Terribly Twisted Tales

by RABE, JEAN

  Puss answered the unspoken question. “Yes, I told them you were the Duke of Corlwin.”

  “Corlwin?”

  Puss waved a paw in an encompassing gesture. “Here.”

  Jack knew little of the territory to which Puss had led him, but it seemed empty, aside from the river, some forest, and an occasional road. The only structure he had seen was the sturdy, wooden bridge over the river upon whose bank they sat. “You’re mad.”

  Puss took the insult in stride. “If you insist.”

  “I’m not a duke. The king will take one look at me and know that.”

  Puss rose and walked around Jack, studying him with a designer’s eye. “A good bath, combed hair, some fine clothes. That’s all it would take.”

  Jack wondered if Puss spoke the truth. “I can handle the bath and combing. But fine clothing? If I could afford that, I wouldn’t be wearing the scraps of an outfit handed down through two brothers.” He locked gazes with Puss, who still studied him with clear interest. “Unless you’re talking about . . . magic?” In every demonic tale he had ever heard, the deal got made; and the devil instantly fulfilled his victim’s wishes by magic. Then, unless the man acted in a terribly clever fashion, the devil cleaved him from his wretched soul for all eternity.

  Puss cocked one brow. “Oh, so we believe in magic now?”

  “My knickknack came to life,” Jack reminded his once-stone companion. “How can I continue to deny it?”

  Puss shrugged and finally turned away. “That was not my doing. I’m a magical creation, but I wield none of it myself. The lot of a cat is wits, not spells.”

  Jack snorted. “If you were so witty, you’d have a way to catch those fish you love so well without getting your paws wet.”

  Puss just smiled a toothy grin, the answer obvious. He had found a way, and its name was Jack. Puss returned to the matter at hand, “Strip down and take that bath. Make sure you scrub your hair and work out those blessed tangles.”

  Jack stared at the icy water, eyes widening incrementally. “Yes, you’ve definitely gone entirely insane.”

  “Not insane, just . . . witty.” Puss prodded Jack cautiously. “Hurry up. Before the king sees you in those rags.”

  Driven by the concern in Puss’ tone, Jack removed his worn clothing before the content of the cat’s words fully penetrated. Naked and poised over the water, still clutching his fishing device, Jack finally thought to question. “Why would the king see me? Why would the king even—”

  Puss plucked the iron hook from his master’s hand. “In lieu of the gold, I asked him to come visit—”

  The sound of hoofbeats on packed earth interrupted Puss. He gave Jack a more vigorous shove. “Go, go quickly. Deep into the water. Then, follow my lead.”

  Puss gathered up Jack’s old clothing and ran toward the road.

  Left with no means to argue, Jack waded toward the middle of the river, scrubbing his skin fiercely and finger combing the knots from his hair.

  Soon, the sound of creaking cartwheels joined the clop of shod hooves in a fancy duet. A small coach, fully enclosed and festooned with flags, gemstones, and banners flowed toward the bridge at the heels of four impeccably groomed white horses. Two partially mailed men, girded with swords, controlled the reins. They wore silver helmets with red top feathers, and their silks bore a crest Jack could not make out from the river.

  Suddenly, Puss ran onto the bridge, waving his furry arms. He no longer held Jack’s discarded clothing, and the young man worried for the fishing hook that had kept him, and his family, alive for so many years.

  Though faint with distance, Puss’ voice reached Jack’s ears. “Please help! Help my master, the duke!”

  The coach rumbled to a stop. An exchange followed that Jack could not make out. His heart rate quickened. If he could not hear, he would not know what lead to follow.

  The door of the cart opened, and a man stepped out. Dressed in fancy scarlet and silver silks, covered in jewelry and flourishes, the stranger commanded authority with every movement or gesture. This, Jack guessed, was the king himself. Jack found himself bowing quite unconsciously until he sucked water up his nose. That sent him into a fit of violent coughing.

  Nevertheless, Jack heard the king’s deep voice, “What’s wrong with Duke Corlwin?”

  Puss spoke with loud anxiety, presumably so Jack could hear every dramatic word. “My master saw a man drowning and leaped into the river to save him. While he was performing this heroic act, thieves stole his clothing. Now, he’s stuck in the cold water, too modest to leave.”

  A young woman, also finely dressed, poked her head out of the coach’s door. Immediately, Jack felt assaulted by all of the modesty Puss had claimed for him. He covered his privates with his hands, not altogether sure of his motivation. He liked to think he wished to save a royal virgin the site of naked man parts, but he also did not want her to judge him by the ice-water shriveled state of his unmentionables.

  Puss stepped between the princess and any view of the water below. Unfortunately, that also put his back directly toward Jack, effectively cutting him off from the rest of the conversation. Swiftly, Jack gave his skin a final, violent rub down and worked the remaining knots from his hair.

  Moments later, Puss appeared at the riverbank, accompanied by one of the men who had driven the wagon. He held a drying blanket and a set of crisp, clean silks. Approaching the water, he gestured for Jack to emerge.

  Jack obeyed swiftly, using the brush and trees to hide himself from the those waiting on the bridge. He did not have to feign his embarrassment. The man arranged the drying blanket across his shoulders while Puss laid out the garments in order. Jack appreciated Puss’ thoroughness. He had never before owned an undergarment and might well have humiliated himself putting things on the wrong ways and places. Luckily, the king’s man averted his eyes, allowing Puss to silently assist without drawing suspicion.

  When Jack indicated he had finished, the king’s man finally turned and bowed. “Come with me, please, Duke Corlwin. The king and Princess Darcia would very much like to meet you.”

  Jack felt as if someone had punched him in the gut. “Thank you,” he said mechanically, giving no outward sign of the battle taking place internally. His heart felt like it wanted to slug its way through his chest, and the urge to run in terror seized him. It took sheer force of will just to keep one foot moving in front of the other.

  In what seemed like an instant, they stood on the bridge in front of the king and his daughter. Up close, King Harold looked even more intimidating, a large man with an intense gaze and aristocratic features. Jack started bowing and could not stop until Puss gave him a savage kick and a sharp nail tore into his ankle. Only then, Jack dared a glance at Darcia.

  Puss’ description did her no justice. She had a gentle, round face, smiling eyes, and a soft complexion. Clearly entertained by Jack’s excessive display of manners, she grinned at him. As he studied her, she also looked him over, and she did not, at least, act repelled by what she saw.

  The king finally broke the silence. “Duke Corlwin, I can see you’re rightfully shaken by your experience. With your consent, I’d like to postpone our meeting until this time next week.”

  Our meeting? Jack scarcely managed to bite back the words before he spoke them aloud.

  “Your servant stated that if we gave you sufficient time, you would have us for a feast at your manse.”

  A feast? My . . . manse? Startled into abject silence, Jack continued to, brilliantly, say nothing at all.

  “Master?” Puss prompted.

  Jack shook his senses free. Follow Puss’ lead. “Yes, Your Majesty. A feast at my manse in one week. That should leave me ample time to prepare, and I would be honored by your presence.” He managed a single deep bow this time, then a second to Darcia. “Please promise to bring this breathtaking woman with you.” With a raw courage he never knew he could summon, Jack took Darcia’s warm, delicate hand and kissed it gently.

  To
Jack’s surprise, the princess’ cheeks took on a flush, her grin persisted, and she flashed him a coy look. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

  Then, king and princess bundled back into their coach. Jack stared after them until the servants managed to turn the contraption around, and the whole of it disappeared back the way it had come, leaving only the lingering odor of horses.

  At last, Jack rounded on Puss, “A feast at my manse? A feast! At my manse!” He shook his head fiercely, wondering if he could even manage more words. Apparently, he could: “Have you gone absolutely, utterly, hell-damned, around-the-bend, over-the-top crazy?”

  Puss waited until Jack completed his rant before tossing him back his fishing device. “Please hook me a couple fish, and I’ll catch you a . . .” He cocked his head, waiting for Jack to fill in the blank.

  Jack sighed and closed his eyes as shock and anger gradually dispersed. He knew from their association thus far that Puss loved fish of every variety, even the mud-dwellers that Jack found scarcely edible. So intent was the cat on avoiding water, however, he chose to clean his fur with his own tongue.

  “. . . partridge,” Jack said, leaning over the water with hook in hand, worried to muddy his brand new silks. “And make it a tender one. Penniless. And we’re going to build a mansion, and a feast, in a week. I wonder what a king does to a pauper who impersonates a duke? It’s likely to be our last meal.”

  The keep in the woodlands towered over the trees, its stark construction festooned with bleak, flowerless vines. Back in his ragged clothing, his silks carefully stashed, Jack studied the well-crafted structure in shock, while his stomach churned over a breakfast of evening leftovers. “This is so huge. I’ve looked this way many times. How did I possibly miss it?”

  Puss smoothed his own garments, which seemed far more suitable. “It blends in well.”

  Jack had to admit that the foliage swarming over the stonework did add some camouflage, but he still found it difficult to believe he had dismissed it as a normal part of nature. “We’re not calling upon the occupant, are we?”

  “We are.”

  Though Jack had raised the question, the answer surprised him. “Admittedly, I’m clean, but I’m hardly dressed for nobility.”

  Puss looked Jack over, as if for the first time. “Well, the garments the king supplied would work better, but you’ll need those in decent shape for our feast.”

  “Well, yes, but . . .” It struck Jack how silly the whole conversation had become. “Let’s say we actually have this feast—and I don’t see how we can. Won’t the king notice I’m wearing the exact same clothes he gave me?”

  “It’s a compliment to his taste, of course.”

  “Of course.” Jack knew Puss would have an answer for everything. He only wondered why he kept asking. “So why are we here? Are we befriending another king, just in case the first one doesn’t work out?”

  “No.”

  “Because I really like the first one’s daughter—” The cat’s response finally caught up to Jack’s thoughts. “No? So what are we doing here?”

  “You’ll see. Follow my lead.”

  Jack had grown tired of that response. He seized Puss’ wrist, surprised by the softness of the fur. He had never touched the cat before. “No. I’m tired of ‘following’ your ‘lead.’ This time, I want to know in advance.”

  Puss turned to face Jack directly, freeing his paw. “Believe me, master. The less you know this time, the better off you are.”

  Jack rolled his eyes.

  “But, I will give you one important piece of advice.”

  “What?” Jack asked sullenly. Though Puss’ motivations frequently defied logic, at least his companion had gotten them this far.

  “Whatever you do, whatever you say, do not show any fear.”

  “What?”

  The next thing Jack knew, Puss had taken his arm and was leading him to the massive wooden door of the keep. As Puss slammed a giant knocker against the wood, he whispered one more time. “No fear, got it? Not a hint of fear.”

  The admonishment itself sent a shiver of dread through Jack. He suppressed it the best he could. “Why should I be afraid? What exactly are we doing?”

  The door opened on squealing hinges, and a mousy creature that closely resembled a human female gestured them inside. Pale as a ghost, she seemed to hover a moment in indecision.

  Looking beyond her, Jack saw an entry hall three times the size of the entire cabin his father and brothers had built. Though simply furnished with stone and wooden benches, it also sported an enormous fountain in the shape of a horse, the water spurting from its upraised mouth to curl around its body and between stone hooves that seemed to cleave the air. Below it, the water gathered in a pool, where orange and white fish flitted through algae and shadow.

  Jack could not help seeing all these things as he entered, though only one thing held his gaze. Seated calmly on one of the benches was a massive figure. From the waist up, he looked entirely human, albeit a giant that would have towered over the tallest man Jack had ever seen. Scraggly black hair fell around his ears, and a sharp, dark beard hid his chin. The ears and nose were broad, contrasting with narrow-set eyes with a depth beyond wisdom. His legs sported wooly hair and ended in cloven hooves. Jack suspected he probably had a tail as well.

  Show no fear, Jack reminded himself. No fear. The urge to flee seized him like a compulsion, and it was all he could do to remain in place and fight to keep his expression impassive.

  The door banged shut on Jack’s heels, and the realization that he had lost his only escape pushed his resolve to its boundaries.

  Beside Jack, Puss bowed deeply.

  The giant grinned, revealing a set of vicious fangs ten times the size of the cat’s own. “Ah. My Capricious Animistic Tempter. It seems like forever since I’ve seen you.” His mouth opened wider in clear amusement. “Is this one mine?”

  The words struck through Jack’s heart like a dagger. He glanced at Puss, who dodged his gaze.

  “Yes, Master,” Puss said meekly. “He is yours.”

  The creature leaned forward hungrily.

  “But not yet,” Puss added.

  The giant’s smile slipped away, replaced by an expression of clear annoyance. “Not yet?”

  “I have not yet fulfilled my promises to him.”

  Jack’s legs felt rooted, his thoughts exploding in several directions. No wonder the title “master” came so easily to Puss’ lips. From the edges of his vision, Jack saw figures shifting in the background, as eerily white as the one who had answered the door. Are those . . . souls? The ones pledged to Puss’ evil master? Jack suddenly knew a regret so profound he could scarcely stand it. He closed his eyes tightly and begged any god who might listen to let him wake up in familiar squalor and find it was all a dream. But nothing changed except the view. Understanding remained, and a sulfur smell permeated the room. He had not noticed the odor before, his attention focused on more visual horrors. Jack had gotten himself into a situation from which he had no power to extract himself. Two things seemed certain: Puss had lied about the promise of a long life, and Jack’s entire existence was no longer worth the rags he wore. Why? he wondered.

  When Jack opened his eyes, he found the monster’s attention fully on Puss. “Why did you bring him here now?” The giant’s curiosity seemed to echo Jack’s own. “Why not wait until it’s time for me to claim . . .” His cruel gaze went suddenly to Jack. “. . . his . . .” His lips curled into an evil grin that revealed every fang and tooth. “. . . soul.”

  Jack’s blood ran cold. The eyes seemed to skewer him.

  Puss replied so softly, he sounded barely audible compared to the deep rumble of his master’s speech. “Because, he doesn’t fear you. He doesn’t worry about serving you. He laughs when I say you’re the world’s greatest shapeshifter and says he doesn’t even believe in magic.”

  “Doesn’t believe!” The giant rose, revealing legs longer than they had first appeared.
He not only towered over Jack; if Jack had carried a twin on his shoulders, the creature would still exceed them both. “Doesn’t believe!” The massive form blurred and flowed, swirling through an array of colors.

  “What are you doing?” Jack demanded through gritted teeth. He could picture himself running, bashing into the closed door again and again in a howling, futile attempt at escape. How could Puss possibly expect him to maintain composure in the face of this threat?

  Puss grabbed Jack’s arm, claws digging in just enough to capture his attention. “No fear,” he reminded.

  A moment later, the giant assumed a solid new shape: huge, tawny, and animal in every respect. Four muscular legs had sprouted from a powerful torso, rippling with vitality. The face resembled Puss’ but much larger and with a coarse mane surrounding the catlike features. The creature opened a mouth full of pointy teeth and let out a roar with such force that only Puss’ steadying hold kept Jack from collapsing.

  Jack forced himself to breathe rhythmically. Otherwise, he might hyperventilate into a coma. Fear shocked through every part of him, but he refused to surrender his thoughts to panic.

  “Laugh,” Puss instructed.

  Jack had never heard anything more ridiculous. “I can’t move my jaw.”

  “Laugh,” Puss demanded. “Your life depends on it.”

  Jack forced out a huff of breath that sounded more like a squeal. The actual mechanics of laughter seemed impossible to remember. He moved his belly in bursts, driving out breath in a series of snorting puffs that he hoped would suffice.

  The maned head tipped sideways, and the now-familiar, booming voice emerged, “What’s going on?”

  “He’s laughing.” Puss interpreted Jack’s inscrutable actions. “He says it’s easy to make oneself into something large when you are already large. If you wielded real magic, real power, you could transform yourself into something infinitesimally small as well.”

  The creature growled. Its eyes narrowed, and it glanced between Jack and Puss several times. “This is a trick, Capricious Animistic Tempter. You want me to become a mouse so you can pounce on me and eat me.”