by Jon Etter
Ginch patted his belly. “Sounds-a good to me. Almost a-getting killed always makes-a me hungry.”
Sir Justinian laughed heartily. “Me too! I thought I was the only one! Ha-ha! Isn’t it a wonderful feeling?”
“No.”
The knight cupped his hands around his mouth and called, “Grouse! O sweet, loyal, diligent Grouse!”
A peevish voice replied, “Yeah? What?”
“Fetch the stew pot, bowls, and mead here!”
A loud sigh came from the woods. “Why can’t we just eat at the camp?”
“Because we have guests, and it may not be safe for them to leave the road!”
“So?”
“Oh, that Grouse! Always he jests,” Sir Justinian chuckled. “Hurry it along, my faithful squire!”
There was silence for a moment, followed by an annoyed, “Oh, fine!” and an unintelligible grumbling that Shade was pretty sure included some of her own favorite rude words. In time, a skinny, sulky-looking teenage boy, shaggy hair completely covering his eyes, stumbled onto the road straining to carry a large cauldron. Like Sir Justinian, he wore chainmail, although he didn’t look nearly as comfortable in it. His surcoat was green with an irritable-looking white and gray speckled bird on it. He plunked down the pot, sloshing some of its savory-smelling contents on the ground, and then dropped wooden bowls that had been tucked under his arm on the ground. “There.”
“Excellent, dear chum! Now would you mind fetching the mead and cups for our new friends here?” Sir Justinian asked cheerily.
Grouse sighed and trudged back into the woods, muttering under his breath. “Nothing I’d love more, you miserable old . . .”
Sir Justinian wiped off the bowls and filled them for the three fairies. Ginch and the Professor gave an appreciative sniff, raised their pinkies, and began to slurp stew from their bowls.
“Grouse’s manners may still need some slight polishing,” Sir Justinian said, “but his cooking is phenomenal! Puts to shame some of the finest royal banquets. Now you’re probably wondering how I, a human, came to be in the service of the most wondrous Seelie Court of the fairy world.”
Grouse stepped through the trees just as Sir Justinian said this, waving his hands and shaking his head and mouthing “no” just as Shade said, “I was wondering. Were you abducted as a child?”
Ignoring Grouse’s groans, Sir Justinian beamed happily. “No, my fair sprite. The Seelie Court has not abducted a child in centuries. Only the Sluagh engage in the vile practice, but even they are now banned from doing it under the terms of the current truce, which is probably the only thing ‘King’ Julius got right. How he and Oberon could possibly share any of the same blood is . . . But enough of that! No, I have been able to see the fairy folk since I was a child, for I . . . am the nephew of the second most prosperous cheesemaker in Bilgewater! And in my young years, when witnessing a Fairy Rade, I stepped forward in awe of the Seelie Court’s splendor, knelt before my lord Oberon and my lady Titania, and pledged my life and my honor in their service! And now, my good squire Grouse, why not regale these fair ones with the story of how you came into service of the Seelie Court?”
Grouse slurped loudly at his soup. “Had the stupid luck to eat a bowl of mushroom soup and then immediately find three copper coins, two heads up and one heads down, in the early afternoon of the Feast of Saint Figgymigg, then couldn’t stop seeing you little jerks. I couldn’t get a job as a cook like I wanted, so I started training with Sir Blabsalot here.”
“And what great luck for the both of us, eh, good Grouse?” Sir Justinian said cheerily as Grouse snorted loudly. “Now, what say I regale you with some tales of my adventures to pass the time and aid the digestion during this fine repast?”
Grouse quickly swallowed the stew he had in his mouth. “Please, don’t—” he started to choke out.
“Yeah, sure,” Ginch agreed. “Why not?”
Grouse looked like he wanted to spit on the brownie. “What the donkle is wrong with you, you stupid little—”
“Excellent! Excellent!” Sir Justinian cried and launched into tales of bravery and battle that enraptured everyone but Grouse—wonderful, proper tales of chivalry and moral virtue and daring-do guaranteed to quicken the pulse, touch the heart, and bring tears to the eyes. Oh, dear Reader, the tales he told could themselves fill volumes, and indeed they do, but unfortunately I can tell you none of them here.
After over an hour’s worth of tales (and an hour’s worth of annoyed mutterings from Grouse), Shade was quite smitten with Sir Justinian, who seemed like he had stepped right out of the pages of Le Warte d’Arty or Sir McGoohan and the Chartreuse Chevalier, but something from before troubled her. “Sir Justinian,” she asked, “why are you here in the Grim Forest? Are you on some mission for the Seelie Court or—”
“I no longer serve the Seelie Court.” Sir Justinian’s face grew gloomy. “I served wise, noble rulers once, but I refuse to serve vain, foolish ones that compromise with enemies and turn their backs on those who have served their kingdom truly and faithfully.”
Sir Justinian looked off in the distance. For the first time, Shade noticed tarnished patches in Sir Justinian’s bronze chainmail, the cracks in his leather boots, and the tired wrinkles in the corners of his eyes. He ran his fingers through his hair, exposing a hole and small lumps of flesh where his left ear should have been. “Oh gosh! Did Lady Perchta—?”
“She did,” Sir Justinian answered gravely. “Sorry if the injury is unsightly. None who go to war come back unscarred.”
Shade and Ginch fidgeted uneasily, while Grouse grudgingly cleaned up from their meal aided by the Professor, who took the opportunity to pocket several pieces of cutlery from Grouse’s stock. “So her face—”
“Was done by a great warrior, lost to us in the last war. May the Great Owl have found peace in the darkness from which she struck.”
Shade opened her mouth to ask about the Great Owl, but Sir Justinian continued, “But you asked why I was here in the forest. With no worthy king or queen to serve, I wander the country seeking adventure wherever it may be found. Grouse and I have come to this forest most grim to slay a fearsome beast.”
Shade didn’t think the little white fox creature hiding in Chauncey’s valise seemed terribly fearsome, but it had said something about being chased by a knight. “What did this beast look like?” Shade asked warily.
“Fearsome,” Sir Justinian stressed. “Wouldn’t you agree, Grouse?”
“Yeah. And chasing it has been one of the dumbest—”
“Thirty feet from nose to tail, with the scaly head and neck of a serpent, the powerful, spotted body of a leopard, and the cruel, cloven hooves of an ox. Farmers in the lands surrounding the forest have lost many sheep to it over time, and I shudder to think how many human victims it has devoured! For weeks we have pursued the beast, but sadly it has vanished without a trace. You haven’t, pray tell, seen the beast in your travels, have you?”
“No,” Shade said, relieved that the knight wasn’t hunting the seemingly harmless creature they were sheltering. Sir Justinian grimaced in disappointment; Grouse smiled for the first time.
“As I feared—we’ve lost the beast. But perhaps we’ve come upon something even better.” Sir Justinian smiled and his eyes glittered. “We have found you, a motley fellowship, daring the dangers of the dark Forest Grim. Surely—”
“I don’t like where this is going,” Grouse muttered.
“You three heroes—”
“Please not this . . .”
“Must be on a—”
“Don’t say it.”
“A quest!”
“He had to say the ‘Q’ word . . .” Grouse sighed, looking like he had just swallowed a bug.
“Surely,” Sir Justinian said excitedly, “You are on some great quest to free the kingdom of the rule of Modthryth and replace Julius with some noble redeemer, perhaps a long-lost brother of Oberon raised by a secret soc
iety of warrior monks, and—”
“No,” Shade said. “We’re not—”
“Oh. Well . . . then perhaps you have some magical object of great power—a necklace or ring or something—that you seek to destroy so that Queen Modthryth and the vile Sluagh Horde cannot use it to—”
“Yeah, we got-a the ring,” Ginch piped up.
“You do?” Sir Justinian gasped as Grouse swore under his breath.
“No, we—” Shade began.
The Professor pulled a pewter ring out of a coat pocket and handed it to Sir Justinian. “That’s-a the ring. The ring of . . . evil?” Ginch looked to the Professor, who bore his teeth and made his hands look like claws. “Savage evil! The ring of-a the savage evil!”
“Wondrous,” Sir Justinian said, turning the ring this way and that. “It doesn’t look like much . . . but I can feel the power emanating from it, trying to corrupt my very soul! What must be done with it?”
“Well, you gotta throw it in-a the ocean—” The Professor shook his head and made an exploding motion with his hands. “No, you gotta throw it in-a the lava—the hot, hot lava—and melt it away! Yeah, that’s-a it. Now we were a-gonna go to the lava ourselves, but I like-a you face, so I give-a it to you at the very reasonable price of fifty gold—”
“My squire and I have no money, but surely—”
“You no got-a the monies? Nevermind.”
The Professor grabbed the ring and tossed it over his shoulder. Sir Justinian gave a little shout.
“It’s not really a magic ring,” Shade said, getting up and turning to pick up her backpack.
“The Great Owl!” she heard Justinian say behind her.
“What is this ‘Great Owl’ business?” Shade asked. “First Lady Perchta and now you?”
“Your wings look just like hers! Are you not the daughter of Nightshriek Glitterdemalion?”
“Yeah . . . How do you know who my mother was?”
“Why, she was the Great Owl, one of the most celebrated and feared knights of the Seelie Court!” Sir Justinian beamed.
“My mother . . . the Great Owl?” Shade was stunned. As a child she knew her mother had been a soldier, but when Shade had asked her about it, her mother would only say, “I did what needed to be done. It’s over and behind me and that’s all anyone needs to know.” And after she was gone, all Shade’s father would say was, “Your mother wished to keep that part of herself private, and I will always honor that. All we need to know is that everything she did, she did to keep us and all the good fairies of the land safe.”
“Yes, the Great Owl,” Sir Justinian replied. “Before the last war, she left us, vowing never to take up arms again, but she returned in our hour of greatest need. While I despise this truce with the vile Sluagh Horde, things no doubt would have ended much worse had your mother not joined the fray. Ha! No wonder Lady Perchta was so eager for your blood—your mother is the one who gave her that scar!”
Sir Justinian’s tales of her mother kindled a small flame of hope in Shade’s chest. If she was such a great warrior, Shade hoped, then maybe . . . “Do you know what happened to my mother after the war? Did she survive? My father and I never knew what became of her.”
The knight shook his head. “The last anyone saw of her was during the battle of Stormfield. The Seelie forces were beset on all sides. Her body was never found, but few survived the onslaught. I’m sorry.”
Shade’s heart sank. She had always dreamed that somehow her mother was alive somewhere out in the world and would someday find her way home. Now that dream, it seemed, was dead.
“But there is hope for the world, for you, the Great Owl’s daughter, lives!” Sir Justinian said. “And now that I know of your noble lineage, I’m certain you and your boon companions must be on some grand quest!”
The Professor grinned and pulled a red balloon out of his coat. “He said-a the ‘boon,’ not the ‘balloon,’” Ginch explained. The pixie took out a pin and popped it.
“Pray tell what great adventure takes you through the Grim Forest. Perhaps I might partake in it?”
“Please don’t be anything dangerous . . .” Grouse mumbled, shutting his eyes.
“We’re just looking for books,” Shade said.
“Yes!” Grouse said.
“Books, eh?” Sir Justinian looked disappointed for a moment but then brightened. “Surely these are books of magic meant to purge the land of—”
“No,” Shade said.
“Then books full of secrets that must be destroyed lest—”
The Professor whistled and shook his head “no.”
“Then what—?”
“I just want to read them,” Shade said.
“Read them?”
“Read them and enjoy them and not be bothered while I do,” Shade said decisively.
“Yes!” Grouse leapt to his feet and raised his fists over his head. “Winner!”
“Oh.” Sir Justinian was crestfallen. “Then I suppose this is goodbye.”
“Wait, what?” Grouse pointed at the three fairies. “What about joining them?”
“They need not our help, good squire. Let us see if we can find the trail of the great beast or some other threat more worthy of our attentions.”
“Oh, come on!” Grouse said. “What if Lady Perchta comes after them. Or . . . or . . . what if they’re lying, and they really are after books of magic!”
“We’re not—” Shade began.
“Shut up! Sir Justinian, I vote that we—”
“I am the knight, and you are my squire—there is no voting.” Sir Justinian turned Grouse toward the trees and gave him a shove. “Lady Glitterdemalion, Signore Ginch, Professor—I wish you all well. If ever you need aid, call out, and if I am within earshot, I shall come. But for now, fare thee well. Adventure awaits!”
With a wave, a wink, and a laugh, he dashed into the trees, possibly never to be seen again in this book and taking with him what was most likely our only chance of proper, rousing, morally improving action and adventure. Now I know you may be eager to turn the page and see what happens next, but if you could please give your poor narrator a moment to come to grips with this sad, sad loss first, I would greatly appreciate it.
In which there are questions,
qualms, and a Questing Beast . . .
Once Sir Justinian was gone (sigh), and Shade, Ginch, and the Professor were quite certain they were alone, Shade unclasped the thin valise and whispered, “You can come out now. The coast is clear.”
“Must I?” a faraway voice called. “It’s so lovely in here. The sun, the sand . . .”
“Come on out,” Shade insisted. “I want to ask you a few questions.”
“Very well,” the voice sighed.
Shade opened the briefcase wide, and a gigantic serpent’s head, all emerald scales and slitted purple eyes at the end of long, snakey neck, rose slowly out of it. In its mouth was a thin bamboo stalk that led down to a half coconut balanced on top of a cloven ox hoof. “I hope you’ve tried these,” the serpent said, taking a sip, “because they are deli—”
Shade let out a sharp cry and dropped the valise. When it hit the ground, all thirty snakey, leopardy feet of the creature, perfectly matching the description given by the perfectly wonderful Sir Justinian, bounced out. “My drink!” it moaned, looking sadly at its now empty coconut shell rolling in the dirt.
The Professor jumped into Ginch’s arms and started pointing and whistling sharply. “That’s-a the knight’s creature!” Ginch gasped. “’Ey, Justinian! We got-a you—”
“Shh! Shh! Shh!” the creature shushed and clasped its front hooves together. “Please, please, please don’t tell him I’m here! I’m so tired of running, I might just let him slay me and be done with it if he comes!”
Shade held up a hand to silence Ginch and the Professor. “What happened to the little white fox?” she demanded.
“I am the little white fox,” the beast ex
plained in the same soft, lovely voice that she had as a fox. “Of my two forms, that’s the one that best suited the Wild Hunt’s quest to kill something beautiful and rare. While I was enjoying a nice drink by the ocean in that case—which I love by the way!— all that fur made me hot, so I switched over to this form, which is the one I was trapped in whenever Sir Justinian was nearby. I only get to choose how I look when I’m alone, I’m around people who are already occupied with specific quests, or I’m around people who don’t want to quest at all.”
“What are you?” Shade asked.
“I prefer ‘who,’” the beast said, sounding a little hurt. “My name is Glatisant—Glatis to my friends, of which I count you since you saved my life—and I am a Questing Beast.”
“And what’s-a that?” Ginch asked. The Professor tapped him and put his hand at waist level and then hugged himself. “And the Professor, he wants-a to know if you could-a be the fox again—he thinks-a you cuter that way.”
“Well, thank you. I should be able to change,” Glatis said, the scales on her cheeks blushing slightly. She closed her eyes, her jaws clenched, and then . . . Well, you know when you reach into a sock that’s inside-out and pull it so that it’s right-side out? That’s something like what the Questing Beast’s transformation looked like—it was as if she turned herself inside out and suddenly was a little white fox again. The Professor clapped and scratched her behind the ears.
“Oo, that’s nice! To answer your first question, a Questing Beast magically inspires people who are desperately seeking something—a grand quest, a great adventure, rare prey, hidden treasure, and so forth—but don’t have a very specific goal in mind to chase her.”
“Sounds a-tiring,” Ginch said.
“Oh it is! Most Questing Beasts really enjoy being chased, but I’ve always hated it. Unfortunately there are only three ways to end the chase once it’s begun: get so far away from the pursuer that they can’t find you, lead them to something that better fits what they really want, or . . .” Glatis gulped and looked ill, “. . . kill or be killed by them.”
