“What does it mean?” Charles asked that afternoon as he swung a short sword in Richard's direction. “You said you had that dream, too. The girls said they had it. Four people don't have the same dream unless someone's trying to tell them something.”
“I haven't a bloody clue.” He ducked away from Charles' clumsy attempt on his arm. “It's probably this castle. You don't need the power of nature to realize there's something weird going on. Bill's been even jumpier than usual ever since we arrived.” He gently moved Charles' arm, ignoring his deep blush. “And you have to hold it this way. Any further downwards, and the blade will go into your foot. Trust me, you don't want that.”
“Hello there, boys.” Brett strolled over with a basket on her arm, followed by Marcia, with Bill by her side. “You've been out here for a while. You must be starved! We brought you lunch. Hard boiled eggs, cucumber sandwiches, and a fruit salad.”
Marcia yawned as she spread a blanket on the grass. “I think I might take a nap after we eat. I haven't been sleeping well.”
“You either?” Charles grumbled flopped on the soft green blanket as soon as it was on the ground. “That dream's driving me crazy. It's the same thing every night. We meet that little fellow in the blue coat, and then we end up buried in the snow.”
Richard winced. “Must you mention that part? I always wake up freezing, even when there's a blazing fire in our room.”
“I've had the same dream.” Brett lay on the grass next to Charles, her black-gray hair curling against the waving grass. “And every time, I wake up as cold as if I were still in the snow.” She frowned, tugging at a blade of grass. “Wish I knew what's going on with all this. Someone's trying to tell us something.”
Richard settled next to Bill, who curled up between him and Marcia. “Bill, could you finally explain all this? Gene's inside, doing research in the library on whatever black magic is making everyone around here sick, furry, or invisible.”
The wolf gulped, his Adam's apple bobbing like a turkey's. “Yeah, you're right. It's black magic. This whole place...the owner...the servants...we're all under a curse. The only way anyone can tell you is at night, in dreams.”
“You've mentioned that.” Marcia gently stroked his head. “That only leaves two questions. What can we do about it, and where's Will? I know he must be the man in our dream. The way he looked at me...” She grinned. “He is kind of cute. He has nice eyes. I've seen them before! I just wish I could remember where!”
“Look, we can't stay here forever,” Richard sighed. “We need to find that Princess of the Air before Malade kills the king, or does worse things to him. I think you should be all right here, Marcia. You have Bill, the servants, and whomever Bill Cullen manages to dig out of the woodwork.”
Brett moaned, fanning herself with a book. “Is it me, or is it hot out here? I'm still feeling a little woozy. I've felt lousy ever since we came here.” She fell back onto the grass. “I'm never moving from this spot again.”
“It's the dark magic. I've felt it, too.” Marcia admitted, rubbing her head. “It's just beyond the gate...there's something out there. I can feel it.”
Creaking hinges screeched over her last few words. “Hello?” A tiny voice squeaked as much as the rusty gate. “Is anyone home?” Shriveled hands and a bent-over form shuffled behind the old black bars. “Lovely goods here! All kinds of lovely things for sale!” What little they could see of the bent-over peddler vanished in layer after layer of faded calico. A dusty basket hung on one arm.
Bill poked his nose through the bars, sniffing at her hand. “Ohhhh boy.” He winced, pulling away. “Lady, I really don't think you should be in here. The things I smell on you...”
“What's goin' on?” Brett grumbled as she and Charles joined him at the gate. “Ma'am, I have a headache, and the rest of us have a lot to discuss, so if you'd just...”
“Oh, my lass, but I have so many things you'll love!” She pushed her way in, shoving Charles into a tree in her haste. “I have combs and brushes, lovely little clips and other fine things for the hair.”
Bill stuck his nose under her dress. “Pardon me, lady, but you kinda got a funny smell. I know it...it's spicy...metallic...hot...”
“Smells almost like my stepmother's perfume. 'Eau de Death.' Cinnamon, rosewood, and the blood of a thousand men.” Brett stepped back, swaying a little. “I really don't feel well. I think I should go inside and rest...”
She grabbed Brett's hand with a grip that was rough for one so ancient. “I can see you're a woman who appreciates quality.” Crooked fingers pried a fine jeweled comb out of the folds of the basket. “I have the perfect thing for you. You can't resist it. See how the jewels shimmer and glow!”
“Yes...” The longer Brett gazed into the old woman's twilight violet orbs, the faster the pupils vanished. “Yes...I'll take it. I must have it. It's perfect...”
“Brett?” Charles shook her shoulder. “Brett? Are you all right?” Bill whimpered by her side, standing on his hind legs and pawing her skirt.
She nodded dazedly as the elderly crone whispered into her ear. “I'm fine, Charles.” Her croak emerged as a rusty monotone. “Just fine. Go with the others. I'll handle the woman.”
Charles snatched the old woman's wrist as Bill tugged on the lady's skirt. “Don't even try it,” the minstrel snapped. “We won't let Brett go with some old witch! She can be a witch herself at times, but even she doesn't deserve that.”
“Enough, you two!” She lifted her gnarled fingers as black light shot at Charles and Bill, stopping both in their tracks. “Now, for you.” Those fingers yanked her hair so hard, they almost dislodged her wig. “I think these pretty curls need to be held back by an equally lovely trinket.” The golden comb trimmed with precious stones flashed in the afternoon sun. “Let me comb those curls of yours. Then you won't be worried about your dear Jack or those boys of yours. You'll never worry about anything again.”
Marcia and Richard arrived just in time to see Brett collapse into the grass, the comb still snarled in her hair. “You're too late, Robin Hood!” The cackles that shook the ragged cloak had more of a youthful smoky quality than one would expect from an older woman. “Your princess is dead! She's dead and gone! Now I alone will have her once-fabled beauty!”
An arrow flew over her head. “Lady,” Richard snarled from behind his bow, “that was the worst evil villain dialogue I ever heard. Could you be more cliched?” He quickly pulled the hood over his head, hiding himself from her view. “You need better writers and a little thing called a 'heart.'”
“What did you do to her?” Marcia snapped angrily as her blue light hefted the elderly woman by the neck. “Tell me, sister, or you'll be making love with the thorns.”
Her cackle turned into more of a snort. “Wouldn't you like to know, Princess Marcia?”
Richard held another arrow firmly at her back. “At least release Charles and Bill from whatever spell you put them under, hag, or you'll be pulling this out of your back with your teeth.” She managed to raise her hand, even as Marcia's magic squeezed her throat.
“Brett!” Charles screeched as he slid to the side of his fallen friend. “She's not breathing! Marcia, Ri...Robin Hood, she's not breathing!”
Bill sniffed around her head. “This comb...” He nudged it, then pulled away, sneezing. “Ugh! Get it off! It smells like nightshade. Poison. You could get it on the summer side of the garden. It's probably seeping into her skin through the wig.”
Charles settled Brett on his lap, then wrapped his hand in his sleeve and tugged it from her tangled black curls. Within seconds, she groaned and fell back.
“Ugh,” she moaned. “What hit me? One minute, this little old lady told me she wanted to give me something, and the next...”
“Yes, Malade.” Gene hit her with the strongest magic he could manage, sending her head-over-heels into a flower patch as he stepped into the Summer Garden. “What are you doing here? Where's Prince William and the Princess of the Air?”
She glared up at Gene with murder in her eyes. “You'll regret that, old man. That's why I drained your magic. You and the other wizards are too much of a threat to my plans.” Her fingers stroked the roses. “Little wolf, these flowers are your life. If I were to set frost on them, like I did with the ones on the other side...”
“Malade, enough.” Gene waved his wand, his gold and silver light slamming her against the tree with a snarl. “You have no authority while I'm here. Get out, before we throw you out bodily.”
“Don't worry, old man. I'll leave.” She threw a hot glare at Richard as she struggled to her feet. “I just need to tell the Sheriff of Nerdocrumbesia where Robin Hood and his men are hiding out these days.” She vanished in a puff of black glitter before the bandit could send an arrow through her back.
Charles made a face. “That went well.”
“We can't wait for Bill Cullen and the others,” Gene told them as he lifted Brett back onto her feet. “We need to make a council of war, and we need to do it now.”
“I agree,” Richard admitted as he sheaved his sword. “Bill, round up the other servants, anyone you can spare. I think I have a plan. Gene,” he took Brett's other side, “are you and Brett up to working a little bit of magic? You and Marcia gave Malade a pretty good working-over back there. I take it your powers are now in full working order?”
Gene waved his hand, creating a ragged silver light. “They're better. Not perfect, but better. I'm not entirely worn out from throwing Malade around. It depends on what you have in mind.”
Richard grinned and waved at the empty nothing carrying gardening tools and the picnic basket. “I say, what we need is to take a hint from the servants...and take Malade and Ira and their troll mooks by surprise. If we weren't expecting to see baskets and musical instruments moving by themselves, how do you think they'll feel?”
“Um, news flash,” Marcia reminded him as she made her way next to him. “Malade probably did this. She knows about the invisible servants.”
“Ah, she knows about them.” Richard's big smirk nearly split his face as he waggled a finger. “But do Ira and his men know?”
No comments:
Post a Comment