by S. J. Ryan
“This is not good,” she said. “If we report to the king that it isn't here, he may suspect a trick.”
“If it's not his trick,” Mirian said.
“What purpose would there be for him to trick us?”
Norian suddenly frowned. “Let's return to the bridge.”
He strode toward the entry before Carrot or Mirian could speak. Mirian hastened after. Carrot only shuffled, lost in thought. They had seemed so close! Yet if the trolls did not know that the Box was missing, then they would not know where it had gone, and the quest could be without hope. With that thought, the walls of the cave seemed to constrict.
Mirian stiffened. “They're not there.”
Carrot also scented the lack of troll sweat. She rushed ahead. In the next chamber was the chasm. The light from their lanterns penetrated to the far side, revealing bare stones where the trolls had been sitting.
“The bridge!” Mirian cried. “It's gone!”
It was still there – but useless. It no longer spanned the chasm. The ropes and planks dangled from the posts on their side. On the opposite side, only hacked strands remained.
“The king must have sensed we were not the true emissaries,” Carrot said hollowly. “I thought I had answered his questions about Rome perfectly, but I must have missed something.”
“What now?” Norian asked.
Carrot stared across the chasm. It wasn't getting smaller. “It's too far to jump. The walls of the pit are too sheer to scale.” She peered into the bottomless gloom. “But as we have no choice . . . I will climb down, then up the other side.”
Mirian shook her head at the abyss. “Carrot, not even you can do that safely!”
Carrot stood straight. “It must be done.”
“Let's just wait. I doubt he's left us here to die. He'll come back.”
“Yes, with many more guards. Then we will be his prisoners.”
Carrot started toward the edge.
“Hold,” Norian said. “There must be another way. After all, how did they build the bridge in the first place?”
“With Wizard's help, obviously,” Carrot replied.
“I've seen rope bridges elsewhere in Britan. Surely they were not all done by wizardry.”
“No,” Mirian said. “There's a rope bridge near my village, over the Snoem River. That one spans high cliffs and fierce rapids. We all know the story of how it was done, and it wasn't a wizard.”
“How then?” Carrot demanded. The walls seemed to be closing in ever more, and she was impatient.
“They shot across an arrow with a rope attached,” Mirian replied. “A small person climbed across the rope with another thicker rope tied to his waist, and so on, and from that they built the bridge.”
“That story doesn't help,” Carrot said. “We don't have an arrow or a . . . rope.”
Her eyes fell on the dangling remnants of the bridge: two slender ropes for rails, two heavier ropes to hold the planks in place and bear the weight of traffic.
She met their gazes. “We still don't have arrows.”
Norian gestured to the other side. “Do you think you could throw a rock that far? With a rope attached?”
“Well . . . I can try.”
Mirian laughed. “Norian, you're incredible! You've solved this puzzle!”
“What do you mean, Mirian? You and Carrot supplied the answers. I merely asked questions.”
“But the right questions!”
“It's still only an idea. Execution is everything, as they say.”
“If anyone says that, they are uncreative idiots.”
Later, it would be hard for Carrot to recall what emotions were running through her mind while they labored to put the plan into effect. Once they had a mental picture, though, their hands took lives of their own.
They pulled up the broken rope bridge, produced their hidden blades, and cut the four rope segments from the ties and planks. The rope was too thick and thus too heavy for Carrot to heave it across the chasm, so they unwound the strands. Taking a single strand, Norian tied a loop around the base of a stalagmite near the edge of the chasm. Meanwhile, Carrot kicked off the tip of another stalagmite and tied the other end of the strand to that.
She gathered a length of strand into a loop, and twirled the stalagmite-piece over her head. Norian and Mirian ducked. Carrot loosed the twirling strand and the stalagmite-piece flew across the chasm. Three tries later, the strand snagged among the stalagmites on the other side. Carrot pulled the strand tight and re-secured it.
She started to tie a rope around her waist, but Mirian snatched it away with, “My job, Slender-As.”
Carrot was too tense to feel annoyance, and Mirian was right: the elv was the only one of the three light enough for the strand to bear.
Norian attached the fully-stranded rope to Mirian's waist. Mirian grasped the strand and swung hand over hand below it, across the chasm. Reaching the other side, she looped her end of the rope around the stalagmite. Carrot made the rope tight.
Norian's crossing was hardest. His greater strength was countered by greater weight. Watching him struggle inverted-inch-worm style across almost made Carrot's heart burst, but through determination and reddened, bleeding, skin-scraped hands, he made it over.
Carrot tightened the rope as taut as it would go. She tucked her boots into her belt, grabbed the lanterns, hopped onto the rope, stretched her arms straight, and walked across. Norian chuckled and Mirian shook her head. Carrot put her boots back on.
They went on to the first chamber. The boulder was blocking the exit.
“You were right about the air,” Norian said.
Without hesitation, Carrot walked up to the boulder and pushed. She closed her eyes, gritted her teeth, heaved as hard as she could. The rock did not budge.
Call me, a voice said inside of her.
She ignored it and pushed harder. The others joined in.
I can do it. Call me.
“Push!” she shouted. “Push!”
The boulder remained fast.
Let me. I can do it. Call me.
Carrot growled and lunged. The boulder remained fast – but suddenly it started to glow, as if a bonfire were shining upon it. Carrot whirled around. There was no light behind her. As she turned back to the boulder, a strand of her hair whipped past her eyes. It was orange – and it was the source of the light.
The others gaped at the aura framing her face.
“She's doing it again,” Mirian said.
Carrot willed her hair dark, put her back to the stone, shoved the ground with her feet, and roared. The boulder did not budge.
Let me. Let me. Let me.
She felt a pat on her shoulder. She opened her eyes. Norian smiled.
“Carrot,” he said softly. “You are not stronger than seven trolls.”
Maybe I am, she thought. All she had to do was say yes, and she could find out.
Let me. Let me . . . .
Norian continued: “Now let us use our minds as well as muscles. There must be a way to do this.”
“Then what is the way?”
“Well . . . I don't know.”
“Then what good are you?” Carrot snapped.
Mirian's eyes lit, but Norian held her back.
“Carrot, we must be calm with this.” No, you need to become angry! “We must be calm and think clearly.” No, feel the power! “Let's think and find a solution.”
“Norian, what if there isn't one?”
“If there isn't, there isn't. But if there is, and we think there isn't, then we won't find it, will we?”
“More of your sword-sayings!”
“And they've worked so far, so why stop now?” He smiled lightly. “ Carrot, you're a young person, and young people are full of passion. But you need to focus your passion into clear thought. So let's think together clearly.”
Deciding that he was right, she caught her breath and concentrated. Finally she shook her head.
“Nothing. My mind is blank
. This is hopeless.”
“It is not hopeless.”
“If it is hopeless, then believing it is hopeful is not going to find an answer.”
“Yes, but if it is hopeful, then believing it is hopeful will – “
Mirian poked Norian. “Ask her questions like you did me!”
“Mirian, seriously! All the time, you act as if I have special talents! I do not wish to be patronized!”
“Ask me questions,” Carrot said. “We've nothing better to do.”
Norian met her gaze. He swallowed and said, “All right. Questions. Well, we need to move a large object. So, have you ever seen someone use a method to move a heavy object?”
Carrot frowned. “That is what catapults do.”
“We don't have a catapult,” Mirian said. “And if we did, firing rocks at this rock won't move it.”
“Mirian,” Norian said. “Don't be critical. Carrot is onto something. We can't move this rock with our own strength, but machines like catapults do things that animal muscle cannot do. Let's think on that.”
Mirian protested: “We don't have anything to build a machine with, unless it's out of rocks, or pieces of that bridge, I suppose. But try and make a catapult out of that. And even if we did, again, firing rocks at this rock won't – “
Carrot wasn't listening. Triggered by Norian's encouragement, she was still thinking about catapults. Catapults multiplied muscle power by torsion and lever. Lever . . . .
A different voice, calm and logical, spoke this time. The familiar voice of the old man said: And I shall move the world.
Carrot shot to her feet, so abruptly that Mirian halted in mid-sentence.
Carrot went back to the chasm, and without the slightest hesitation, tight-rope-walked across. While the others watched from the opposite side, she cut the least-rotted planks from the ropes. When she had a stack, she balanced it in her arms and tight-rope-walked back to their side.
It was all too simple after that. Using rocks as hammers, they pounded one end of a plank into the crack between the boulder and the cave opening. Then they shoved laterally on the other end of the plank. Arguably, they were using the plank as a wedge, but Carrot thought of it as a lever with the edge of the cave opening as fulcrum.
This time the boulder budged incrementally. They shoved another plank into the gap, doubling up, and worked the lever again. The gap widened. Another plank, and another – and soon fresh night air poured through and the crack was wide enough for Mirian to slip through. She returned dragging a long and skinny log, and that worked well enough as a lever to allow Carrot and Norian to slip outside also.
Standing under the stars, Mirian dusted herself off. “So – shall we kill the king?”
“You two return to the crossroads and retrieve our packs,” Carrot said. She started down the trail. “Hide there and I will come to you.”
“Where are you going?” Norian asked.
“To see the king.”
“Carrot, she was only joking!”
“I won't kill him. But he doesn't have to know that. If I haven't joined you by dawn, return to Human Britan by yourselves.” Human Britan, she thought. Now the trolls had her saying it. “And Norian, I'm sorry for how I behaved.”
And then she was hurling again down the path to the castle, her coat fluttering in the self-made breeze. The unlighted road was deserted all the way to the castle compound. The guard was snoring and she easily probed handholds in the crude-fitting stonework of the wall.
The Old Castle was dark. The cottage in the rear had a single light. She made a running leap and straddled the window sill, landing all but silently on the floor rug, clutching her knife.
Richard and Doris Lake were in bed. Doris was by the wall, her hair in curlers, faced away and lightly snoring. The king was reposed on the near side of the bed, wearing nightshirt, nightcap, and spectacles as he read a book by nightstand lantern.
The King bookmarked the page and set the volume down with one hand, while his other hand smoothly reached behind the headboard and withdrew a sword that seemed nothing more a long, flexible pole. It had a very sharp point.
Casting aside the blanket, he swung his furry feet onto the stones of the floor, stretched and smiled, directly acknowledging Carrot's presence for the first time.
“Can we do this outside?” he whispered, nodding toward his wife.
Carrot bowed and followed him through the hallway into the backyard. The king slid aside a door made entirely of glass, then twisted a knob on the side of the house. The torches around the perimeter of the yard glowed to life. Carrot would have been fascinated by the gadgetry under different circumstances. Instead, she kept her gaze on the king as they faced each other on the lawn.
“You're going to fight with that?” He pointed his sword at the knife in her hand. “The blade is rather stubby, don't you think?”
The knife blade was stubby, for to be hidden it had to fit in the heel of her boot. Carrot coolly replied, “Long enough to find certain arteries.”
Richard deftly swished his sword blade, drawing infinity-symbols in the air. “I should warn you, I am one of the best fencers in Henogal.”
Carrot wondered what fence-building had to do in the context. “Let's begin, shall we?”
“Indeed.” He pointed his sword tip at her chest. “En garde – prêts – allez!”
He lunged. She sidestepped. Then she leaped behind him. Then she leaped up and climbed onto his back. Then she put her stubby knife blade to his throat, surgically centered over his left common carotid (coincidence unintentional) artery. All of this, in about three seconds.
“Eh,” he said. “I didn't expect you to be so agile.”
“Strength isn't everything,” she replied, her mouth a hand-span from his ear. She pressed the blade hard against his throat, barely short of drawing blood. “You will tell me where the Box is.”
“You may as well kill me, Roman scum. Troll I may be, but I will not betray Britan.”
It took more seconds than it took for their duel for his words to sink in. Carrot lifted the knife, hopped down, walked about and faced up to him.
“I am not Roman,” she replied. “That was a deception that seems to have gone astray.”
His eyes widened. “Your hair!”
She didn't need to see any strands. The dew on the grass was a Milky Way of tiny orange stars.
“My name is not Gwinol,” she said. “It is Arcadia of Umbrick. I am also known as Carrot.”
“The Child Queen of Human Britan!” the king gasped, lowering his blade. “Here in my yard!”
“I'm not a queen, I'm simply a fellow Britanian who . . . . “
She became aware of a figure by the rear door. It was Doris. The wife of the king was wearing a pink bathrobe, leaning against the door frame, and folding her arms. Her expression was stony.
“It's not what you think it is,” her husband said. “We were engaged in combat.”
“That's exactly what I thought it was,” Doris said. “Well, don't catch cold. Come inside. There's pie remaining and I'll brew some tea.”
They went to the kitchen, and Carrot explained her mission truthfully to the king. He in turn explained his antipathy regarding the Romans. It was, he said, due to the plague that the Romans were said to have wrought upon Human Britan.
“In theory,” he said, “our isolation should have protected us. Our healers who investigated the matter believe, however, that the plague was spread not only by human contact, but also by fleas borne on rats, of all things. The Wizard's Hedge, sadly, does not protect us from creatures of such minute size. As our own healers were helpless to stop the spreading sickness, in desperation I opened our kingdom to humans this summer, hoping to learn of a cure. There came no such knowledge, but soon after, the plague ceased. I took that as a sign that our isolation had to end.”
“Agreed,” Carrot said. “Now . . . about the Box. We really do need it – for the sake of Britan. If there is any way you can help us obtain it,
please do.”
“It's no longer here in Henogal, but I know the direction in which it went. That should help a little, yes?”
“Yes.”
“Well, in truth, it is a good distance from here, so how about we do it tomorrow? You can stay the night as our guest.”
“That is appreciated.” Carrot spooned the dollop of ice cream that Doris had placed on the pie. Ice cream in their home, she thought. Was there a society more advanced on all of Ne'arth than Henogal? “However, my friends are waiting for me at the crossroads. I will have to return to them and let them know I'm all right.”
“You can send a message with one of the guards. Have your friends come here and they too can stay the night. Now, Carrot – may I call you that? I understand you are a master strategist. I have a game called chess, which I greatly enjoy, but sadly the guards are no use and Doris is not much interested. Perhaps I can teach you to play?”
Snack and conversations concluded, a brief time later they were hunched in his study over a board by the crackling fireplace, contemplating the array of elaborately-carved pieces. They played in silence until Richard was down a knight and pawn.
With his pieces cornered and face pensive, the King nudged a bishop and muttered, “Hard to believe that you didn't immediately think of using a lever.”
“We have little experience with levers,” Carrot replied, closing the snare with her rook.
“Levers are oft used to pry rocks from fields. Every farmer knows of levers.”
“Alas, we are a hunter, a smith, and the daughter of a village chief. Check.”
“Every villager knows to use a lever to raise a wagon from a ditch.”
“I've never led a wagon into a ditch. Check.”
“You don't distract easily, do you?”
“All too easily. Checkmate.”
“Ah. So it is. Well now, best of three?”
2.
Matt jolted awake and opened his eyes. He was sitting on cold stone, his back against cold stone. Metal chains enclosed his wrists. It was almost completely dark. Light poured dimly between the bars on the tiny window embedded in the door. He recognized the shape of the window, but he wanted to be sure.
