Fairy Tale Blank, Part 3

“Home” turned out to be a small cottage nestled in a clearing deep within the woods. It wasn't the neatest or cleanest dwelling in the universe. Splintered shutters hung off the windows, and the plaster was clearly crumbling. Still, it was standing, and it seemed cozy enough, with its two floors and bright blue door open to the elements...

Richard suddenly put out his arm to stop the others. “Lads, I know I didn't leave the door open like that when we went out for the afternoon. It looks like we have an unwanted visitor.”

They tip-toed into the house, setting the hubcaps and the trunk down near the door. “Follow me.” Richard drew an arrow as Charles held up his lute and the others pulled out knives or bows. They all slowly crept up the creaky staircase...maybe a little too slowly, as they jumped at each creak in the slightly warped wood.

“Master Richard,” Gary whispered as he pointed at the lump in the beds in the upstairs room, “someone's sleepin' in our beds!” He made a face. “Maybe we ought to go check our chairs and porridge, too. You know how some of these nosy blonde kids can be.”

The lump under the gray woolen blanket on the bed moaned as they all clomped in. “Good gravy Marie! Can't a woman get any sleep around here?” To Charles' surprise, the lady from the carriage emerged, rubbing the grit from her eyes. The red scarf hung on the end of the bed, revealing tousled locks that fell in stiff curls to her shoulders tied back with a frayed black ribbon. She stretched, yawned a little, and grabbed her scarf. “And now that I've taken that nap, it's time I moved on. Are you coming?”

“What?” Richard shook his head. “Ma'am, we're not going anywhere. First of all, who are you, and who do you think you are, ordering us around like this in our own home? You, ma'am, are an intruder.”

“My name is Brett.” Work-roughened fingers patted graying curls into place and straightened the homespun mud brown smock that passed for a dress. “Look, Robin Hood, I didn't mean to intrude, but I can't return to Password Palace. Not yet, anyway.” She pulled on a pair of worn wooden shoes. “You guys can come with me, or you can stand there with your mouths open.”

Charles followed her downstairs while the others continued to stare. “Mistress Brett, I don't think they mean to be rude, but this is their house. Besides, it's getting dark. You shouldn't be out there in the woods at night. It's dangerous, especially when you don't know the territory.”

“A fine lady like you shouldn't be alone at night.” Nipsey gave her a short bow. “Stay with us, until the time is right.”

Orson grinned. “We've never had a dame around before. Who knows? Might be nice.”

“Can she stay?” Gary pleaded before Richard. “She's smart, and she knows magic! She could help us stop Skutch and his boss, and we could help her find her family.”

“Oh, it's not a matter of finding my family, shorty.” Her smoky voice faltered. “I know where they are. My sons are locked in the basement at Password Palace, and my, er, husband is being used for birds to tinkle on in the thorn gardens. Malade forced me to work as her scullery maid while she had those iron bands on my wrists. Iron inhibits a magician's powers. Gene got stuck in them, too. That's how she was able to lure him into the woods.”

“That's terrible!” Donald sobbed as he wiped tears from his eyes. “Poor Brett! Separated from your family. We have to help her, boss!”

Richard sighed. “Very well, Mistress Brett. It seems we're all in the same boat. Most of us were thrown out of our homes when Malade's forces invaded, and Charles and Nipsey's talents are no longer welcome in the kingdom.”

“Well,” Brett smoothed out her tunic, “that's settled. Now, who wants dinner? I can make vegetable stew, if you boys have anything edible around here.”

“I have a little dried beef in my supplies,” Charles added. “And I know how to cook. I cook for myself when I'm on the road. We'll make beef vegetable stew.”

Big Nipsey's grin nearly lit up the room. “Sounds good to me. The rest of us will set the table and separate the money into bags for the poor.”

“I think we'd better do some dusting, too.” Donald coughed and swatted at a cobweb. “This place isn't fit for a lady's company.”

And so it happened. Brett gathered the few vegetables and dried bits she found in their cupboards, and Charles brought water from a nearby stream. Donald and Orson dusted and swept and scrubbed the little cottage until it was as spotless as they could make it. Gary fed carrots to Cornelius, who was tethered in a little shed behind the cottage. Bobby set the table with mismatched clay crockery. The other two men dropped coins into a pile of small burlap bags, along with a larger one intended for the church.

They all sat down to a hearty feast, with ale from the cupboard and brown bread from Charles' bags. Brett turned out to be a delightful companion. She told jokes that were as ribald as any of theirs, laughed heartily at their jokes and stories, and drank as much ale as they did without becoming the slightest bit sleepy.

After they cleaned up from dinner, Charles played songs for them on his lute. He was really only so-so on the instrument, but he had a fine, clear voice, and was a nimble dancer. Brett belted with her deep croak and danced like her wooden shoes were made of feathers.

Almost every man took his turn dancing with her. Gary leaped and wriggled like a small red fish caught in a net. Nipsey easily lifted her into the air and swung her around. Bobby was the best dancer among them, moving with grace and energy. Orson stiffly twirled her until she complained she was dizzy. Charles showed them the latest steps from Yorkalia.

Only Richard refused to join the festivities. He sang along in his light tenor and occasionally added witty remarks, but he neither danced, nor joked with the others. He mostly stared into the crackling fireplace, his eyes soft and far-off.

After the last dance wound down, Richard finally stood and stretched his tanned limbs. “It's time we were getting off to bed, lads and lady. Mistress Brett, we'll make up our couch down here for you to sleep on tonight. Charles, you could share Gary's bed, since you're familiar with him.”

“If it's all the same, I'd rather sleep down here.” The minstrel shrugged. “I'm used to laying on the hard ground from my travels. I have blankets among my supplies. Besides, Brett may need some help guarding our treasure.”

“Suit yourself.” Richard ushered the others upstairs. “We'll see you in the morning.”

Brett laid an old plaid cloth on the couch as he came in with his blanket. “You don't need to stay down here,” she admonished him. “I can take care of myself.”

“I know that. I saw you earlier.” He spread a woven blanket on the floor, then huddled under another. “I wanted to talk to you. I don't really know any of those guys besides Gary very well.”

She sighed as she settled down on the couch. “I'm lucky they took me in. I did barge into their house. Jack always said I could drive a saint to distraction, talking all the time.”

“Jack?” Charles turned over in his blankets, just in time to catch the sorrow in her eyes. “Is he your husband, the one Malade turned into a statue?”

“Yes, he is. Or was.” Her orange-pink mouth drew into a thin line. “She only did it because he opened his big fat mouth. She wanted him for a gardener and handyman. He said 'nothin' doin'.' And that's when she cursed him. He's covered in stone, but he's still human, can think. He just can't move or speak.”

Charles gently set his slender hand on her shoulder, his boyish face heavy with concern. “I'm truly sorry. It must be horrible to lose someone you love like that.”

“Jack and I argue constantly. We drive each other crazy.” She picked at the raveling threads on the upholstery. “But he didn't deserve to be cursed. His children and this kingdom need him. They need us.” She turned on her shoulder. “How about you? You tear up the floor pretty well with that lute, and you were handy against Skutch earlier.”

“Let me tell you a secret,” he whispered as he leaned in closer. “I was terrified this afternoon. I've never fought anyone in my life, and all those men flying around...they scared me. I hate crowds. But even more than that, I hate fire. I was in a terrible fire at a traveling circus as a child, and I've never wanted to be in an audience again. The memories...no. I just can't.”

Slender fingers slid over his own. “I'm so sorry, Charles. You were very brave today. Especially if you don't like crowds.”

His hand went over hers. “I'm not brave, Brett. Not like you.”

“Oh, I'm not that brave. Just couldn't stand seeing you boys hurt, that's all.” She lay back on the couch. “Now, why don't you try to get some sleep? We have a long day tomorrow.”

He snuggled into his blankets. “What about you?”

“Oh, don't worry about me.” She was already yawning. “I'll sleep...when I'm tired...night, Charles...”

He pulled the wool over her shoulders where it had slipped from her grasp. His new friend looked so much younger when she slept. Almost like...like a princess. He hoped Jack thought so, too. “Night, Brett.” It took longer for him to nod off, thanks to all the snoring men in the house and the creaky sounds of the woods, but sleep did finally claim him.