The sight of these things stirred in me an uneasy memory, a memory of an afternoon when I was no more than ten and Wynde and I had crept down these very stairs, each prodding the other on by dares and bets. As we descended, we heard someone sobbing, a sound so filled with pain that I wanted to turn back. But Wynde would not go and—unwilling to give him cause to call me coward—I stayed at his side until, together, we peered around the wall at bottom of the stairs. In that moment, we saw something so horrifying that we both turned and fled.
We never spoke of it afterward.
It was odd to think of such torture being inflicted in the daytime. It seemed it should be a secret, nighttime activity. But in the eternal darkness beneath the castle, I guess, night and day were as one. And it was all too easy now—especially in the weirdly dancing shadows cast by my torch—to imagine anew the screams of the suspected spies and traitors who had been sent here during the days of the war.
Too easy to imagine that their shades still lurked in the darkened corners, waiting to reach out for me.
Yet it was those very corners I must explore if I were to find the queen.
The smell of fungus and wet stone and something worse, something foul, filling my nostrils, I began my search. To my dismay, an hour of looking yielded no sign of the toad queen. What I did finally find was another door. I was about to open it when my torch began to gutter. I took the second from my waist and quickly used the last sparks of the one I held to light it. When it was safely ablaze, I opened the door. It seemed a foolish thing to do—surely the toad queen could not have managed this door. Yet I had searched every inch of the dungeon.
Perhaps someone opened it for her, I thought with a shudder. I wanted to turn back, a want like a hunger. But another part of me, stronger even, was caught by my obsession.
Wondering how deep the world beneath the castle went, I passed through the door to a narrow, winding stair. Its curve was so tight that I could see but a few feet ahead of me, and the moisture on the stone steps was so treacherous—I slipped more than once—that it slowed my pace.
After what seemed like several minutes, my second torch began to flicker.
“Not now!” I whispered fiercely, shaking it.
The flame strengthened, but not by much. I scowled. Surely this torch had not lasted as long as the first.
Reminding myself that I had spent a great deal of time searching the dungeon and would need but moments to pass through it on my return trip, I lit the third torch and continued my journey.
When the stairs came, at last, to an end I found myself standing at the edge of some water, though whether a tiny pond or a vast lake, I had no way of telling, for my light did not reach far enough.
Raising my torch, I saw that the stony ledge on which I stood was, perhaps, five feet wide, and that the water extended in both directions. I walked, first, to my right, but soon came to a place where the water and the side of the cavern came together. Turning, I walked the other way. As I passed the entry to the stairwell, I realized it might be easy to miss coming back, so I slipped out of my shoes, leaving them on the floor as a marker.
When I had gone another thirty paces, the stone cold and wet beneath my bare feet, I came to a small boat. Who had brought it here, and from where? Should I use it to cross the water? I walked on, but soon came to another place where wall and water converged. Turning back, I climbed into the boat. Praying that my torch would last, telling myself I could always make the last part of the return trip in the dark, I thrust the base of the torch between two strips of wood at the front of the boat and began to row. Wynde and I had pottered about often enough on the nearby loch when we were young that I had some skill with oars, though my mother had been scandalized when she discovered it.
After only a few strokes, I could no longer see the strand of rock from which I had departed. I turned to look over my shoulder.
The void ahead of me seemed to have no end.
Every ounce of common sense I had left was shrieking for me to turn the boat around. But I was in the grip of a passion; turning back was simply not possible. On I rowed. My torch continued to burn steady, which was both a relief and a bit frightening, for I knew my final torch might not last as long.
Just as I was wondering if I should yield to the small voice inside that was begging me to turn back, I glanced over my shoulder again and saw a light not far ahead. Despite my aching arms, I redoubled my efforts, pulling strongly across the black water. The distance was hard to gauge, for in that great, oppressive darkness, even a small bit of light stretched a fair distance. I rowed farther than I had expected, growing ever more fearful of finding my way, yet too close now to turn back. I glanced constantly over my shoulder, and at last saw that I was close to my goal. A moment later, my oars struck a rocky bottom; a moment after that, I felt the scrape of the little boat’s keel against the stone.
In that instant, my torch went out.
I could have lit the last, I think; there was spark enough to make it go. But I decided to take the chance that I would be able to light it from whatever provided the glow that had drawn me on. Perhaps better, I told myself, to proceed in darkness. No need to draw attention to my presence until necessary.
I drew in the oars, then hiked up my robe and slipped from the boat into the cold, shallow water. Cautiously, silently, I drew the boat onto the shore. Some ten feet ahead, I saw an opening in a rocky wall. From this opening came the glow that had drawn me the last of the way across the water.
I approached with dragon silence, pressed myself to the wall, peered around, and breathed a sigh of relief. I had found the queen!
A brown and bloated toad as large as my head, my stepmother crouched upon a flat stone about three feet high. Around her—some standing, some lounging on the floor, still more squatting in niches in the wall—was a group of small, humanlike creatures who stood no taller than the stone on which the toad queen sat. Their skin—they were all naked—was a pallid gray, their eyes huge, their hands and feet oddly elongated.
The light that had drawn me came from a small fire burning in a pit carved in the floor.
I backed away, my courage wavering. But one of the imps had spotted me. It cried out, and several of the creatures rushed through the opening. Seizing me, they dragged me before their queen. I thought of beating at them with my rowan wand, which was hidden in my sleeve, to drive them off, but I did not want my stepmother to know I had it. So I did not resist.
The imps dropped me in front of the stone pillar where the toad queen crouched. When I had gained my feet again, she said, “Well, this is an unexpected pleasure. Did you miss your loving stepmother, May Margret?”
Then her broad face split in a grin that made it even more horrible.
“Oh, yes,” I replied. “I’ve longed for you every day since you left.”
Her smile vanished. “Do not be rude, May Margret! Why have you come here? Is it not enough that you and your wretched brother have trapped me in this disgusting shape—”
“No more disgusting than the one in which you imprisoned me,” I snapped, interrupting her.
“Ah,” she said softly. “That was different.”
To my amazement, she sounded as if she really believed what she was saying.
“You—you and your beauty—were a threat to my rule.” Before I could protest, she said, “Come, come, May Margret. You cannot deny it. Men are such fools, after all. And I did need to rule, for your father was ineffective.”
“Don’t say that!” I cried, even as I realized in my heart that it was true.
“Tut, May Margret, you know I speak truth. You cannot be so naïve as not to know that we had hungry neighbors crouching at our borders. I had to seize control if I was to save the castle and its lands. With your brother gone, you were the one thing that stood in my way. I was sorry to have to sacrifice you, my dear, but, really, it was for the good of the homeland.”
I stared at her, astonished.
She sighed. “You are a
true innocent, May Margret. But you are not stupid. Surely you saw the dangers—dangers that continue to this day if my spies tell me right.”
“What do you mean?”
“Your brother wants to marry you off, does he not? To the laird of Dunbar Castle.”
When I did not answer, she said, “Your silence speaks as a voice from the pulpit, my dear. Your brother does indeed have your best interests at heart. But he is sadly deluded. While it is true that Dunbar longs for you, he longs for your lands even more.”
These words twisted at my heart. Was it true? Was the charming Dunbar, who had delighted me so, really after nothing more than our land? Or was my wretched stepmother trying to manipulate me again?
“How can you know these things?” I asked, trying to hide my uneasiness.
“You mean how can I know, trapped down here as I am? That is simple enough. My powers may be greatly reduced, but I still have friends who are loyal to me.”
At these words, the grotesque creatures around her rose as one and bowed, then turned their naked backsides to me and slapped at their bottoms.
“Oh, stop that,” scolded my stepmother.
The imps sat again. Their smirking faces were maddening.
“These dear friends travel the land for me, gathering information, telling me who is doing what and who is doing whom.”
I felt myself blush at the rudeness.
She stared at me for a moment, then said slowly, “We could work together. I know things, many things. You are teachable, even if you are a bit slow. Perhaps we might still save your family’s lands from being swallowed by your suitor.”
I stared at her in astonishment. “You want me to work with you? After what you did to me? After what you did to Wynde?”
“Do not confuse politics with personal loyalty, May Margret! That is a child’s game, and you cannot afford to be a child any longer. I did what I thought was best. And it was not I who put those scars on your beloved brother’s face.”
These words cut deep, and in my anger I wanted to lash out at her. But that would gain me nothing. Worse, I knew there was some truth in what she had been saying—truths which made me even angrier. Why had Father been such a fool? He was old, and tired from the war, I told myself. And I knew that, too, was true. Even so, why had he not done more to protect me? More to protect our lands and home? I loved him, I truly did. But he had let us—let me—down.
“I have, perhaps, said too much,” murmured the toad queen. “And I notice you still have not answered my question. Why have you sought me out? Why not let me live down here in peace, now that I am no longer a threat?”
I could not think what to say. Certainly the truth—that I wanted something of her essence so I could return to dragon form—would not do. As if sensing what I was thinking, her imps began to chant, “Tell the truth, tell the truth, tell the truth!”
“Ah,” said my stepmother. “I believe there is something you are hiding from me, May Margret. Let me see if I can guess.”
I began to feel helpless, as if she were weaving a spell of words around me. Behind her the imps continued their chant: “Tell the truth! Tell the truth! Tell the truth!”
“Silence!” snapped the toad queen. “How can she tell us anything with you going on like that?”
At once, the imps fell silent. Turning her great, bulging eyes on me, my stepmother said softly, “Why not take their advice, May Margret? Go ahead—tell me the truth.”
A compulsion came over me, and the confession of my desire trembled on my lips. Just in time, I realized that magic was at work. Placing my hands upon my waist, I felt the power of the rowan twigs. At once, the urgent need to tell all faded.
“There were rumors,” I said, working carefully not to tell an out right lie, in which I feared my stepmother would somehow catch me. “Rumors … that you still lived. I wanted to see if you were still a danger to us.”
She looked at me for a long time, then said, “I do not think that was enough to cause you to journey to these depths.”
“I am to be wed.”
“I know that.”
“I am not sure I want to be.”
“I know that.”
“There is a spell that can help me, but I need something from you for it to be cast.”
She stared at me again, blinking. “What is it you need?”
“No more than I would get by wiping a cloth along your back,” I said at last.
She burst out laughing. “And what will you give me in return?”
“What do you want?”
“Take me back to the surface.”
“Can’t you do that on your own?
“There is a … prohibition … on my return. It would be broken were you to carry me.”
This was not exactly what I would have hoped for, but it did answer the question of how I was to get what I needed. All I had to do was wrap the toad queen in the large handkerchief I had brought and carry her to the upper levels. As I was starting to contemplate what I would do with her once we arrived at the surface, she said, “You must swear not to fling me back down the stairs once we are at the top or harm me in any way.”
I opened my mouth to answer, but before I could speak a word, she said sharply, “Understand, May Margret, that a dragon is bound by its word. You may have returned to human form, but that binding clings to you still. So do not think to swear falsely to me now.”
I drew in a deep breath, wondering if she were telling the truth or simply trying to insure herself against whatever I might do. I decided to respond with a prohibition of my own. “I will swear to this, if you will swear a counteroath that your imps will remain down here and no longer bring their mischief to the world above.”
She scowled at me, and I rejoiced inside, sensing she must indeed have planned to summon them. The lovely thing about the counteroath was that, were she to break it, I would be freed of my own oath as well.
“I swear they will remain here,” she said at last.
“And I swear not to harm you as long as they do,” I replied.
From my bosom, I drew the cloth I had brought with me and began to wrap the queen in it. Remembering Nell’s warning, I took extreme care not to actually touch her. The imps wailed and moaned as I was doing this, until the queen scolded them to silence. When she was securely wrapped, I picked her up. Her body was soft and yielding, and it was almost like holding a large round of bread dough. Suppressing a shudder, I carried her to the little boat, placed her in the front, then returned to the fire pit to light my torch. The imps made any number of rude sounds and gestures as I did this, but I ignored them.
As I rowed back over the dark water, my stepmother spoke to me of politics, and the dangers she claimed surrounded us on all sides.
Once across the underground lake, I had to tuck her against my chest so I could hold her with one hand while I carried the rushlight in the other. Fearing to lose my light, I climbed the winding stair quickly, despite the growing pain in my legs, and actually made it to the dungeon before my torch went out. Though I was gasping for breath, and had not expected to fear the darkness, a sudden terror gripped me so tightly that I could scarcely breathe.
“What is the matter?” demanded the queen. “Why have we stopped?”
“I have lost my light.”
“Unwrap me, and I will give you light.”
Carefully, I undid the handkerchief, again making sure not to touch her. The queen muttered a few words, and a glowing ball appeared above her head. It was a faint, witchy light, an unhealthy green that turned my stomach. Even so, it was better than the darkness.
When the queen saw where we were, she uttered a low cry. “Move on,” she urged me. “Let us leave this evil place.”
And so, in short time, we arrived back at the kitchen, where I realized that in my haste to get what I wanted I had not thought carefully about what came next.
“Where do you want me to take you?” I asked my stepmother.
“To your room.”
“I do not want you there. The swamp would be a better place, don’t you think?”
“Don’t be a fool, stepdaughter. Put me in the swamp, and I’ll be back in a day’s time, doing who knows what. But if you place me in your room and take proper care of me, not only can you keep watch on me, but I can advise you on what is to come.”
I was not sure I wanted her advice. But I did like the idea that if she were in my room, I would at least be aware of what she was up to.
THE next day, I went again to see Old Nell, taking with me the cloth in which I had so carefully wrapped my toadly stepmother, as well as the three silver cups that went with the first one I had given her. The old woman greeted me warmly and seemed pleased—and a bit surprised—that I had actually done this thing. Eying the silver cups, she accepted the handkerchief, then sent me outside to wait as she brewed the potion she had promised.
Late in the afternoon, she called me back inside. Fixing me with her one good eye, she handed me a small green bottle, and said, “You have but to drink this, and the shape you once wore will be yours again. But remember, child—if you do this, you can never again return to human form.”
I gave Nell the cups, which she stroked greedily with her gnarled fingers. Clutching the green bottle with equal greed, I returned to Arlesboro Castle, feeling deep comfort in the knowledge that I could now regain my dragon shape anytime I wanted. I felt, too, a strong hope that the mere fact that this was now in my power would reduce the desire I felt to do so.
THE weeks that followed were, perhaps, the strangest period of my life—stranger, I think, than even the time I spent as a dragon. For at the toad queen’s insistence, I prepared a place for her in my wardrobe, a snug spot with a saucer of water and a large, smooth rock encircled by some moss that I moistened daily. Here she could remain unseen by Glenna. At night, I would open the door and give her some wine and bits of meat I had brought from the kitchen. As I could not stand to watch her eat, I would busy myself elsewhere. When she was done, she would call to me, and I would return to the wardrobe, where she would question me on the day’s events, then tell me what she thought of them.
Dragon Book, The Page 38
