by Kaylee Rymer
Ivora did as he asked and let out a shrill gasp. They were in a different forest. Giant trees had taken the place of the pines. Their trunks were thick, and their roots intertwined, forming loops and arches across the forest floor.
“Come along. And mind the roots.”
She stared, horrified. “Where are we?”
“Just follow me.”
Weegel crossed through the roots with ease, ducking and climbing over giant loops. Ivora trailed behind, and she soon lost him.
She panicked, but then she spotted his horned silhouette, and she breathed a sigh. The last thing she wanted was to be lost in these strange woods.
Ivora knew none of the tree species. No oak, willow, or pine. Some had hairy bumps, and others eyes. She froze when the eyeball of a nearby tree followed her every move.
“Ivy!”
She flinched at Weegel’s tone and turned around. He stood several feet away by the root of a lumpy tree. No eyes stared at him from its bark.
“Do try to keep up,” he said. “You don’t want to get lost out here.”
She folded her arms. “So why have you brought me here?”
The worcog pointed towards a glowing square of light. It looked like a window.
“Who lives there?” Ivora asked, coming up beside him.
“You’ll soon find out, but do be careful. It’s a rough establishment. But if you avoid looking anyone in the eyes, they shouldn’t cause you too much harm.”
Ivora gave a nervous smile. “How reassuring.”
They hovered along the edge of the forest. A colossal stone house stood in the middle of a clearing. It had a moss-covered front and thatched roof and looked to be hundreds of years old; it even sunk into the ground on one side.
Ivora spotted the giant door, and her heart dropped. “Weegel?”
“Yes?”
“What... what kind of people live here?”
He threw his hood up. “It’s best you put your hood up.”
Ivora did as he instructed and followed him towards the building. They approached the door, craning their necks.
Distant words were written above. “Men beware”.
Ivora gulped.
Smaller doors were fixed inside the larger door. The tiniest had to be the size of her thumbnail.
Weegel opened a door for their height and disappeared inside. Ivora tailed behind, and a sharp smell hit her nose.
All sound diminished once they entered. She looked around. Shadowy faces materialised through the dark, faces covered in boils, hair and spots.
Ivora spun around and bumped into a stone wall. She looked up and blanched. The door... it vanished.
Weegel coughed for her attention. Ivora took a deep breath and faced the room.
They all glared. Every mythological creature she’d ever read about.
A giant, whose round, bulbous head reached the rafters. Two dour-looking trolls with fierce underbites, and a pair of goblins.
The worst scowl of all came from a bald ogre at the bar. His crooked sneer sent tremors up Ivora’s spine.
Weegel leaned close. “Stay by me.”
“I plan to.”
They walked through the crowd. Ivora kept her head down, feeling the eyes of all the pub patrons.
Weegel placed her at a sticky table. Toadstools sprouted up through the cracks, and a snail glided across its mouldy surface.
“I’ll be back in a moment,” he said. “Just heading to the bar.”
Ivora grabbed his wrist. “You’re not going to leave me here, are you?”
He looked down, amusement creeping into his eyes. “You’ll be fine. Like I said, avoid eye contact. Happy birthday, by the way. This was the surprise!”
Ivora gawped at him, speechless. His manic expression told her he was serious. “Well... erm... thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” he replied and dashed off towards the bar.
All the patrons glowered at Ivora. A terrifying pixie bared its fangs, and she shivered, wishing to melt into the wall.
They didn’t want her here. “Men beware” after all.
13. Weegel
Weegel walked amongst the pub’s patrons, keeping his hood low over his face.
“Traitor,” a troll growled.
“Human lover,” a goblin snarled, spitting at his shoe.
A faery hovered close and stuck out its tongue. Weegel wafted it away, eager to get to the bar.
He reached his destination and pulled up a stool. Stannog, a large, balding ogre, paid him no heed. Instead, he towelled a tankard made from mammoth’s tusk.
Weegel coughed for his attention.
Stannog sighed through gritted teeth. “What do you want, Goat?”
Weegel gave a tight smile. “I do have a name.”
“Well, it’s more insultin’ to address ya that way. So what’ll it be, Goat?”
Weegel rolled his eyes. “Two tankards of that disgusting piss you call ale, please, and a favour.”
The barkeep turned towards a row of kegs and poured black liquid into two tankards. “Favour, hey? And what makes ya think I’ll grant it for ya?”
“There’ll be more of her lot coming your way if you don’t oblige.” Weegel pointed a thumb in Ivy’s direction.
Stannog slammed the tankards onto the bar, sloshing ale all over Weegel’s cloak. “Is that a threat?”
Weegel shrugged. “Maybe. After all, I am known for rubbing shoulders with the humans.”
The ogre snarled, showing off his crooked teeth. “Fine. What will it be then, ya miserable goat?”
“I need you to get me an appointment with your cousin Bannog as soon as possible. It could be months before I see him, but you can help me jump the queue.”
Stannog wiped ale off the counter. “Finally decided to quit being fae and live amongst the humans, have ya?”
Grumbling echoed through the tavern. A troll grunted, jutting out his fierce underbite. A goblin sneered, gnashing his fangs.
There were two schools of thought amongst the fae; give up and live with the humans, or fight and continue to oppose them. Weegel generally leaned towards the latter, but recent circumstances had altered his priorities. If he wanted to leave the country, he had to get a safe disguise.
Most in the tavern were of the opposing half too, but more and more magical creatures were abandoning their identities and giving up. The human population was expanding. Soon it may not be an option.
His eyes fell on Ivy, who twirled a long piece of blonde hair. She stuck out like a sore thumb in blue, but it suited her. Never before had Weegel appreciated the colour blue until he saw it on her.
The tavern’s patrons glared her way, muttering and shaking their heads, and something burned inside him. Although he knew they wouldn’t try anything, he regretted bringing her. But it was Weegel’s way of making up for how he treated her last night.
The memory of her heartbroken face still played on his conscience. For some reason, hers was a face he always wanted to see smiling.
He just wished he knew what was going on inside that blonde head of hers. Why had she really left home? And what reason would she have to be afraid of soldiers?
Perhaps she was talking about the king’s men? Maybe someone had seen the Westwind seal on her necklace and snitched to the king? It was extremely likely, given how the town treated her.
Ivy met his gaze and produced the biggest pair of puppy dog eyes he’d ever seen. Weegel held up five digits, and she folded her arms and pouted.
He turned back to Stannog. “Yes, I require a disguise.”
Stannog shook his head. “Why am I not surprised? You live amongst the humans long enough, ya become one. Fae on the outside, human on the inside. You make me sick, Goat.”
Weegel’s blood boiled at the remark. “I didn’t come here to seek your opinion. I just want you to put a good word in for me. Speak to Bannog.”
“I’ll have to think about it,” Stannog replied, wiping another flagon.
Weegel
leaned closer. “Come on, I’m one of your loyalist customers. I’ve been coming here for years, even though I can’t stand your ale.”
The ogre glowered. “That’s because yer too human. A human wouldn’t appreciate the saltiness.”
Weegel groaned and threw his head on the counter. The sticky surface stuck to his forehead. “What if I paid you?”
Stannog laughed. “You haven’t got the money.”
“As a matter of fact, I have five hundred. Two hundred silver crescents and three hundred gold suns.”
“Prove it.”
Weegel smirked and unbuttoned his pants to retrieve his pouch. Stannog waved for him to stop. “Pull yer pants back up, lad. No one needs to see that.”
He buttoned up his pants again. “So you’ll do as I ask free of charge?”
“Yes, so long as I don’t have to see ya unbutton yer pants again. Ya really are disgusting and take it from me. I’m a bloody ogre!”
Weegel chuckled. “I repulse the repulsive? Impressive.”
“Actually feel sorry for the poor girl ya brought tonight. What she do to end up with a goat like you?”
“That’s the thing, she won’t tell me.”
Weegel swivelled around in his seat. Ivy frowned from beneath her hood. He pointed to Stannog, mimicking a gabbing mouth with his hand, and she sighed, blowing her lips.
It gave him an idea then. If he couldn’t get answers from Ivy, then maybe he should seek his own?
Weegel faced Stannog again. “Would I be wrong to assume that Bannog has close contacts with the castle? Many members of the guard are actually fae in disguise, right?”
“No wrong in wantin’ to serve a good fae king,” Stannog said. “It’s the cowards who decide to live purposeless lives among the humans I can’t stand. Cowards like you.”
Weegel could feel Ivy’s eyes on his back. Shame coursed through him, but he had to do it. He had to know.
“Ask... ask him to make enquires about a couple from Chars-town. Who has them, and where are they now. That’s all I need to know.”
Stannog indicated his head at Ivy. “They human like the girl?”
Weegel’s mouth dried up. Had he just thrown Ivy to the wolves? He started to sweat. “Well... d-define human?”
“Don’t worry. I won’t say nothin’.”
Weegel didn’t say any more on the matter. He’d known Stannog five years, and not once in that time had the ogre stabbed anyone in the back. If it weren’t his business, then Stannog didn’t care.
He paid Stannog two gold suns and re-joined Ivy at the table.
The tension left her body immediately. “Thank goodness. I was starting to wonder if you’d come back. I want to go. Everyone’s staring at me.” Her eyes landed on the tankards. “What are those?”
Weegel grinned and pushed one towards her.
She stared down at the black frothy liquid, mouth pulled up in disgust. “I can’t drink that.”
“Why not? You’re a grown woman now, and grown people drink. The law of the land, I’m afraid.”
“But it smells awful.”
He picked up his own flagon, wincing at the strong fish smell. The taste and odour of Stannog’s ale were down to the consumer; whatever they found repulsive, they’d find it in his ale. The reason it was so popular.
“You get used to it,” he lied and guzzled it back. He shivered at the taste.
Ivy brought the flagon to her lips, giving the room a timid glance.
Weegel looked around. Everyone stared. Some even laughed, but most had challenging looks in their eyes as if daring Ivy to drink their beloved ale.
“Ignore them, and just drink,” he said.
Ivy pinched her nose and drank. Then her face contorted, and she spat the ale all over the table.
The patrons hissed at Ivy’s reaction, but the girl scraped her tongue, regardless, eager to be rid of the taste.
Weegel wiped her spit from his eyes. “Do try to maintain a little decorum.”
“But it tastes like goat pee!”
He suppressed a snort, holding a finger to his lips. “How... how do you know how goat pee tastes?”
Ivy’s eyes widened. “I... erm... meant to say it smells like goat pee.”
A guffaw exploded from his mouth, and Ivy flinched as if he’d struck her.
“I... I knew you loved your goats, but not that much!” He slammed a fist on the table, aware of everyone in the room, but he was beyond the point of caring.
“Wait, wait, hold on,” he said, controlling his breaths. “Was it the little pygmy goat? The one I trapped on the roof?”
He couldn’t help himself. Even when his lungs felt as if they would burst, he went on. It had been a while since he’d laughed so much.
“Stop it!” she whispered. “Everyone’s looking.”
Weegel rubbed tears from his eyes. “All right, keep your petticoat on.”
The whole room drew a simultaneous gasp. Weegel stopped. Every patron gawped at their table, both large and small. Stannog gave a tutting sound and continued drying a flagon.
Ivy turned the colour of beetroot. She lowered her hood over her face, leaving only her chin exposed. “This is the worst birthday ever...”
Weegel’s good mood vanished, and he glanced her way sadly. He’d made her miserable. Why was he even surprised? He couldn’t do a nice thing if it saved his life.
He felt at his coat pocket. The wooden horse dug at his ribs inside. Should he give it to her? It may cheer her up.
But what if she hated it and threw it back in his face in front of the entire tavern? He’d be a laughingstock for the rest of his life.
Rosemary cackled at the back of his mind. “Of course she’ll hate it, idiot. You made it, so it’s bound to be hideous.”
He gazed up at the girl. She trembled under the scrutinising looks of all the pub patrons, and he released a sigh. It was best he took her home.
“Come. Let’s go.”
Weegel pushed his chair back, and Ivy followed suit, keeping her eyes on the ground.
A shadow loomed above their table, and an awful stench of roses pricked at Weegel’s nostrils. He looked up, and his stomach gave a lurch. The vilest of all beasts stood before them.
With a crimson doublet embroidered in gold, knee-length boots, and a sword at the belt, the creature looked like any typical knight. Yet Weegel wouldn’t be fooled.
Ivy couldn’t take her eyes off the knight. Her mouth hung open as a blank expression formed across her guileless face.
The creature resembled a handsome human male after all with its flowing black locks, square jawline, and vivid blue eyes. What poor young girl wouldn’t be smitten?
The knight placed a gloved hand over the rose-shaped pommel of his sword and shot a dashing white smile. Ivy buckled at the knees, falling back in her seat.
Weegel brushed a tongue over his own teeth. Sharp and gritty and covered in rabbit chunks. No girl would buckle over his smile.
“My, you’re certainly a sight for weary eyes,” the knight whispered in a voice like honey. “For many weeks I have travelled, but I have yet to stumble upon a maid so fair. I am Sir Varius, lord of Roseblood castle. What is your name, my sweet lady?”
“I... can’t remember...” Ivy said.
Weegel pinched the bridge of his nose. Great. Now she had amnesia.
It had to end.
He moved around the table and stood beside the knight. He had to crane his neck to take in all six feet of him. He’d never seen a more sickly handsome face: sculpted lips, smooth skin, and a straight nose. The knight even had a dimple on his chin, the type women go crazy for, and Weegel wanted to vomit.
It was as if the knight’s face had been carved by angels.
“We’re leaving,” Weegel said, never taking his eyes off the knight. “Come, Ivy.”
The knight’s eyes lit up. “Ivy? A most beautiful name.”
Ivy released a high-pitched giggle, twisting a lock of blonde hair. It got stuck, and she had
to take a moment to unravel it.
Sir Varius gave Weegel a courteous bow. “I’m sorry to have troubled you, humble worcog, but I was just so struck by the beauty of your maid.”
Weegel clenched his teeth. “She’s not my maid.”
“I dare say. I did find it rather absurd that a woman of her grace would be taken with such a beast.”
Weegel threw his head back and cackled. “And I could say the same for you. You’re not so perfect.”
The knight held a hand to his chest. “Well, I do try my best, but we should leave that to the judgement of this fair maid.” He turned to Ivy. “Tell me, sweet Ivy, do you find me charming?”
He arched a brow, and Ivy blushed.
“I... I do...” she said. “Very much.” She twirled her hair again, battering her eyelashes.
Weegel frowned at her. “Why are you still sitting there? Let’s go.”
Ivy gazed up, confused. “Did you say something?”
Weegel may as well be invisible to her now. She had already fallen too deep under Sir Varius’ spell.
Before Weegel could reply, Sir Varius got down on his knees. “Please, don’t go just yet. Stay a while longer.”
Ivy’s face twisted with guilt, and she had never looked more torn in her life. But then she produced another gullible smile, and said, “Well, I could always stay and finish my drink.”
She reached for her flagon, but Weegel got a hold of it first and swigged it back. It was disgusting, but he would do it for Ivy.
He burped, and Sir Varius rolled his eyes. “Most impressive, worcog,” he said.
Weegel slammed the flagon back onto the table and gave Sir Varius an impish smile. Only now there seemed to be two knights looking down at him. No wonder Ivy wanted the drink so much.
“Now we can leave,” he slurred. “Ivy?”
She gave Weegel her puppy dog eyes again. “But it’s my birthday. Can’t we stay for one more drink?”
“Is it really your birthday, my sweet lady?” Sir Varius asked.
Ivy grinned. “Yes. Today I’m sixteen.”
Weegel leaned across the table and breathed into her ear. “Why don’t you ask him how old he is? I dare you...”
She winced and pushed him away. “Your breath smells like goat pee.”
His blood fizzled. “Yeah, well... yours smells like fish!”
