The impasse might have gone on much longer if the lamb had not chosen that moment to investigate the new arrival. It tottered forward, its hooves making soft crunching noises against the rush mats that covered the floor. Blanche gasped. Forgetting her own fear, she ran to the lamb’s side and pulled it back toward the hearth, away from the bear.
“Thou foolish creature!” Blanche scolded the lamb. “Stay where thou‘rt meant to. Or dost thou desire to be eaten?”
Blanche settled the lamb in its place and turned, to find the bear’s eyes fixed reproachfully on her. She caught her breath, then said as steadily as she could, “I apologize if my words offended thee, bear. Yet I pray thee, remember that not all thy kind have thy restraint. I’d not have this lamb grow too familiar with thee, lest it come to grief with some other of thy fellows.”
The bear nodded awkwardly and looked away, and Blanche thought it seemed ashamed. Much of her fear vanished in concern. Impulsively, she reached out and laid a hand on the bear’s shoulder, where the fur was matted and still damp from the snow.
Rosamund’s gasp of horror mingled with the Widow’s dismayed cry of “Blanche!” The bear flinched, and Blanche pulled back as if she had been stung. Blanche and the bear stared at each other. Then, slowly, Blanche put out her hand once more.
“Blanche, do not!” the Widow said sharply.
“Nay, Mother, thou hast said there’s no harm here,” Blanche replied, but she drew away. “And I think he was as startled as I. Wast not, bear?”
Hugh gave a careful nod. Blanche smiled at her mother. “Seest thou? ‘Tis no common bear, Mother; thou hast said as much thyself. ”
“Of a certainty, ‘tis most uncommon large,” Rosamund said tartly. She was surprised by, and a little jealous of, Blanche’s unaccustomed bravery, and so she spoke more sharply than she intended.
“Rosamund.” The Widow gave Rosamund a warning look, and Rosamund flushed. Satisfied that Rosamund would say nothing else that might irritate their alarming guest, the Widow turned back to the bear. It was, as Rosamund had pointed out, very large; it was also very black and bearish. If only its eyes were not so strange and human ... “Bear,” said the Widow, “art thou of Faerie?”
Hugh hesitated, knowing that he could no longer truthfully make such a claim yet unsure whether the Widow cared for such nice distinctions. He shook his head, then nodded and looked up at the Widow, hoping for understanding.
The Widow stared in complete incomprehension. Blanche looked at her mother, then back to Hugh and said gently, “Wast thou once of Faerie, but art no more?”
Gratefully, Hugh nodded. Blanche looked at her mother again, and the Widow nodded encouragingly. “Hast thou abandoned thy former home, then?” Blanche asked. Hugh shook his head in the negative. “Wast thou cast out?”
Again, Hugh nodded. Blanche hesitated. “Was it thine own faults which brought this banishment upon thee?”
Hugh shook his head emphatically. There was a moment’s silence. Then the Widow said, “Bear, is this thy true form?”
Hugh shut his eyes, wishing that bears could weep as men did, and shook his head again.
“Mother!” said Rosamund. “Meanest thou he is enchanted?”
“ ‘Tis likely,” the Widow replied, while the bear nodded again.
Blanche reached out to touch Hugh’s shoulder briefly. “Poor bear,” she murmured.
Rosamund studied the bear with considerably less fear and more interest. “What wast thou, ere thou wast made a bear?” she asked. “Wast thou some strange creature of Faerie, or wast thou human-shaped?”
Since this question was obviously too complex for a simple yes-or-no response, Hugh did not answer. Realizing her mistake, Rosamund restated it more plainly, and soon determined that the bear’s true shape was manlike.
“Mother, thinkest thou that we may find some way to remedy this spell?” Rosamund asked.
“Perhaps,” the Widow answered cautiously. “But thou wilt recall that thou and thy sister did promise just this evening to forego the working of spells if I would tell you more of them.”
“Mother!” Blanche said. “How canst thou compare that to the breaking of such a horrible enchantment as is this? And how can we refuse to do all in our power to correct this evil?”
The Widow hesitated, but she knew her daughter was right. “We cannot refuse,” she replied with a smothered sigh. “But ‘twill be neither easy nor safe even to try, and success is most uncertain. My small store of knowledge may not be enough for this task.”
“Doubt not that thou‘lt do it, Mother,” Rosamund assured her with the buoyant confidence of youth. “And we’ll take whatever measures thou thinkst necessary for our safety, and observe them to the smallest detail.”
“‘Tis not enough,” the Widow said. Rosamund and Blanche looked at her in surprise, and she smiled through her apprehension. “Nay, look not so grim; I cannot deny you parts in this whate’er my wishes, for I’ll need your help. But ‘twill not be sufficient for you two to follow all my strictures. You must both be wary of yourselves, and careful beyond what I tell you. This matter is of Faerie, and will require all your caution and good sense.”
Rosamund looked sober, and Blanche solemn. “We understand, Mother,” Blanche said.
Rosamund nodded agreement. “What must we do?” she asked.
The Widow smiled. “Little enough, for tonight. Settle thyself beside the fire, sir bear, where thou‘lt be warmer and less a hindrance to my daughters and me. Rosamund, Blanche, go back to your places, and we’ll question this bear further while we work. We must know more of this spell ere we attempt to counter it.”
Rosamund and Blanche were a little disappointed by this prosaic answer, but they did as they were told. In contrast, Hugh, settling himself carefully on the hearth, felt a faint stirring of hope. He quashed it firmly. He had no doubt that his mother had used every power at her disposal to counteract the spell that bound him, and where the Queen of Faerie herself had failed, what could a mere mortal accomplish?
Questioning the bear became a game for Rosamund and Blanche, and the evening passed quickly. When the time came to put out the rushlight and go to sleep, they had established that the bear did not know who had enchanted him or why, that he had no friends in Faerie on whom to call, and that the spell had struck him on the afternoon of All Hallows’ Eve. This last information made Blanche and Rosamund exchange speculative glances, but a warning look from their mother made them keep silent about the two sorcerers they had seen at the edge of Faerie that day.
Early next morning, the bear left the cottage with stern instructions from the Widow to return in the evening, and not before. As soon as he was gone, Rosamund and Blanche began a lively discussion about their strange guest and the likelihood of successfully disenchanting him. The Widow listened with familiar feelings of misgiving. She had no reason to mistrust the bear, but neither did she have reason to accept his story without question, and creatures out of Faerie were notoriously chancy to deal with.
She let Rosamund and Blanche talk until breakfast was over, then sent them to begin their daily chores.
In the lodging house in Mortlak, John, too, rose early. Impatient and eager to begin his search for Hugh, he dressed swiftly and swallowed his breakfast in almost a single gulp. Then he bundled his cloak around him and went out into the streets of the town.
The snow had nearly stopped; only a light dusting of flakes still sifted down from the dark grey sky. John looked around, then shrugged and started walking away from the river, toward the edge of the town. The passage of wagons and foot traffic had churned the fallen snow into a slippery, ash-colored slush in most places, and he had to go carefully. He was picking his way past a large stone house when Joan Bowes, hurrying in the opposite direction with her head down, ran into him.
They teetered for a moment, their feet sliding on the slush in an attempt to regain balance. John recovered first, but kept a grip on his companion’s arms until he was sure she, too, was firm
on her feet once more. Then he released her and bowed. “I beg your pardon, Mistress,” he said.
“The fault was mine, sir,” Joan answered in a breathless voice. “And I do thank you for your timely rescue.”
“‘Twas but a trifle,” John said, wincing slightly, for he shared the Faerie distaste for being thanked. He stepped aside to let her pass, but Joan reached out and caught his arm.
“It was no trifle to me! I’d show thee now what I mean, but I’ve an errand for my mistress that may not wait. Come to Master William Rundel’s house this evening, and ask for Joan Bowes, and I’ll repay thy kindness well.”
“I see. Good day to you, Mistress Bowes.” John bowed again, forcing Joan to release his arm. Two quick steps took him out of her reach, and then he turned and continued on his way. Joan stared after him, her lower lip caught between her teeth and her eyes narrowed in vexation. She was not accustomed to being dismissed in such firm fashion, and dismissal it had been, for all the polite formality of the words. She glared at John’s retreating back, then tucked her anger and the imagined injury away in the special corner of her mind she kept for grudges. Smoothing out her expression, she resumed her careful progress down the snowy street.
John had already forgotten her in his absorption with the search to which he had committed himself. He slogged determinedly through the slush to the edge of Mortlak, then paused to survey the fields and the forest beyond. After some thought, he decided to begin with the area farthest from the Faerie border, on the assumption that Hugh would keep as much distance as he could between himself and the home that had rejected him. Whistling softly between his teeth, John set off across the snowy fields.
CHAPTER · TEN
“After a time, the bear said, ‘Girls, come and brush some of the snow out of my coat.’ So the two girls took the broom and brushed at the bear’s coat, and he stretched out by the hearth growling contentedly. They soon became accustomed to their visitor, and even began to play roughly with him. They tried to pull him this way or that, they rode on his back, and even took a thin branch of hazel and pretended to beat him with it. The bear took it all very well, but when they grew too rough he would cry, ‘Leave me alive, children! Snow White, Rose Red, will you beat your suitor dead?’ ”
JOHN’S SEARCH FOR HIS BROTHER BORE NO FRUIT that day, nor in the weeks that followed. His magic was no help at all. Outside the borders of Faerie, John’s abilities were limited, or so it seemed to him, who all his life had seen what the lords of Faerie could accomplish. He could pluck a blooming rose from a dead bush, turn dogs away, and mislead pursuit, but skills such as those were not what he needed now. The ring of invisibility was the only thing of power he had been able to bring with him, and it was of no use whatever in locating Hugh.
Stubbornly, he continued to tramp through the fields and forest south of Mortlak whenever the weather permitted, and to follow the tracks of every deer, bear, hound, and ox whose traces he saw in the forest snow. More often than not, he failed to find them, but he clung grimly to his purpose despite his growing discouragement. In December, John hired a house in Mortlak, for he was convinced that Hugh was still somewhere nearby. A few of the townsfolk wondered at the strange, solitary man in their midst, but most were too busy with preparations for Christmas and the Twelve Days of celebration that followed to pay much attention to John and his wanderings.
Joan Bowes was one of the exceptions. She made it her business to learn all she could about the man who called himself John Rimer, and she was irked by how little there was to learn. He ate little and talked less; he went walking nearly every day; and he paid promptly for his few purchases with a seemingly inexhaustible supply of gold nobles, ryals, and sovereigns. He also seemed to have no interest whatever in women, particularly Joan. Joan bit her lips, stored up her growing resentment, and continued to watch.
In the Widow’s cottage, the days passed in a flurry of activity, much of it centered on the bear. At first he visited irregularly, staying away for days at a time and then reappearing suddenly just after nightfall. As the weather grew colder, he came more frequently, until by Christmas he was a nightly guest. The Widow fretted about possible consequences, should any of the townsfolk learn of the bear’s presence at the cottage, but she could not bring herself to turn him away. So each morning she sent Blanche and Rosamund to sweep away the bear’s tracks, and prayed that no one would accidentally stumble over traces of his visits.
The Widow and her daughters worked hard to find a means of breaking the spell holding the bear, but they did not find it an easy job. Questioning Hugh was a long process that yielded little information. He was unable to tell them outright the few details of his transformation that he remembered, and the Widow, Blanche, and Rosamund did not know what questions would produce useful answers. After several evenings spent in this frustrating work, Rosamund and the Widow abandoned it entirely, and turned instead to perusing the Widow’s slender volume of magic in hopes of finding a counterspell. Blanche alone continued patiently questioning the bear, trying to piece together exactly what had happened to him and when.
The efforts of the three women were of necessity irregular, despite their good will. The early winter brought with it a steady stream of customers for the Widow’s cough remedies, fever cures, fleabane, and warming possets. A few experienced women from the wealthier houses purchased stomach cures in preparation for the Christmas feasting, while their younger counterparts sought rinses to brighten their hair. Rosamund and Blanche were frequently kept too busy grinding and mixing herbs to think much about ways of helping the bear. In addition, they had preparations of their own to make for Christmas, as well as their studies and their chores. As a result, their quest for a means of disenchanting Hugh made little progress.
The fact that she still did not know the identities of the two wizards her daughters had seen on All Hallows’ continued to trouble the Widow, but as time passed without incident she began to hope that the wizards, whoever they were, were not aware that they had been observed. Then, on Christmas Day, while the Widow and her daughters were tightening their mufflers in preparation for the long, cold walk home from the village church, Mary Hudson appeared at the Widow’s elbow.
“Mary!” the Widow cried joyfully. “Where hast thou been, that I’ve not seen thee in so long a time?”
“That’s no matter,” Mistress Hudson replied. “Blanche, Rosamund, look there. See you those men with Master Bettgran, the justice? Do you know them?”
The two girls turned their heads, and simultaneously recognized the men as the two wizards they had seen at the border of Faerie. Blanche paled; Rosamund, seeing this, returned a cautious answer for them both. “We’ve seen them before.”
“Where?” the Widow said sharply.
Rosamund hesitated again, then said, “In the forest, while we were gathering herbs last All Hallows‘.”
“There!” Mistress Hudson said to the Widow. “I told thee ‘twas like to be those two. ” Without waiting for a response, she turned to the girls and said, “The elder man is the Queen’s Astrologer, Master John Dee; the younger is his friend, Ned Kelly. An that one chance to cross your paths, be wary. He is a smiling lecher.”
“Mary!” the Widow said reprovingly. “Thou shouldst not speak so, and on Christmas Day!”
“Thy daughters have years enough to be warned in plain words,” Mistress Hudson said unrepentantly. “And if ‘tis wrong to speak the truth, whate’er the day, then I’ve been most sorely misinformed. ”
The Widow shook her head, but smiled. “Thou‘rt near as headstrong as my Rosamund.”
“ ‘Tis counted a virtue in a woman of my years,” Mistress Hudson retorted.
“I pray you, Mistress Hudson, tell us more of Master Dee,” Rosamund broke in.
“Rose! Where are thy manners?” the Widow said quickly.
“Well, but I want to know,” Rosamund persisted. “And ‘twas plain that thou wast not prepared to ask. Wilt thou tell us, Mistress Hudson?”
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br /> “Not now,” her mother said firmly. “Thou‘lt grow chilled with standing in this cold, and we should not keep Mistress Hudson from her family. My thanks, Mary; I’ll visit thee as soon as I may.”
“I’ll hold thee to that promise,” Mistress Hudson replied.
When they left the village and were in no danger of being overheard, Blanche and Rosamund began questioning their mother about Dee and Kelly. The Widow was not surprised by their interest, for though they had not learned much from the bear, they had learned enough to make it seem entirely possible that the two wizards were responsible for his enchantment. Nonetheless, the girls’ curiosity troubled her.
“Master Dee is a great wizard, so ‘tis said,” the Widow warned. “If ’tis truly he whose spell doth hold the bear, it may be dangerous indeed for us to meddle with it.”
“‘Tis no less dangerous to mix with Faerie,” Rosamund pointed out.
“And how should we let such concerns keep us from work we know is right?” Blanche said. “And whoever cast the spell, ‘tis plainly right for us to break it if we can.”
“True,” the Widow said. “But keep in mind that Master Dee’s charms are not easily broken, and if we err we may make things worse than ever for the poor bear.”
“That’s not why thou dost frown,” Rosamund said shrewdly. “Thou‘rt troubled because we question thee so closely. But Mother, is it not wise for us to know all that we can about these wizards? What we know of Faerie has often kept us from falling into trouble there; may this not be the same?”
The Widow had to admit the force of this argument, but she extracted a promise that the girls would not speak of Dee or Kelly to anyone but her without permission. The girls were quite willing to promise what she asked, and the conversation turned to more innocuous topics for the remainder of the walk to the cottage.
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