by Daniel Fox
"Yes I see," said Idwal. "It's just that in all of the great human kingdoms you've chosen the very worst place to try to sell such wares. We don't much go in for the daring-do around here. In fact we try to avoid stepping in just regular old do as much as possible."
"Piffle!" cried the old woman. "Everyone needs at least one good to-do."
"Not us. We prefer the quiet and the calm."
"How do you know?"
"I'm sorry?"
"How do you know? How do you know you prefer one thing when you've never known the other? Can't be done, can it?"
"I just know."
"Double-piffle!" The old woman started to shuffle through her papers again but stopped as a baker trooped by, a basket of fresh bread perched on his shoulder. The old woman's stomach was just as loud as the rest of her. People down the street could have held a conversation with its growling.
"Have you eaten?" said Idwal. "Do you have a place to sleep?"
"I'm afraid it's no to both."
"Well…" Idwal looked back down the road. Gretal was standing next to Jan, the both of them watching him. Watching? Judging, more like. Even though he knew that he was now definitely stepping into the realm of the abnormal, the most seriously not-every-day, he took the old woman by the arm and led her down the road. "Come along then," he said. "We'll fix you up and get you on your way to somewhere more profitable first thing in the morning."
"You're very kind. You're sure I can't interest you in the tiniest of crusades?"
"I'm sure."
"A trek?"
"No thank you."
"A sally-forth?"
Back at the General Store Gretal winced as Idwal shouted a final NO! at the old woman and threw his hands up into the air.
"Ach," said Jan, spitting on the ground. "It's always the noisy ones."
And that was how Idwal met the old woman.
Chapter 2
If you were to ask Princess Willuna of the Family Owl if this story was about her she would tell you that of course it was, and think you rather simple for having to ask such a silly question. She'd admit that not all stories were strictly about princesses, sometimes they were about knights or kings and the like, but a beautiful princess pretty much guaranteed that your story would be that much better. The fact that she was really quite beautiful (not bragging of course, beautiful princesses never bragged about how devastating their loveliness was) elevated Willuna to the lead role.
There was one man she wouldn't mind sharing top billing with. The good King Anisim. The King of the Family Wolf. A great warrior. A great king. Young and handsome and utterly incapable of doing any wrong.
Willuna very much intended to marry him. Anisim, young though he was, was considered by most to be the greatest king in all the human kingdoms; being married to him would ensure that Willuna was the greatest queen. Which meant that she would be adored even more than she already was. The more loving and admiration Willuna received, the happier it made her. After all, what were princesses but living receptacles for praise?
There was however one pesky detail that had escaped Willuna's attention - she wasn't a very lovable person. She was certainly beautiful on the outside; but that beauty, as they say, only went skin deep. She was vain and petty. It's not that she was a bad person in and of herself; she just didn't know any better. Being her father's only child, and looking so very much like her passed mother, her father had sheltered Willuna from the harsher and more cruel qualities of the world, which in some cases meant sheltering her from the truth. He had spared the rod and spoiled the child.
Word had come that Anisim had already arrived, a day early for the great feast. Willuna was sure that could mean only one thing; Anisim was here to ask her to marry him. Why else would he rush to her side? They would announce the engagement at the feast and everyone would be completely happy for them. The women would envy her, but Willuna was determined to be gracious and kind to those less fortunate than herself… which was pretty much everyone.
As Willuna sat combing out her long hair, thinking up compliments she could pay to all the other women who weren't blessed enough to be in her shoes, her two handmaidens Ilsa and Elsa were creating a hurricane of fabrics as they tore through Willuna's collection of dresses.
"This one!" cried Ilsa, preening in front of a mirror, holding a dress of pale rose up before her.
"No, this one," said Elsa, shoving her sister aside.
"You have no taste."
"You have no hips."
This had been going on for some time. Willuna had quite the number of dresses and gowns. There were mountains of chiffons on the chairs, rolling hills of lace draped across the four-poster bed. Almost all of it was pink.
"What do you think, your Highness?" said Ilsa.
"Hmmm?"
"Which dress do you think?"
"For the feast," said Elsa.
"All those dreamy princes," sighed Ilsa.
"With their princely shoulders."
"And princely arms."
"And royal behinds."
The girls giggled as only girls can do. Willuna smiled and lay down her hairbrush. She joined the girls by the mirror and held up the dress that Ilsa handed her. "There's only one set of arms and shoulders and… whatnot for me," she said, "and it is kingly."
The girls sighed. "Anisim," said Ilsa.
"He really is a cut above," said Elsa.
Willuna shook her head and tossed the dress aside. "I've known since we were children that we were meant to be together." Willuna moved to a large wide cabinet that stood in a special place of honour along the wall. It was made of rich dark wood, the surface heavily decorated with carved flowers of all sorts. The whole of it was waxed and polished so heavily that it seemed to be emitting its own light instead of merely reflecting what came from the candles around the room. Willuna grabbed hold of the two biggest carved roses of the cabinet and pulled open the doors, letting them swing wide.
Inside the special cabinet was a very special dress. Willuna's bridal gown. Have you ever seen pictures of old weddings; images of princesses and ladies marrying their dukes and lords? Have you seen how lovely the young women looked, knowing that quite possibly the whole world would be taking at least a peek, if not a good hard look, at the way they were dressed? Take your favourite bride in your favourite dress and hold her in your mind. And be ready for disappointment. Compared to this dress your choice of bride looked frumpy.
It was the only bit of clothing that Willuna owned that wasn't pink. It was a clean gleaming white, the white made to seem all that much more pure as it hung there against the dark wood of the cabinet. It had slim laced shoulders leading to a neckline that was polite and demure, as befitting a bride who would come to her husband unblemished, as it were. The waist was slim, but loose - Willuna knew from experience that any feast, especially a wedding feast, thrown by her father was bound to have mountains of food, so she'd deliberately had the dressmakers leave room for belly expansion. The waist flared down into overlapping skirts that had been fashioned to look like the petals of a newly opened rose. It was a stunning thing, this dress. Quite literally. Every time the three young ladies laid eyes on it anew they stopped in their tracks, caught up in its beauty.
Willuna pulled the dress down from out of the cabinet. "I've even been practicing," she said.
"Practicing, m'lady?" said Elsa.
"That's right!" Willuna handed one sleeve off to each girl, then went down on one knee before it. "You are the very greatest princess in the whole of the human kingdoms," she said in a gruff imitation of a man's voice. "You are the most beautiful and gracious, and you will look wonderful on my arm. You would do me the greatest honour if you would consent to be my bride, Queen of the Wolf Kingdom."
A curtsey from the dress, twisted this way and that by the handmaidens, just so. Willuna stood, and together the three girls danced the dress around the room. "Anisim is the greatest king in all the lands, and so I shall be the greatest queen. I will be beautifu
l and proper and perfect. Our people will be happy and cheer us as we go by."
There was a knock at the door. Ilsa went to answer it as Elsa and Willuna carefully rearranged the wedding dress back in its place of honour. There was a thump and a bang and they turned to see Ilsa with her back pressed against the door. Her face looked like it was having a battle with itself, teetering from fright to joy and back again. There was no way to tell which expression was winning.
"He… he…" panted Ilsa.
"What's going on?" said Willuna.
"Did you get stung by a bee?" said Elsa. She turned to Ilsa. "She's a bit allergic. Her breathing gets a bit wheezy like this and her face gets all puffy. Well, puffier."
Ilsa was shaking her head no and no and no! She pointed a trembling finger back over her shoulder, indicating the hallway outside the door. "He's here. Anisim. King Anisim, I mean. He's coming to see you right now!"
Panic! The girls dove into the dresses, shoving them under the bed, under the mattress, into the cupboards, quick quick quick!
And then it came. A knock at the door. The knock at the door. The knock that signalled the greatest moment of the girls' lives. (Willuna most of all of course, but Ilsa and Elsa were quite invested as well. They had been like sisters with the princess ever since they were wee little things. One time, when Willuna was six and the twins four, Willuna had tripped and scraped her knee. Willuna had just brushed herself off and ordered the offending rock executed - which basically involved her father ordering his honour guard to drop the stone into the castle's moat. On the other hand Ilsa hadn't stopped crying for a week. When Willuna was eight a very young magician, barely into his teens, had come to the court to show off his tricks. Willuna had been the loudest to laugh when an astonishing variety of animals had escaped from the boy magician's sleeve before their appointed time. It hadn't helped any that the young princess had been responsible for the mass escape - she'd snuck up behind the boy and released all of his animals. Ilsa and Elsa had made sure to point and laugh just as loud as the princess. All of which is to say that their lives were as intertwined as creepers of ivy. Willuna's joy was the twins' joy, and of course the same can be said for their shared sorrows.)
Willuna dropped herself into a chair positioned just so, so that the light coming through the window behind her would shine through her thick, rich hair. Elsa stood in attendance at Willuna's right hand. Willuna took a deep breath, hoping to settle her galloping heart, then gave Ilsa a nod. The handmaiden gulped and swung open the door.
Anisim, King of the Family Wolf, strode in. Ladies, and gentlemen of the persuasion, have you ever encountered a man so handsome that he made the back of your knees sweaty? A man so ruggedly good-looking that you had to fan yourself after he left? Anisim looked like the brother of that man, the brother who got all the looks. His shoulders were broad and moved with muscle under his black shirt. His chin was square and strong, and his teeth perfect in an age when dental care basically involved avoiding hitting yourself in the mouth with a rock. He was still wearing his travelling clothes, his black cloak with its silver lining stained from the roads, his boots had been more or less scraped clean but it had been a hasty job and bits of dried mud still clung here and there. Willuna felt her heart pick up its already quick pace; Anisim was so madly in love with her he hadn't even bothered to clean up before he came to give her his proposal!
The king came over to Willuna and took up her hand to kiss it. "Willuna," he said, "look at you, you're a vision."
"Thank you, your Highness, you look fairly well yourself. You may go girls."
The twins didn't move. The both of them stood, identically, with their jaws open, eyes teary, hands clasped tightly in front of them.
"Girls?" Still nothing. Willuna gave Anisim a smile then reached over and pinched Elsa's hand. The handmaiden jumped then ran over to drag her sister out into the hall. They gave one final peek back into the room at this moment of moments, then shut the door behind them.
"Wine?" said Willuna.
"Please."
Willuna stood and went to a sideboard to pour them both a goblet. She arched a pretty eyebrow at the king. "No chaperone?" she said. "What will people think?"
"This sort of thing is best done in private."
That was it. That was the clincher. Not that Willuna had ever had a doubt that Anisim was going to do the right thing and propose to her, but still, now it was completely for sure. What else would a brave man like this prefer to do in private? Well, besides, you know, that. Willuna dipped her head, hoping Anisim couldn't see her blush. She raised her goblet, ordering her hand not to shake. "Shall we drink to our future?" she said.
"About that." Anisim drained his cup, then moved past the princess to fill his cup again. "I wanted to do this properly, I owe you that much."
Willuna heard the words, but they came through muddy and mushed, like her head was underwater. She was really quite worried that she would faint before Anisim got the words out. She wondered if he would take the thud of her body hitting the floor as a great big yes.
The king turned to her, looked down into her eyes. "We've been friends for a long time."
"We have."
"And we always will be."
"We will." Looking up at him like this, so close, she noticed dark circles around his eyes. He looked quite tired. He must have ridden night and day to get here. Maybe he had been worried about all the princes that were arriving for the feast, worried one of them might snatch her up first. None of them had a chance with her of course, still, it was good for Anisim to know that he couldn't just take her for granted. He'd have to earn her love, each and every day. The princess imagined there were a lot of presents in her future.
The king rubbed a weary hand along that magnificent jawline. "My father was a very serious man," he said, "and he ran our kingdom in a very serious manner."
Willuna nodded. "It's a very serious business."
"I'm glad you see that. It's a world of nothing but sacrifice. As far as… marriage goes I'll need the support of a serious woman."
"Oh," said Willuna, "absolutely." Willuna reached up and took his hand in hers. Felt the callouses, the manly roughness of the skin. Her heart kicked into a charging gallop as Anisim smiled. Here came the question! The question! This was it!
The Wolf King said, "I'm glad you're taking this so well."
Willuna cried back, "Of course I…" Willuna stopped, took a moment to replay back in her mind what Anisim had just said. He was glad she was taking this so well? What kind of proposal was that? "Um, just a moment," said the princess. "What? What am I taking?"
"There's plenty of boys downstairs-"
It hit her. Right in the gut. In the head, in the heart worst of all. She felt like she had tripped and fallen flat on her belly, all her breath had been knocked out of her. Anisim wasn't proposing. The exact opposite in fact, he was taking away any chance that he would ever propose. Willuna shook her head. "Why?" she said. "Why are you doing this? Is it me? Is there something wrong with me? That can't be, I know there's nothing wrong with me, I'm perfect. What's wrong with you?"
"Whenever my father was down on me you were my refuge," said the king. "You were my place of light and laughter. But now things are growing dark. There are all these reports of ghouls and ghosts and who knows what else slipping through the night. I have to protect my people, Willuna, I have to be serious. And that means I can't let you distract me."
"Distract you?"
"Well, you have to admit that you're… surprisingly strong." Anisim yanked his hand away and gave it a shake.
Willuna's senses just weren't coming through as clear as they should, everything was going through her mind too slow, like wading in neck-deep waters. What did make it through wasn't making any sense - she was the perfect princess. People just didn't go around not proposing to her. "I'm a distraction?" she said.
"My father's footsteps lead into a world of chain and mail. You, you're chiffon and lace."
"But
I thought you loved me! You have to love me! I'm beautiful and charming and… and…"
"I do love you Willuna. For what you are. I want you to be able to stay that way. Tell your father that I'm sorry I wasn't able to stay for the feast." The king went over to the door and opened it. He turned back and said, "I said it before and I'll say it again, I do love you. But I can't marry you. People expect me to be their sword. I can't have them thinking you took away my edge." Out he went, closing the door behind him.
That is how Princess Willuna of the Family Owl found out that she was not a serious woman.
Chapter 3
Idwal woke, stretched, thought evil things about the crinks that had taken up residence in his neck and back. He yawned, feeling like he had hardly slept at all. Last night was a half-remembered eon of half-wakefulness, of being just barely submerged beneath the tideline of sleep and being unable to go all the way under. His skin was clammy, his mouth sour.
Rubbing his face, he looked down at the bench he'd slept on, considered giving it a kick. He looked around, stupid with fatigue… why had he slept on the bench again? He spotted his bedroom door, closed. Of course. He'd let that old woman have his bed. He'd probably be the subject of village gossip for some time to come. Maybe he could get the crone out and away this morning before too many people were out to see her leave his house.
He gave a quiet knock on the door. "Old woman?" he said. There was no answer. He tried again, louder. Again, nothing. He turned the door knob, peeked inside. Then opened the door fully. No old woman to be seen. The bed was made, it looked fresh and unslept in. But after feeding the old woman last night he had escorted her in, showed her where there were spare blankets, left her a candle, and bid her good-night, closing the door behind him. But she'd gone and slipped away in the middle of the night. Idwal looked around for a clue - maybe a note. Nothing. It was like the old woman had not been in the room at all.
