the castle took her aside and said, ‘My lady, there is one thing you must never do, if you and my lord are to be happy together. You must never look behind the green door at the end of the hall.’ And Lotie said, ‘I will not.’ And after dinner the chief steward whispered to her, ‘My lady, there is one thing you must never do, if you and my lord are to be happy together. You must never look behind the green door at the end of the hall.’ And Lotie said, ‘I will not.’ And that night, as she was preparing for bed, her maid, Betty—ah, that is what confused me, look you, the maid’s name was Betty, and the milkmaid’s was Lottie—Betty, the maid, said, ‘My lady, there is one thing you must never do, if you and my lord are to be happy together. You must never look behind the green door at the end of the hall.’ And Lottie said, ‘I will not.’ Are you following the story so far?”

  Kedrigern, caught in the middle of a wrenching yawn, nodded vigorously. Red cleared his throat and went on.

  “That night, Lottie woke up and noticed immediately that her husband was not in the bed. She called his name four times, but he—no three times, it was—she called his name three times, but he did not answer. She slipped from the bed, quiet as a mouse, look you, and went to the door, and peeked out, and she saw her husband the king coming out of the green door at the end of the hall. In a great panic, she ran to the bed and jumped in and pulled the covers—he was carrying a candle, you understand, and that is how she could see him in the dark in the middle of the night—she pulled the covers over her head and pretended to be asleep. And the king entered the room, and took a little golden key from around his neck on a string, and he put it into a little silver box and put the box in the bottom of a great wooden chest at the foot of the bed. Then he climbed into bed and went to sleep, and in a little while, Lottie went to sleep, too.”