The Wizard, the Farmer, and the Very Petty Princess

by Daniel Fox

  He also learned that the young man who had humiliated him was a farmer.

  And finally, he learned that he valued revenge almost as much as gold.

  Almost.

  Chapter 13

  They returned to Owltown that night. The princess' twists and turns earlier that morning had eaten up a big slice of the day, and the farmer seemed sure that they couldn't make his village by nightfall. But they certainly weren't going to stay in the castle with all those statues, so they went back to Owltown and settled on a good clean inn that sat near the river.

  Dusk patted down the day, hushing noises, calming merchants. Heads that had heard of the curse up at the castle were poking out, cautious, stuffy from being inside all day with their fear trapped up with them behind the shutters. No curse came down with a breath of the thick evening air, only the scents of lilacs. One laugh was ventured, another town person answered with a guffaw. The town was daring to breathe again, expelling its terror to be forgotten in the dusk.

  Inside the inn the crowd downstairs was getting up a ruckus, singing and drinking away the scary stories that had been filtering downward from the castle's walls. It was far noisier than Idwal usually cared for, but tonight in his heart he called for them to sing on and sing loud, because he too was happy to be alive.

  He went through the door to the princess' room.

  "Naked!"

  And rushed right out again, blushing beet red. "Sorry!" he said. "Sorry! What were you-"

  The princess called out from the other side. "Pulling hay from where it itches, that's what! This isn't the country, I'm not in a stable!"

  "I know! I know it! I said I'd just be gone the one short moment, I… Here!" He thrust his hand back into the room. "Soap!" The bar was snatched from his hand. "I had the innkeeper draw a bath for you. It's just down the hall. The world always weighs a little less after a good wash. Or so my mother used to say. So, um… right."

  He about-faced, ready to march.

  "Oh farmer?"

  "Yes?"

  "You were good today. Very useful."

  "Oh. Well… cheers. My Lady."

  He double-timed to his own room. Snugged the door shut, and gave himself a pinch. "'Cheers', he says, bravo. Not at all awkward or clumsy."

  He threw open the shutters, demanding a breeze to cool his face. Down below a little girl, the very same one who almost drowned, ran and skipped around her mother, laughing. Her mother finally whisked her up and carried the giggler inside the house across the way.

  Beyond was the river. The type of river that was full of water, water being the stuff that the princess was probably sliding into right that moment to work the soap along her skin… He imagined her sniffing the soap and smiling. He imagined the water steaming, causing beads of sweat to dance down her forehead, out along her small nose.

  He imagined he could really use a distraction.

  Then he heard her humming.

  ***

  She had a voice as lovely as the rest of her. As the princess bathed, and yes, smiled, she hummed a pretty little tune. It twisted and spiralled through the air like a length of silk left out in an easy breeze.

  Down through the inn's common room, quieting the town folk. Heads turned, ears pricked. Some eyes teared up. Memories travelled back to childhood when a mother's promise that everything would be all right was all that was needed.

  The tune carried through the inn's door, out the windows, carried by the town to its children as a blessing. Young couples stopped, telling each other to listen, the melody explaining to each other all they felt.

  The lamplighter stopped in his rounds. The lamps could wait for just a moment, light wasn't needed right away.

  The notes tumbled into the house across the way. The mother sat behind the little girl, brushing out her long hair. Here too the lovely voice was explaining how a mother loved her daughter, all the more for almost having lost her.

  The girl smiled into the mirror before her so her mother could see.

  The mirror smiled back.

  ***

  The tune had lulled Idwal to the bed. He had laid back, arms behind his head, eyes slowly closing. Like so many others, the princess' voice had wrapped him up in the promises his own mother had made, so many years ago. The humming soothed and patted and promised that the sun would come up tomorrow, same as always, that he would grow a little more and grow a little better. It hinted of how good he could become if he only tried, and that if he stumbled along the way there would be someone to pick him up again. It had been a very long time since Idwal had heard a promise like that.

  But then came the scream.

  The promises were cut away. Idwal snapped awake, alert. Out slammed the shutters, up whisked the sash. The streets below scrambled. Terrified town folk collided, bounced away, ran into another, nobody getting any decent fleeing done.

  "What's wrong?" called down Idwal, but nobody was in the mood to answer.

  Then the little girl and her mother joined the mess, either seeking shelter or seeking a way out, gaining neither. "The mirror!" screamed the little girl, her piping voice darting up through the din. "The mirror!"

  "The mirror?" Idwal leaned out further, teetering. "What mirror?"

  He looked up and saw that the rooftops were busy with devils.

  ***

  Willuna had just stepped out from the greatest bath she'd ever had. She was patting herself dry when the first noises reached her. The shutters closed, the walls and door thick, she assumed it was just more celebrating.

  But then a pounding at the door made her jump. She wrapped herself in the towel and opened it a crack, peeked out. The farmer shoved the rest of her clothes at her. With him came the sound of screaming, and there was no celebration in the voices. "What's going-"

  "Quick!" said the farmer. "They've come again." The farmer did a double-take. The princess was standing there all glistening wet and showing an astonishing amount of leg. Willuna grabbed the clothes and shoved on the door.

  A scream burst out from a door just down the hall. Scratches tickled their way across the roof - something nimble was crossing.

  The farmer grabbed her wrist. "No time," he whispered and pulled her into the hall. He ran her to the stairs. Thirty different screams erupted down below.

  The farmer turned them, dashed into the princess' bedroom. Slammed shut the door. Threw open the closet, dove under the bed, peered behind the big standing mirror. "All clear," he said. "Get dressed. I'm going to check to see if we can get out downstairs."

  He stepped out, turned back. It really was just an awful lot of fantastic leg showing there. This time she did manage to slam the door in his face.

  She backed up, clinging her clothes to her. Screams crawled in under the door, through the cracks in the shutters. It sounded like the whole world was nothing but terror.

  "Horrible, isn't it?" said the magician.

  ***

  His minions had lost her for a time. There'd been a lot of convoluted miming from Rotter, and a whole legion of jesters who had returned from the castle reeking of garbage. After that, she had vanished. He'd snuck a look into all of the human castles - Owl, Bear, Wolf, Badger, on and on, until his eyes had grown sore and his temper even worse.

  Then he'd begun to check the towns and villages, spiralling out from the Castle Owl. But she'd vanished, she was vapour, she'd been hidden where his magics couldn't see.

  He'd had his minions watching every bedroom, every dressing room, every castle and every stable that he had a set of eyes for. And as they watched he'd built more watchers, sewing limbs, planting heads. Tonight they'd found her, pulling hay from her dress.

  He'd sent his minions out ahead. "Stir the pot!" he cried after them. "Scare children! Frighten women! Make cats climb trees and send the dogs running for the hills! Tonight is my night! Forever after, whenever the princess has a nightmare, it will be my face she sees."

  And then, from his lonely castle half a world away, he'd stepped into her room, ma
king sure his dark cloak swirled just so.

  "The screams of women and children…" he said, and then stopped, eyeing the princess up and down. "Hey, you're all naked and wet."

  The princess cinched her towel tighter. "If you were any sort of gentleman you would turn your back."

  "Right. Sorry." Turn his back he did, but then he turned right back again. "Hey! Evil here! Show me some goodies."

  "How dare you! You made a serious mistake, coming for me."

  "Really? What are you going to do? Curtsey me to death?"

  "I am Princess Willuna of the Fam-"

  There were a lot of things Bodolomous considered saying at just this moment. Threats. Promises. Revelations of his own dark past. But in the end, sick of this condescending girl who didn't have the decency to be the tiniest bit afraid in his chilling presence, he went with a classic. He lunged at her and went, "Boo!"

  The princess screamed and stumbled back into the corner of the room. Her arms flew up to cover her eyes. He had done it! He had impressed the princess! Oh glory be, oh happy day! Let her ignore him now, let her try to deny that he had made an impression. He had made the impression, the one that would linger with her for the rest of her life. He truly was the Most Evil Man Alive.

  A fist flew in, nearly knocking the wizard's brain clear of his head. Bodolomous stumbled away from the princess, feet tangling in the hem of his robe. Fists bunched up the front of his robe and he was hauled to his feet. He was face to face with the farmer.

  "You!" said the farmer.

  "You!" said the wizard.

  The farmer hauled back and laid in another one. The magician's vision flashed white, then black as his head thumped against the wall. His victory! His sweet victory! It was being pummelled out of him by the dirty hick! The nobody!

  "No!" he said as he was boxed around the ears.

  "Stop!" he whimpered as the breath was punched form his belly.

  "Please!" he cried as he was thrown against the wall.

  It was ruined. It was all ruined. He'd had it all in his hands, all he'd wanted, for only seconds. It wasn't enough. It wasn't fair.

  "You!" he said, jabbing out a finger at the farmer. "I won! Look at her! I won, I tell you!"

  The farmer stood above him, blocking the wizard's view of the princess. "Yes, you certainly do sound like a winner, what with all the snivelling and sobbing. Never seen anybody so happy."

  And the wizard found he was crying.

  Because of a simple, nothing, nobody farmer.

  He'd been about to leave, to take his victory with him off to his dark castle. But now he'd be going empty-handed. The farmer had robbed him.

  With that thievery, whatever little bit of the boy who, long ago, had fallen in love with magic and how it could make people wonder and feel awe, died away in his heart. What was left was a monster, and after this acknowledgement from one mere girl would never be enough for it.

  His face twisted, ugly, full of hate. "I will have vengeance. When I come again, I will tear your worlds apart."

  The farmer reached for him. Bodolomous thrust out his hands. Smoke, black as the deepest pit of the deepest cave, shot out like a squid's ink and clouded the room. The farmer tried to reach him through the smoke, but the wizard was gone without a sound.

  The farmer managed to find the window and throw open the shutters. Waving out the smoke, he turned down and laid a hand on the princess' arm.

  "No!" she cried, "Don't hurt me!"

  He knelt down beside her. "It's me, it's Idwal. He's gone. Did he do some black magic to you?"

  "No," said the princess, her head still down in her arms.

  "Did he punch you? Slap you?"

  "No," she said again.

  "Well are you hurt? What did he…"

  The sound of rattling shutters, not far off, made the farmer stop and listen. More shutters were shaken, closer this time.

  He slipped his hands under her arms, pulling her up. "Come on," he said, "we're not out of this yet."

  This was how the Most Evil Man Alive learned he had not been nearly evil enough. But he felt confident that was an error he could easily fix.

  Chapter 14

  She knew now that she would never have Anisim. She wasn't worthy. The magician had stripped her naked, more so than if he had only torn away her towel, and what was underneath was a coward. A coward could never be Anisim's queen.

  Willuna let the farmer guide her down the stairs into the main room. The room was empty, meals left unfinished, chairs overturned. The fire was crackling down, smaller and smaller, in the fireplace. The farmer stopped her, ran over and opened the front door. Shutters were smashed in in the rooms above them. The farmer returned to her and they ducked down to hide behind the bar just before that horrible ticking sound signalled the arrival of the jesters. They followed with their ears as the soft rustling of cloth moved left to right, from the bottom of the stairs out through the open door. The farmer's ruse had worked, the jesters had passed them by.

  Willuna sat limp beside the farmer as he peeked over the top of the bar. She started to pull on her clothes, not caring what the farmer saw of her. Her beauty was the only thing she had left, might as well share it.

  The farmer checked out the door. Coast clear, time to get while the getting was good. He hurried back behind the bar, grabbed up Willuna, and out they went.

  The collective scream of the town folk raised the hair on the back of their necks. It was like there were beasts circling, caging them in. A roar cut off the left, a wail cut off the right. The farmer sprinted ahead, sliding between two buildings, dragging Willuna along in his wake.

  "There!" The farmer pointed. A rowboat was tied to a post at the end of the dock just ahead, bobbing stupidly as the current played with its frame.

  "Above!"

  Willuna looked up. Long twig fingers were wrapping themselves around the edge of the roof above them. A jester popped its head over, grinning its joyless slit of a smile down at them.

  "Run!" The farmer jerked her along, head down, arms pumping, fear for fuel. Their feet skidded across dirt, then pounded wood as they made the dock.

  Willuna looked back. Jesters were everywhere, too-wide smiles bright in the dark. She remembered herself, just yesterday, wanting to fight them all. Today she wanted to run, just as fast and as far as she could.

  She ended up running right into the farmer, who had stopped to untie the boat. Into the river they went. The river was a feisty creature, rushing and bending like a kitten chasing after a ball of yarn. It bounced them off rocks and its banks and tumbled them head over heels. Between all this tossing and turning and slamming into boulders Willuna had a tremendously difficult time getting a decent breath into her lungs. On top of that her dress was doing a remarkable impression of a sponge, growing heavier by the moment and trying to drag her under. Through all of this Willuna could only think I don't care, I don't care, I don't care.

  Still not caring, she felt the farmer latch a hand around her arm and drag her to the side of the river. Completely unimpressed, she felt more hands reach down and pull her out to stand shaking on the water's edge. Astonishingly underwhelmed, she heard the farmer gasp his thanks; and even when she heard the Miser reply that they were most welcome, Willuna remained fundamentally uninterested.

  But then they were taking the farmer away. Now her head jerked up. The Miser had rounded up what Willuna supposed was some sort of hastily-formed militia. A bunch of burly men, they had the farmer by the scruff of his neck, his arms pinned behind his back, and they were marching him toward the city's central square. Much to her surprise, Willuna suddenly found herself caring, and caring very much at that. Her dreams were shattered, so be it, she would have to live or die with that loss. But the farmer still had his home to look forward to, and his girl, and Willuna suddenly felt very determined that someone in the midst of this whole mess was going to get what they wanted… and it most certainly was not going to be either a wicked magician or a foul-hearted miser.


  She chased after them, trying to push her way through the trailing crowd. "Let me pass!"

  The militia's leader, a squarish sort of man with a moustache that pointed out sideways like the wings of a bird stopped and looked back at her. "Who's this?" he asked the Miser, jerking his thumb back in her general direction.

  "Nothing, a nobody," said the Miser. "Just the farmer's little crumpet."

  "Oh now," said the militia leader, "no need to be degrading about it. She any sort of threat?"

  The Miser eyed Willuna's oddly-decorated dress. "Her sense of fashion perhaps."

  Willuna bristled. Insult after injury! "I will have you know that I am Princess Willuna of the Family Owl, and I demand that you unhand my friend, well, my acquaintance, well, my person who follows me around a lot, at once!"

  The men of the militia and the Miser laughed and shuffled off, snickering about how a silly girl in a silly-looking dress could ever think such a ploy would work.

  In the town square a gallows had risen, summoned up by frightened and angry hands. It wasn't all that impressive, as far as gallows went, looking as rickety and unsecure as the Miser's bones. The folk of Owltown hadn't ever had a reason to just throw up a platform meant to display death; add to that the confusion and fear that had its grip on their collective spine and, well, it wasn't their best work.

  The Miser marched his little troop up onto the platform, steadying himself as the struts squeaked and swayed. "Good people!" he cried, gathering a crowd before him, "before you stands the man responsible for the horrors of this night!"

  The farmer realized that the Miser had meant him. "Um," he said, "no I'm not." It wasn't the most persuasive defence.

  "Don't be fooled," the Miser continued, "he may look the part of a simple, dimwitted rube. But where this man walks, danger follows!"