The Wizard, the Farmer, and the Very Petty Princess

by Daniel Fox

  The farmer had tried to start a conversation once or twice in that stuttering manner of his, all hesitant and weak. Anisim would never have sputtered; he would have decided that a particular cow was well worth talking about and launched off in a strong, manly conversation. This went on all morning, the princess stomping and the farmer muttering. Willuna was using just all of her being to radiate waves of hatred at the peasant but he kept trying to make small-talk. It was getting pretty tiring and the farmer was just too thick to pick up her psychic hate ripples. She supposed she could have just come out with the words and told him how much she despised his very existence, but she was a princess and her moods and feelings were supposed to be picked up on, not stated outright, that was just how the world worked. The farmer couldn't do anything right.

  Stomping and grinding her teeth with her anger frothing blackly at the edges of her vision, the princess ran right into something that seemed at first to be a screeching rainbow. It was only after she had disentangled herself from what turned out to be an astounding amount of astonishingly coloured skirts that Willuna realized she had collided with an old woman.

  The farmer rushed up. "Are you all right?"

  "No," said Willuna, "as a matter of fact I-"

  But the farmer moved past her and helped get the old woman to her feet. Unbelievable! Now even the common stock was ignoring her.

  Idwal got a look at the old woman's face. "Oh, it's you," he said with surprise. He turned to Willuna, who was still on her behind on the ground, glaring daggers up at him. Daggers that were being ignored. "This is the dear lady I was telling your father about, the one who stayed-"

  "Are you going to help me up or not?" Willuna stuck out her hand.

  Idwal grabbed it and yanked her up to her feet, but he had already returned his attention back to the old woman. "Are you hurt?" he asked her, "Can we do anything for you?"

  "Well," said the old woman, dusting off her skirts, "I wouldn't turn my nose up if you offered something to eat."

  "Sorry," said Willuna, clearly not sorry at all, "we're all out. Come along farmer."

  "Could we give you some money?" Idwal asked the old woman.

  "I hope you mean your money," said Willuna.

  The farmer gave the old woman a smile, then moved Willuna a bit away for a private conversation. "I don't have any money," he said. "Your friend the miser took all mine, remember?"

  "How did he do that anyway?"

  "Er, never mind. Are you going to help her or not?"

  "Why should I?"

  "Because she's an old woman-"

  "Obviously."

  "And she's in need. Oh! Plus, she's one of your subjects. Aren't you at all, what would you call it, obligated to help her out? To give in her time of need?"

  "You're one of my subjects and I wouldn't bother to give you a disease, never mind my money."

  "What would your father do? After all you are now, you know, the queen."

  Talk of daddy hit home. He would've given the old bag some money. He probably would have given her the cloak off his back and a ride home on his horse. Willuna had never been able to make him understand that he couldn't save everyone. One had to sacrifice for the greater good. Still, perhaps just this one time.

  "Alright," she said, "in my father's name." She turned away, much as the Miser had done, and dug out her three coins. She was just about to turn back with them but hid one away. They were hers after all.

  She brushed past the farmer and thrust out her hand, proudly displaying her two coins. "Feast your eyes on this, old crone!"

  The old woman blinked. The farmer blinked. Willuna took in all this blinking, deciding that "nonplussed" was the best word to describe it, and said, "What?"

  "That's all you're going to give her?"

  Willuna looked down at the coins in her hand. All? What did he mean all? It was two thirds of her earnings! "This is all I have," she said.

  The farmer frowned. "You worked how many hours for that man?"

  "I wanted to buy myself a new dress for Anisim to see me in. Isn't this enough?"

  "Deary," said the old woman kindly, "that's not enough to buy the needle to sew the thread to make the dress."

  "Why didn't you ask for more?" said the farmer.

  "I didn't know!" Willuna burst into tears. Everything was so ridiculously difficult outside of the castle! "Here, take them," she sobbed, and shoved the coins into the old woman's hands. She then turned and slouched her way over to the side of the road where she slumped down onto a tree stump to have herself a good cry.

  "Now dear, no need for all that. I'll tell you what - because of your kindness I will grant you two wishes, one for each of your coins."

  "Yes, um," said the farmer in a doubtful voice, "that's very kind of you madam I'm sure-"

  "Don't you 'madam' me! I can do it! I, for one, have been on an adventure or two and have picked up all sorts of tricks along the way." She turned to Willuna. "Come on then love, make a wish."

  Willuna sobbed on. She flapped a hand at the old woman, clearly believing the old woman's talk to be nothing more than nonsense.

  So the old woman turned to the farmer. "You then young sir, take the first wish so your lady can see the truth of the matter. Perhaps you could wish for your money back and more."

  "Oh no, not me. I like many things much more than money. Let's see…" The farmer tapped a finger against his lip, dreaming about all the things a farmer would desire. Willuna figured she might be about to see a man have relations with a sheep. "Ah! I know!"

  "That took you a bit of thinking," said the old woman.

  "Well, as I told the… er. Friend, as I told our friend, I've never really wanted anything. But! Just these past few days I was in Owltown and saw a great many musicians making a great many people happy with their music. So that's what I wish for. A fiddle. A fiddle fine enough to cause anyone who hears it to kick up their heels."

  "Grand music it is!" cried the old woman. She did the oddest wiggle, swinging her hips to and fro, and then reached a spindly hand up under her skirts in a most indecorous manner, and then voila! Magic! She pulled out a fiddle and bow. She passed them over to the farmer who stood with his mouth hanging open in shock.

  "Well go on then!" said the crone.

  "I… I… well, to be honest madam, I didn't think you could… The thing of it is, I don't know how to play. Not a note, not a lick."

  The old woman flapped a dismissive hand. "Pft," she said, "details. I'm telling you, give it a whirl."

  So he did. The farmer stuck the fiddle under his chin, then drew the bow across its strings. And just like that, he was playing. And playing well. Not just well… he was excellent. In fact, he was the very best fiddle player Willuna had ever heard. She was surprised to find her toe tapping. She was even more surprised to find her whole body lurching up and dancing a lively jig. She hadn't wanted to do anything but cry… why was she up and bouncing about? She commanded her limbs to stop, but it seemed even her own body was getting in on the whole ignoring her thing. She danced on, spinning and leaping and having a right old knees-up, right until the very last note.

  "Astounding!" cried the farmer as Willuna collapsed in a heap back on her stump.

  The old woman cackled. "And still one wish to go!"

  Willuna waved a hand, completely willing to make a wish now. But of course she was ignored. She was panting, far too winded to speak. The old woman had her back to the princess, and of course the farmer was doing what he did best, act the part of an ignoramus.

  "I… I…" said the farmer, completely fired up by all the possibilities. "There was this archery contest-"

  "Say no more!" said the old woman, and wiggled her hips again. Down under her skirts she went, and this time her hands popped out with a bow and quiver of arrows. Even stretched out like she was, Willuna had a moment to shudder at the thought of where the old woman was getting all these things from.

  A leaf was drifting down from a tree along the roadside, see-sawin
g its way to the earth as leaves are wont to do. The farmer spun, notched an arrow, and fired, all in one fantastically smooth flurry of motion. His arrow sliced neatly through the narrow leaf and sunk into the trunk of the tree.

  The farmer rushed over to pull the arrow from the tree. Then he bent down and picked up the leaf from the road. He wiggled a finger through the hole left by the arrow.

  "Shoot the wings off a fly with that," said the old woman.

  "Amazing," said the farmer.

  "Well," said the old woman, dusting off her hands after a job well done, "that should keep you going." She waved. "Until we meet again!" She started off down the road.

  "Wait!" said Willuna, finally getting to her aching feet. "I'm ready for my wish!"

  The old woman called back over her shoulder. "Sorry ducky, but I'm all out. Thanks for the coins! Good luck on your adventure! And oh," she pointed off the side of the road to where an old logging track could barely be picked out amongst the trees and brush, "you might want to try that way." With that, she was gone.

  Willuna turned and glared at the farmer. Never mind him picking up her waves of hate, now she was sure she could just burn him alive with her fury. But the stupid twit was tapping a finger against his lip again.

  "Should have asked her about the turnip," he said. "And why did she offer to give me wish money if she needed our money in the first place?" He gave his lip a couple of more thoughtful taps, then shrugged. He turned to Willuna with a smile and showed her his new toys. "Who's useless now?" he said.

  That's how Willuna learned that she could be ignored by just about everyone and everything, if they really put their minds to it. It was a shocking and awful lesson.

  She also learned that you can't make a stupid farmer's eyeballs explode from their sockets using only the surging power of your fury. Not quite so shocking a lesson, but still a fairly disappointing one.

  Chapter 11

  They followed the path the old woman had pointed out. Idwal wasn't sure this was a short-cut home, but the walk itself was pleasant enough. The branches laced together overhead like fingers forming a steeple, cooling the unclouded sun overhead. The leaves shifted, a breeze found its way around the trunks, squirrels made happy sounds around them. It was a relief to know that there was a normal place or two still standing in the world.

  Unfortunately the normality didn't last very long. Not half an hour after they started in they came across a small lane that cut through the trees to their left. At the end of the lane was a dappled clearing, and in that clearing stood a house.

  "What is it?" asked the princess, wondering why'd they stopped.

  "A house," replied Idwal. "A very short house. I mean, it looks rather well-built, the stone walls and all, but it must be awfully uncomfortable. The poor lumberjacks must have to hunch over all the time in there."

  "Or maybe it belongs to dwarves."

  "Dwarves?" The house no longer seemed even remotely appealing. Dwarves were not usually found in these parts. They were not usually found in forests in general, they tended to like things substantially more rocky. Dwarves were just not usual, in general. Why couldn't things stay normal for more than half an hour at a time?

  The princess however seemed suddenly happy to have found the creatures. "Well bless that old woman's baggy wrinkles," she said. "She sent us right to fairy folk."

  "Isn't that a bad thing? Don't they steal babies and make soup out of the bones of men and do all sorts of other generally rotten things?"

  "What? No. Why would you possibly think that? Never mind, I don't really care. My father was very good friends with the short ugly brutes. Well, with some of them anyway, they have their bad sorts just like we do. But I'll bet these are the good kind."

  "How can you tell? Just by looking at their house?"

  "No, I just have a feeling. And your old woman sent us to them, so they can't be all that awful."

  "You don't know that. The old woman just pointed at the path."

  But the princess was already heading toward the house. "This is a blessing. You'll see. I should know, I've always been blessed - my beauty, my compassion… I'm on solid ground here. Things are finally going our way. Fairy folk always know about all the bad stuff that's going on."

  "Well I'd know about all the robberies going on if I was the one doing all the robbing."

  "I don't mean the dwarves were committing the robberies. Fairy-folk just… they always just seem to know things. I had an elven tutor growing up. She was the only elf I ever saw who got grey hair… Anyway, the magician is no fairy, and those were his minions that attacked us at the castle. I'm hoping the dwarves will be able to tell us where to find the magician."

  "Find?"

  "And then we can go capture him."

  "Capture?"

  "And then we present the magician, all tied up and defeated, to Anisim. Anisim is duly impressed, sees me for the serious woman I now am, and marries me. Then it's tra la la happily ever after."

  Coming to the end of the path the princess suddenly darted behind the nearby bushes.

  "What's-"

  Her hand darted out and dragged him in after her. "Ick," she said, "they're hideous."

  Idwal peeked through the bushes. Seven stumpy fellows stood in the clearing, heads bowed as they stood around something between them. Idwal wouldn't have gone so far as hideous, but on the other hand they weren't exactly the most visually appealing creatures on the planet either. They had all the features of regular men, they just appeared to have had someone lay their hand flat on the tops of their heads and push down, squashing everything underneath. They were as wide as they were tall, the lot of them strong with a worker's hard-earned muscles. If Idwal ever decided to compete in something, which was less than likely, he certainly wouldn't want to take on one of the dwarves in an arm-wrestling match. They looked human enough, but were distorted enough to make Idwal feel uncomfortable in their presence.

  "Go talk to them," said the princess.

  "What? Me? Oh no-"

  The princess grabbed up a pointy stick from the ground and jabbed it into Idwal's bottom. He yelped and jumped up, right through the screen of bushes into the clearing. Seven pairs of distrusting eyes turned to him.

  "Hello," said Idwal, trying his best to look completely unlike anything that would be threatening to a dwarf. He removed his cap. "I don't mean to be a bother, but-"

  "Ach, heard, did ya?" said one of the dwarves. Idwal couldn't actually figure out which one had spoken; six of them had beards thick as sheep's wool and he couldn't spot any lips moving. "Come to pay your respects eh?"

  The dwarves parted. Behind them stood a stone bier, as well-decorated as any bit of wood-carving Idwal could remember seeing. On the bier was a casket made of glass. And in the basket was the most supremely beautiful young woman Idwal had ever seen. Her hair was a thick waving black. Her skin was clean and white. Her lips were the red of the best kind of apples. Her breasts, pushed up by her blue dress, almost made Idwal weep.

  Idwal moved closer. "She's so beautiful. Really beautiful. I mean, well, this is easily and by far the most beautiful woman I've ever seen. Ever. In all the years I've been alive."

  "Ha!"

  All the heads turned to see Willuna stumbling her way out of the bushes, slapping at a twig that got stuck in the hem of her dress. She pushed her way past the farmer to look at the young woman in the casket. "Her?" the princess said. "She's alright, I guess, in a common sort of way. But I mean, honestly, who needs lips that red. And those…" the princess turned her head away and waved her hand over the general vicinity of the dead girl's chest, "I guarantee you the dress is doing at least half of the work there."

  Idwal could see frowns starting to spread over the faces of the dwarves. He figured it would probably be best if he turned their attention away from the princess. "What happened to her?" he said.

  One of the younger of the dwarves stepped forward. "Her step-mother wished herself to be known as the fairest in the land. And bea
utiful she was, by all accounts. But it's plain to see that there is none fairer anywhere than our poor Snow-Drop."

  "Ha!" said the princess again. She turned away. For some odd reason the hem of her skirt rode up a bit, displaying what would be considered in some circles to be a daring bit of ankle. Idwal could almost hear her brain saying, "Feast on that!" He turned his eyes away as another dwarf, this one with grey in his beard, took up the story.

  "The way we've got it figured, the old girl sent Snow-Drop out with one of her house's most trusted men. Guess he was supposed to kill Snow-Drop so there weren't no more competition. But the house man was taken with Snow-Drop, just as any man might be, and couldn't go through with the foul deed. He set her loose, and she eventually made her way to us. Happiest day of our lives." The dwarf noticed the princess' display. "Hey girly," he said, "your skinny ankle is showing. And what's wrong with your dress?"

  "Oh!" said the princess angrily, stomping her little foot.

  A third dwarf spoke up. "Somehow that wicked step-mother sniffed out dear Snow-Drop's whereabouts. As it turns out the step-mother was something of a witch, and she set her dark magics to a most wretched purpose."

  Now it should be noted here that accounts of this bit of history vary. Snow-Drop was attacked, this much we know. It's the manner of the attacks that varies. Some of them get downright perverted, if you want to know the honest truth. One fails to see how the witch giving Snow-Drop an overly long massage involving honey and tickling could be considered a murder attempt. So we're going to go with some of the more likely stories.

  The witch had disguised herself as an old woman, this much is consistent in all the histories. She had somehow, magically one assumes, transformed herself into a crone. So disguised, she had first come to the short stunted cabin claiming to be a poor merchant who was selling corset stays. Snow-Drop, being a charitable soul, had bought some of the stays and had allowed the old woman to lace them into her corset. But the old woman had really laced them in, with her foot in Snow-Drop's back as she pulled as hard as she could. Snow-Drop's corset had tightened so much that she had been unable to breathe and had fainted. Fearing discovery, the evil step-mother had hurried away without making sure the job had been done.