Pain. Searing, flaming, burning pain. Pain like fire. Like the fire that... Fingers couldn't move...squeezing them together only brought more pain. White-hot pain shot down his fingers and into his wrist. Gentle fingers smeared a congealed liquid all over his hands. Liquid absorbed, tingled. It made him shiver.
“Is he...all right?” Growls and snorts to his left. Orson, likely still bound to his troll form. “He shouldn't have...stuck his hand in...the fire. Lute...not important...”
“It is to him.” Gene's concerned voice broke the deep silence. “How's the hand looking, Arlene?”
“It'll recover.” A foghorn contralto a shade or two higher than Brett's broke through the cobwebs in his brain. He'd heard it before. He shuddered as the hand stroked his forehead. “Probably within a week, if he rests it. His other problems...they won't heal as fast.”
His eyes fluttered open, to be met with three troubled faces. Heavy shadows danced over blue tiled walls, blurring the figures at work they depicted. “What...where...” He groaned, rubbing his head with his good hand. “Where are we?”
“My shop.” Arlene, the owner of the herb store in Holly Woods, spread a damp cloth over his head. “Shh, Charles. Gene told me you had a rough time of it with Malade.”
“That's putting it mildly.” His eyes roamed around behind his thick spectacles as candles flickered around dark shapes. Richard's snowy white head huddled under an old quilt on the ratty couch on the other side of the room. “Richard. Is he all right? Were you able to help him?” He gazed down at his burned hand. “I couldn't stop her. She hurt him, and it's my fault.”
Gene grabbed his good hand. “Charles, none of this is your fault. I couldn't stop Malade from hurting the others, either.”
He couldn't look at them. “What happened to the others? Marcia, Bill, Sir Gautier...” his lips turned down, “Brett...”
“As far as...we know...they're at Password Palace.” Orson's rumbled. His long paw knocked over two clay jars; his tail swept a basket of fresh-cut flowers onto the dirt floor. “Sorry...Mistress Francis. I'm just big. Malade has...Dick...Rob too. Nice guys. Met them...when I was there. Not their faults Malade...got angry at them for helping us.”
“Richard.” Charles frowned at Richard's body. “Is he all right? Isn't there something anyone can do? Gene?”
Gene shook his head. “It's not in my powers, Charles. I'm not a healer.” He tapped Arlene on the shoulder with his silver wand. “This lady, however, is the greatest healer in the known kingdoms.”
“I used to be!” Arlene grumbled vehemently. “Until Malade fired me. I haven't done anything but make my potions for peasants with colds in over a year. Besides, I doubt there's anything I could do for him.”
The door to the front room slammed open, allowing a tall man with a long, goofy face in a mismatched red bird-print blouse and green polka-dot pants to storm in. “Liar! Arlene, you can heal anybody, and you know it! You lost confidence after that Malade fired you. If you can guess the occupation of any peasant or merchant in the kingdom, you can heal this one young man!”
“Who wants a healer the queen fired?” Arlene made a face. “Soupy, please. I can handle this.”
Charles gazed at her in desperation. “Mistress Arlene, it's important that you revive him. He's Robin Hood, the hero of the kingdoms, who robs from Malade's court and gives to the poor. Everyone needs him.”
“See?” Soupy waved a hand at Richard on the couch. “Can't you help a hero?”
“I would if I could.” She pulled the blanket away, revealing how frail and wrinkled he still was. “He's in really bad shape.”
Orson went stark white under his fur. “Boss...” he croaked. “Mistress Arlene, is he...”
“Dead?” She shook her head. “Not fully. Only mostly dead.”
Soupy nodded and plopped next to Richard. “Yeah, there's a difference. Mostly dead is still slightly alive. Dead-dead...well, you can't do much there, except for maybe go through his pockets and look for loose change.”
“Soupy!” Arlene lightly smacked the back of his shoulder. “That's the last thing they need to hear.”
“Arlene,” Gene went on with a smirk, “if you revive Richard, he'll steal the kingdom back from Malade under her nose. She'll never know what hit her.”
A slightly mean grin spread across Arlene's face. “If I get your friend moving, it'll embarrass Malade?”
“Humiliations galore,” Gene added savagely.
“All right, all right!” Arlene sighed. “I'll do it.” Her eyes flitted to a clock on the wall. “I just wish that assistant of mine would arrive!”
“It's not her fault. Her stepmother probably gave her six hundred chores to do again.” Soupy nodded at Gene as he gathered three round clay jars into his arms. “We hired her a few months ago. Nice girl. She's really getting the hang of potions. Told us it's a way for her to get out every now and then.”
“She's a lovely young woman.” Arlene took a metal spoon and ladled dried herbs from the jars into the pot. “Can't spell worth beans, but she's intelligent, kind, and resourceful. She's been such a help here, especially with her other magic.”
Gene raised an eyebrow. “What other magic?”
The older witch went on as if she hadn't heard. “Orson, you're taller than the rest of us. If you can do it without knocking anything over, can you retrieve the cocoa tin from the top shelf?”
“I'll try...Mistress Francis.” He stuffed his tail between his legs and swiped the brown tin off the highest shelf. A jar rolled off the shelf, but he quickly reached over with his long arm and caught it before it hit the ground. “What...do you want it for?” he grunted as he tossed the tin to her.
She easily caught it, then added it to the brown sludge in the pot. “Chocolate makes it go down easier.”
Charles couldn't resist his own smirk. “How come you don't have a broom and one of those pointed black hats with the round brim?”
“Oh, I have a broom. Haven't flown in ages, though. It's hard to control in drafts. Quicker to walk most places.” She waved Soupy over with two more jars. “And the hat is just something you hear in children's stories. We wear the same hats as anyone else. Besides, I look dreadful in black.”
The honey blonde witch dipped a tin cup into the brown goo. “Gene, see if you can get his mouth open. I hate to ask you to use your magic, but it may be the only way. He's really gone.”
Charles took Richard's hand as Gene tickled Richard's nose with his wand. The second he opened it to sneeze, Arlene put the tin cup to his chapped lips and poured the goo down his throat. He sputtered and coughed for a few minutes, yelping as his skin smoothed out and became less sallow. His black-silver hair retained white streaks, and his entire body shook, but his face grew rosier and his fingers stronger.
“Rich?” Charles squeezed his hand. “Richard, it's us. Charles, Gene, and Orson. Are you ok?”
“Ask me that again when I don't feel like I had my intestines sucked out of me.” The diminutive bandit rubbed his forehead and groaned. “Where are we?”
“My shop, Robin Hood.” Arlene wiped the chocolate off his lips. “Don't worry. Soupy and I know the importance of your work. We won't give you away.” She sighed as her eyes once again flitted to the wooden clock. “Where is Fannie? She wasn't this late yesterday by a half-hour! If I could get my potions on that stepmother of hers...”
“Mistress Arlene?” Everyone looked to the door as a tall, slender redhead in a tattered brown skirt and yellow peasant's blouse darted in. “I'm sorry I'm late. Stepmother made me clean the downstairs kitchen twice. She thought she saw muddy prints. I tried to tell her it was just the cat, but she didn't want to hear it.”
Richard stumbled out of bed, grabbing hold of her hand. “Hello there, young lady. My name is...er, Richard.” He bowed deeply before nearly falling into her cleavage. “Oh, hello there, boys. You have some nice friends here, miss.”
“Uh, thank you.” She pushed Richard off her chest and propped him against a wall as he gave her a dazed, loving stare. “Arlene, what did you give him? I told you giving people love potions was a bad idea. You never know what they'll do.”
“I swear, I didn't give him a love potion.” Arlene made a face. “This was not the reaction I expected.”
“I'll...handle...the boss.” Orson slid a sinewy arm around Richard to keep his knees from buckling. He raised one fuzzy eyebrow as Fannie stared at him, blinking. “Is something...wrong...Miss? Do I have...greens...in my fangs?”
Fannie opened his jaw and inspected his teeth thoroughly. “I'm surprised you don't have people in there!”
“He's my friend, Miss.” Charles explained as he put his arm around Richard's other side. “He's not really a troll. A sorceress turned him into one.”
“I'm sorry.” The young woman continued to stare in shock. “I didn't know there were friendly trolls. They generally tend to use the first person they see as a trampoline.”
“I wouldn't...do that to you, Miss.”
Orson's grin was filled with gleaming sharp teeth. “You don't
look...very bouncy.”
Arlene looked up as a bell sounded in the front room. “Fannie, why don't we handle that?”
Charles followed Fannie and Arlene into the main shop. “Hey there, Miz F, the lady with the herbs.” A young man with a cheeky grin and warm cocoa skin waved a poster on bright yellow parchment in her face. “Your Holly Woods crier here, with all the hippest news for the coolest cats.” And he did look like a “cool cat” in his purple striped blouse and tight black velvet vest and trousers with silver braid. Thick black curls fluffed around dark round glasses. “I think you and your lovely apprentice will want to hear this. Looks like ol' Malade's finally unbent that stick up her ass long enough to let her subjects have a little fun.”
They leaned over the poster, squinting at the spidery print. “A ball, Clifton?” Fannie looked up with interest. “She's holding a ball in five days?”
Arlene raised an eyebrow. “Seems a little out of character for someone who hates music and beauty.”
“That's what I was thinking, sweet lady of mine.” Clifton made a face. “Chick don't dig music. I had to hide my guitar when I took this job.”
“She burned my lute,” Charles grumbled. “I don't get this. She wouldn't want to expose herself to something she hates for no reason.”
“Says here,” Arlene read on, “that she's decided she and the ladies of her court should seek husbands, and that all the handsomest men and most beautiful women in the kingdom should attend.”
“Really?” Fannie slid a pair of glasses on her nose and squinted at the script. “Says there will be music and dancing and food, and all the most eligible women...and men, of course...in the kingdom will attend.” She sighed. “Wish I could go, but I'm sure my stepmother would give me more chores.”
“Fannie, I don't know why you don't push for more of your share of the house.” Arlene frowned. “I knew your father well. He'd hate to see you slaving away for Ethel and those little idiots of hers.”
She shrugged. “What can I do? I promised Daddy I'd continue his...business...for the Queen. After he died and the royal family was forced out of power, I had nothing and no place to go.”
Clifton frowned, waving his hand. “Shh, chickie! If any of her giant furry monsters hear...” Crashing and a grunted “sorry!” came from the back room. “What was that? Sounds like someone back there had a major klutz moment.” Another crash of tinkling glass, followed by a louder grunt. “And not much in the vocabulary department, either.”
“Oh, one of my assistants just isn't himself today,” Arlene explained quickly. “I'm sure everyone will want to go. There's so little to be happy about these days in this country!”
Charles leaned over Arlene's shoulder. “She's hiring musicians?”
“Yeah, man!” Clifton rubbed his palms together. “Gonna be a hip scene. Her Royal Nastiness wants the best musicians in the kingdom. Anyone who can play something cool and funky. Think I might try out myself. Could use the work. Bein' town crier doesn't pay much.”
“Me too, but...” Charles gazed at his healing fingers. “I lost my lute in a fire.”
“Don't matter, man. Can you sing? Play another instrument? You wanna make music, you can find a way to make music. There's always a way to let your feelings out.”
Arlene propped up the poster against a cracked clay pot. “We have five days. That's enough time to put outfits together and wrangle invitations. Malade isn't doing this for her kingdom. She's up to something...and we need to figure out what.” She nodded at Fannie. “Dear, would you make tea for our guests? Ginger tea should help Master Dawson and Master Reilly recover their nerves. They had a nasty run-in with Malade. The rest of us will have plain black tea.”
“Tea's not for a cat like me,” Clifton admitted. “I'd rather have ale at the tavern. How about you, Chuck? Wanna get some ale? Might help you forget that bad hand.”
He shook his head. “I'm not in the mood for ale. Besides, my friend needs me.”
“Suit yourself.” He slid his round tinted glasses on his nose and blew a kiss at the ladies. “See you at the dance, hep cats!”
“I think,” said Charles shortly after he left, “that maybe Rich and Gene and Orson and I ought to recover somewhere else, just in case Malade sends people after us. We don't want to cause you any trouble.”
“Nonsense!” Arlene laughed. “You're no bother. I do agree that you need to be moved, but because fresh air with do both of you some good. Besides, we need to make plans away from prying eyes.”
Fannie started the kettle on the stove as the others rejoined them. “Lass,” Richard murmured dazedly as he watched her, “you're so beautiful. What's a lovely girl like you doing in a place like this?”
“Workin'.” She waved her hand, making clay cups and bundles of dried herbs blow down from shelves in a tiny breeze. “Daddy was one of the queen's advisers. Before he died, I promised him I'd keep an eye on the royal family and make sure nothin' happens to them...and I am. That's why I'm still here. That and Arlene needs my help.” More whirlwinds blew ground ginger into the cups and whirled spoons around.
“I suppose we're in the same boat. My father also died suddenly, and I lost everything.” He took the tea cup when she handed it to him. “Thank you. You know, my men and I have a little place in the Sherwood Forest. It's quiet and isolated...and would be a perfect place for us to recover and prepare for the ball. You could stay with us, Mistress Fannie.”
She shook her head and pulled her hand away. “I wish I could, sugar, I really do, but...”
The bell in the front room rang again as she mixed more tea. “Cinder girl!” The plump older woman's booming voice shook the shop to its roof. “Cinder girl, get your rear out here! You're supposed to be carrying our new gowns, not dilly-dallying with a witch!”
“I'm coming, stepmother!” Fannie ducked into the main salesroom; Gene, Arlene, and Charles followed her. The woman who leaned over the counter was a stout matron with coarse, graying hair, tiny piggy eyes, and a fleshy face that gazed disdainfully at the slender redhead. “I'll be around as soon as I finish with my lessons here.”
“You'd be better off forgetting all this messing around with magic and doing your work at home!” She nodded at two young women behind her, a thin sour-faced girl with short brown locks and a beaming pale blonde with twinkling blue eyes. “Victoria and Meredith need their baths drawn, you have to make us dinner, and we have to start getting our dresses together for the ball.” She indicated the clashing orange and green brocade trimmed with so many feathers, she rather resembled a fat robin. “I want something like this, only with a bigger skirt and way more flounces.”
“Do we have to go?” Victoria whined. “I'm not much for dancing, and I hate fancy parties!”
“Oh, I love dancing!” Meredith giggled. “We haven't had a good ball in ages! It'll be so much fun to eat sugared fruits and wear a beautiful new dress and see all the handsomest men at court.”
“Gene!” The big woman shoved her way behind the counter. “I didn't think you were in town! Thought you were still at the palace, playin' with all the pretty maids.” She nodded at her daughters. “Could you put in a good word for me and my girls at court? We're hoping to make a good showing with all the men. Things are getting...well, a little expensive at the Mansion, with all these taxes, and we could use a wallet...er, a man, around the house.”
He kissed her hand and gave her the least-sincere smile Charles ever saw. “Ethel, my dear woman, I'm sure that outfit will make quite an...impression...with the rest of the nobles.”
“Well, of course!” Her loud bray nearly made Gene stumble back. “That's what I always tell my girls. First impressions are important!” She smacked Fannie's shoulder. “Look at this one! Skinny little thing in rags! Barely fit for being lazy by the cinders. That's why we call her Cinder Girl. She's always covered in dust.”
Everyone looked up as Richard slowly pulled himself into the room, clutching the side of the counter to keep himself upright. “Ma'am, if first impressions are important, you've made a bad one. This girl has more kindness in her than you have in your little finger!”
“Oooh!” Meredith pushed past her mother and leaned on Richard. “Aren't you gorgeous? My name is Meredith! What's yours?”
He bowed deeply. “I am, er...Prince Peter of the underground Newkirk Castle,” he said quickly, his Britannica accent noticeably thickening. “Mistress Arlene and Fannie are helping me, my valet, and my court musician recover after a terrible fight with an evil sorceress.”
“Oh!” Meredith's eyes widened in shock. “You poor man! You must tell us all about it!”
“Yeah,” Victoria muttered, rolling her eyes, “sure. You were probably out drinking and needed something for your hangover.”
Ethel gave him a quick curtsy. “Sorry, Your Highness-ess, but I was just comin' for my wayward servant girl. Didn't mean any harm. Are you goin' to the ball next week?” He didn't like the suggestive way she waggled her eyebrows. “If you are, could ya save a dance for my girls n' me? Maybe put in a good word with your old man at home. Hey,” she went on before he could get a breath in, “when you don't look like death warmed over, how'd you like to visit my humble abode? Maybe in a day or two?”
“Oh, yes!” Meredith clamped her fingers around Richard's shaking arm. “Please say you'll come to tea! It would be lovely! Then you can tell us all about your battle with the sorceress!”
Victoria made a face at Charles. “You gonna come, too? You're lookin' at the guy like you're in love with him or somethin'.”
Scarlet crept up his cheeks. “Uh...well, I'm not in love with him like that. Not at all!” His voice squeaked horribly, making him cough before he could continue. “Uh, yes, I'm coming. I'm kind of his companion as well as his head musician. The sorceress turned his valet into a troll, and he really can't go anywhere without breaking things.”
“Prince Peter and his entourage are under my protection right now.” Gene stroked his chin. “Yes...yes. I think a visit with you ladies may be most beneficial. Just let His Highness and the others recover for a day or two, and we'll consider your invitation.”
“Wonderful!” Ethel's booming voice shook the rafters. “Cinder girl, here!” She dropped a towering stack of boxes and rolls of fabric in Fannie's arms. “Would ya do your job for once and make sure all these get into the coach?”
Fannie peered from behind the voluminous rolls. “I was hopin' to do work here...”
“You'd do better to focus on your work at home!” The enormous woman shoved her towards the door. “We're going to have very important guests in a few days. Come along, girls!” Meredith gave Richard a big, loud kiss before she followed her mother. Victoria settled for wrinkling her nose and stomping out.
“Gene, do we have to do this?” Richard wiped his cheek fiercely. “That woman was a vulgar witch, and her daughters weren't much better.”
“Yes, we do.” The older wizard frowned. “I knew Fannie's father well. He was one of our best spies who died defending the royal family when Malade invaded. I don't think Ethel knew his real work. She thought he was a merchant who did business at the Palace.”
“Fannie will tell you more, when she can.” Arlene shut the door and turned the sign to “closed.” “Right now, let's get the rest of you off to Sherwood Forest.” Another crash and a deep “Sorry!” shook the windows until they nearly cracked. “Before your troll friend breaks every bottle and pot in my shop!”
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