Knock Three Times

by Cressida Cowell

  “They are extraordinarily annoying, those children,” said Encanzo. “But I have to admit, I miss Xar when he is not there. And at heart, I know the silly little boy does mean well. I wish I could help him…”

  Sychorax said nothing.

  “You don’t think,” said Encanzo slowly, “we might possibly be wrong about the choices that we made in the past?”

  “Of course not!” snapped Queen Sychorax. “We had responsibilities! Duties to our people! Not to mention TRADITION.”

  “Ah yes,” said Encanzo. “Tradition… of course…”

  There was another long silence.

  “So… what do we do now then?” said Encanzo meditatively as he watched Queen Sychorax’s little irritated foot going tap, tap, tap in annoyance on a rock on the beach, and her pretty little nostrils flaring in and out with temper.

  She really does have an extremely pretty nose, thought Encanzo.

  I wish…

  But then he stopped himself. For the world cannot be lost for the sake of pretty noses.

  “We will have a temporary truce,” said Queen Sychorax. “Not just for one night, but for however long it will take to catch those children. This is a state of emergency, and in a state of emergency, normal rules do not apply.”

  “So, you will stop setting fire to the wildwoods?” said King Encanzo. “And stop capturing my giants and my elves and generally making a menace of yourself?”

  “Temporarily,” said Queen Sychorax. “And in the meantime, I will take care of the Kingwitch and put him where he can never get out of that iron casing. You will get your Droods and Wizards to try to retrieve all these undesirable objects released from the guardianship of the Nuckalavee. And we will both strain every nerve… every sinew… every breath in our lungs, every itch in our fingers to CATCH those children.”

  (Alongside the bearprints, an invisible hand was writing something on the beach, in letters so large they could only be read from above.)

  “We will both lose our thrones, Encanzo, if we do not catch them,” warned Queen Sychorax. “The emperor of Warriors is watching me; the Droods are watching you…”

  “I have always admired your fighting spirit, Sychorax!” Encanzo smiled in admiration. “You never know when you’re beaten. What a magnificent woman you are, indeed! You’re the only person even trickier than I am!”

  “Well, I’m so glad you said that,” said Sychorax, her usual wintry smile warming up a bit, “because most people see my strength as a bit of a downside, but when you’re being a monarch you have to take difficult decisions and—Hang on a second!”

  “Hang on a second, indeed…” repeated Encanzo, as both monarchs’ smiles faded. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking? Is Perdita tricking the both of us? A TRUCE… working together, side by side… is that sensible, Sychorax? Do we trust ourselves?”

  “Working together, from a distance,” said Sychorax firmly. “No turning into swifts or any such nonsense. I’m going to go right back behind my Wall and make it even bigger. And if Perdita can trick us, why, I think we can out-trick Perdita.”

  Sychorax reached into a pocket hanging from her waist. “This is something I carry around with me always, as a sort of promise to myself.”

  She drew out a small glass vial from the pocket.

  “It is the last drops of the Spell of Love Denied,” said Sychorax.

  “You didn’t drink it all!” said Encanzo in surprise.

  “I could not quite bear to at the time,” admitted Sychorax. “I wanted to save a smidgeon of the love, a memory of it, so that it was not entirely forgotten.”

  Encanzo’s face, so stern, so sad, turned young and eager for a second, like clouds lifting on a darkened hillside. It was as if, after all these years, the distant ghost of a young Warrior princess had arrived at the hut of his younger self, the poor Wizard-who-waits, and he lifted up his head, and there in the doorway… there she was.

  “You did love me, after all!” cried Encanzo.

  “But that was my weakness,” said Sychorax. “If I had drunk the whole spell, Wish would never have been born with this curse, and none of this would have happened. So now we have to drink the last drops of the spell together, so that we can be strong enough to make this right again.”

  Encanzo’s sprite, a very ancient one that age had turned so twiglike in nature it very rarely spoke, now felt an urgent need to express its opinion. “I must urge you, Majesties, not to drink this liquid…” And the sprite was so exasperated that it slapped its little sticklike hand on its forehead in its incredulity at the idiocy of these humans.

  It had to be said, the mixture in the bottom of the vial Queen Sychorax was holding up looked very evil indeed. As soon as she uncorked the bottle, there was a small explosion and queasy wisps of greasy green smoke curled up from the wicked liquid remains sloshing around in the bottom of it. It was even crackling a little, as if infested by a mini volcano and little drops spat over the rim of the bottle, landing on the grass, which promptly turned black and died.

  Short of a large sign saying “DO NOT DRINK ME. I AM RATHER MORE DANGEROUS THAN A DEADLY DEATH CAP MUSHROOM SOAKED IN ARSENIC,” this was a potion that couldn’t be making itself any more clear that it would be thoroughly disagreeable to digest.

  “Excellent idea,” said Encanzo, producing a cup from beneath his cloak.

  “I cannot stress more strongly that YOU SHOULD NOT DRINK this spell!” said Encanzo’s sprite, panicking on Encanzo’s shoulder.

  “Nonsense!” snapped Queen Sychorax. “I’ve drunk this before! It’s a little spicy but perfectly safe… Cheers! Love is weakness!”

  And Queen Sychorax threw back her head and took a good swig of the spell. “It has gotten a little spicier over the last twenty years,” Queen Sychorax admitted as her lips turned yellow-black and parched as lemons, and she handed the cup to Encanzo. King Encanzo took the cup, drained the last drops, and then he threw the empty cup at a nearby stone so that it smashed.

  Every piece of grass around the stone promptly burst into wicked yellow-green flames.

  King Encanzo turned to Queen Sychorax. He swept her a magnificent bow.

  Encanzo had been wondering what he should do with his heart now that it was turned into stone. Where could he keep it so it stayed as safely lost as it had been in the throat of the Nuckalavee?

  And now he knew.

  The safest place for this stone was around the neck of Queen Sychorax, the coldest woman in the wildwoods.

  “Sychorax, Queen of Warriors,” said King Encanzo. “Will you do me the honor of keeping this stone on your necklace for me? For safekeeping? I know it will never turn back into a heart when it is around your cold neck.”

  Queen Sychorax looked at King Encanzo. Without speaking, she put the small gray pebble around her neck, next to the other, much more splendid beads.

  Queen Sychorax nodded. And then she turned away.

  If she hadn’t been such a magnificent queen… if she hadn’t just drunk the last drops of the Spell of Love Denied… you might have thought she was thinking about crying.

  But…

  “LOVE IS WEAKNESS!” cried Queen Sychorax.

  “LOVE IS WEAKNESS!” replied King Encanzo.

  And then they both climbed on the back of Encanzo’s snowcat.

  “I will escort you to your troops,” said Encanzo.

  “I will allow you to escort me,” said Queen Sychorax.

  They had a short, swift exchange about who was going to be driving the snowcat. (Queen Sychorax won.)

  And then they had a conversation that I am at a loss to understand, given the terrible nature of the spell they had just drunk.

  “Will you also allow me to lend you my cloak?” said Encanzo. “You look a little chilly.”

  “Warrior queens never get cold—we are far too tough,” said Sychorax, shivering. “But you look a little warm yourself. So I will carry your coat for you as a favor just this once, to prevent you from overheating…”

&
nbsp; Encanzo gave his cloak to Queen Sychorax, and Queen Sychorax kicked her heels imperiously, and Encanzo’s snowcat set off in the direction of Queen Sychorax’s army.

  Inexplicable.

  And then the beach was empty.

  Looking down over the edge of the door, high up in the air, Wish and Xar and their companions could finally see what Perdita had written in enormous letters in the sand of the empty beach.

  26. Catch Them if You Can

  Up above, the invisible door flew much higher than Wish and Xar had ever flown before, as high as Wish dared fly it without them all passing out from lack of oxygen.

  They didn’t stay invisible long because Perdita had told them that it was dangerous.

  Flying the door at that height was very hard work, so Wish could only take them as far as would be out of reach of Queen Sychorax’s troops and Encanzo’s Wizards and Droods. Xar knew a good hiding place. (Of course he did—Xar had good hiding places hidden all over the wildwoods.) The hiding place was high on a mountaintop, in a great cave hidden behind a waterfall.

  They were outlaws, on the run again.

  They built the fire in the entrance to the cave, behind the waterfall so it wouldn’t be seen by anyone who might be searching for them, but where they could still get a good view of the surrounding landscape. “We’ll take it in turns to keep watch through the night,” said Xar.

  It was a cave that had been inhabited for many thousands of years before their own time, and they knew this because it was decorated with drawings of animals, bears and wolves and snowcats just like their own, and deeper in the cave still, with the bright red human handprints of their ancestors. This immediately made them feel at home, as if the hands of their forebears were waving them hello, helping them along in their quest with a handshake from the past.

  Tiffinstorm had brought along a piece of fire from Perdita’s grate in the Lair of the Bear, and somehow that made the cave feel more homey and as if Perdita was there with them. The sprites made the fire burn all different colors, and as the water of the sea steamed out of the shaggy fur of the animals and up into the night, they all felt the coldness of the Nuckalavee adventure being warmed out of them.

  They were all tired, so tired, and happy and grateful and sad all at the same time. Happy and grateful to be back in the adventure of it all once more, sad because they were worried about Squeezjoos and were missing Perdita and Pook’s Hill already. Happy and grateful because they had defeated the Nuckalavee, sad because they had temporarily lost Squeezjoos and knew that greater confrontation was still to come. Xar was unusually quiet.

  “We’ve lost Squeezjoos,” said Xar. “He is somewhere back there, with the Kingwitch, and it is all my fault and the fault of this Witch-stain.”

  So it was Wish and Bodkin who had to cheer Xar up this time.

  “Don’t worry, Xar,” said Wish. “We’ll rescue Squeezjoos, I promise you we will, and we’ll get rid of your Witch-stain too.”

  Bodkin could feel his heart beating quick at the thought of it. Courage! thought Bodkin to himself. I have fought the Nuckalavee and lived, so I am as brave as the others after all.

  “So,” said Bodkin. “What do we do now?”

  “I’m afraid you’re not going to like the plan, Bodkin,” warned Wish.

  Bodkin swallowed. He KNEW he wasn’t going to like the plan. “Tell me anyway,” said Bodkin. “What IS the plan?”

  “The good news is, we’ve got the ingredients for the spell to get rid of Witches,” said Wish.

  “Here they are!” said the Once-sprite, getting them out of Xar’s waistcoat and proudly displaying them. “One Giant’s Last Breath from Castle Death (forgiveness). Two feathers from a Witch (desire). Three tears of a Frozen Queen (tenderness). Four scales of the Nuckalavee (courage). And five tears of the Drood from the Lake of the Lost (endurance).”

  “Okay,” said Bodkin, “we’ve got the ingredients… What’s the bad news?”

  “We make the spell, and then we go in search of the Kingwitch,” said Wish.

  “That’s a terrible plan!” said Bodkin.

  “I said you wouldn’t like it. But we promised Squeezjoos we would rescue him,” said Wish, “and just as Perdita said, you can’t run away forever. And when we find the Kingwitch, I’ll make a bargain with him.”

  “Bargaining with Witches isn’t a good idea, Wish,” said Bodkin. “Look how the bargaining with the Nuckalavee went! Not well, let’s face it.”

  “We didn’t get rid of the Magic completely last time,” said Wish. “But we have a second chance, and this time it’s going to be different. I will say to the Kingwitch, if he takes away the last bit of Witchblood from Squeezjoos and Xar, I will use my Magic to let him out of his iron prison.”

  “Brilliant plan!” said Xar admiringly. “There’s no other way for the Kingwitch to get out of that iron ball, so I bet he goes for it. And I promise I won’t take my hand away too early this time.” *

  “You’re going to let the Kingwitch out of his iron prison?” squeaked Bodkin. “DELIBERATELY? And THEN what are you going to do???”

  “We’re going to FIGHT him,” said Wish. “Using the spell to get rid of Witches, and the Enchanted Sword, and all our might and main…”

  “But you’re absolutely terrible at spellfights, Wish! Remember, back at the learning place, you kept losing and turning into a fluffbuttle! And even Perdita said you weren’t ready to face the Kingwitch yet!” panicked Bodkin.

  “We haven’t got time to be ready, Bodkin,” said Wish. “Xar is getting worse every day, aren’t you, Xar?”

  “I have to admit I’m not feeling great,” admitted Xar.

  “Anyway, there’s a good chance we’ll never be ready,” said Wish.

  “But if the Kingwitch wins the spellfight, he’s going to get his claws on Magic-that-works-on-iron!” said Bodkin.

  “However, if we don’t do this, Squeezjoos and Xar are going to be lost forever,” said Wish. “Squeezjoos will be frightened and alone, and he’s going to be relying on US, Bodkin. Remember how you felt when you were in the cavern of the Nuckalavee? What kept you going was knowing that we were going to rescue you.”

  Bodkin knew this was right.

  “COURAGE!” said Xar. “COURAGE and dancing is what we do now…”

  So as night fell, the little party of outlaws danced defiantly around their fire.

  We never know what tomorrow might bring.

  So tonight… we must dance.

  First they danced wildy, recklessly, to a song they just made up on the spur of the moment, called…

  ONE more second chance

  ONE more silly dance

  I shall grow up and my heart will turn

  As cold as a stone

  As hard as a rock

  I’ll walk stiff and talk grave and only sleep in the nighttime

  But till that time…

  Dance, sprite, dance!

  Dance by the light of the moon!

  You’ve got to dance till the sun comes up

  For tomorrow will come too soon

  Howl, wolves, howl!

  Yell to the wind in the trees

  You have to make your voices heard

  Above the roaring din of the breeze

  We left our home a lifetime ago and we are wandering still

  We don’t know where we’re going or what’s behind that hill

  But Wizards were built to wander and I never want to stop

  So dance! Snowcats, dance! Make your old bones hop!

  We cannot stop our dancing for this nighttime is too cold

  If we keep up this whirling, we never may grow old

  So jiggle your antennae, sprites! Wolves move your frosty bones!

  If we cease the capering, our hearts will turn to stones!

  And then Xar made his flute play that old favorite, “Once We Wizards, Wandering Free.” And Caliburn sang “We’re the best! We’re the best! We’re just the most marvelous, magnificent best!” but it made him
cry to sing it without Perdita, so they moved on to Crusher’s song.

  Let me lead a GIANT’S life

  NO LITTLE steps, no holding back!

  A GIANT way, a GIANT’S track!

  We will leave them dancing, because that is always a good place to leave people. And as they danced, putting on their biggest, loudest GIANT voices, Crusher himself was wandering down in the valley, talking to the ruins of the trees in the forest that Sychorax had burned.

  “Fear not, dear trees, you shall rise again. I see you in my mind’s eye, taller than I am… stretching up your limbs to the watching moon… carrying the dreams of birds and the hopes of the world in your bright and spreading branches…

  “You will grow again, dear trees, that I promise.

  “For tomorrow is another day…”

  Epilogue

  by the Unknown Narrator

  Looking into the past is like looking down into a deep, deep well. Imagine that deep, deep well, where the water at the bottom of it represents the time that a person first walked on the earth. People have been on this earth for so long that if you threw a stone down that well it would be at least five minutes before you heard the splash of the stone hitting the water.

  Even down at the bottom of the well, people were telling stories, whispered in the night from adult to child and handed down like jewels from generation to generation, though the well is so deep and so dark, and they are so far away, that the stories can get lost to us.

  But just recently, people have begun to write down their experiences, so that their voices are trapped in the paper of the trees they are writing on. We call these things “books,” and they will be a clever way of shedding a little light in the darkness…

  This is one of those stories.

  Notice how the crucible of the story changes those who listen to it, those who are within it, and the person who is telling it, all at the same time.