“It’s good to see you, too,” he said, giving her a weak smile.
“I didn’t mean . . . I just . . . Are you all right?”
Her father had begun to cough so hard that he shook with the effort and had to look away until it was over. “I’ve seen better days,” he wheezed when he could talk again. “Why did you come to see your mother? Is something wrong?”
Grassina nodded. “A man came to tell us that werewolves attacked people in his village!”
“And your mother doesn’t intend to do anything about it, does she? Then I’d best see to it.”
“You can’t hunt werewolves. You’re ill!”
King Aldrid shook his head. “There won’t be any hunting involved. Werewolves turn back into their human form during the day, so my men and I will set traps and check them tomorrow. I was very adept at catching werewolves before I met your mother, but I haven’t had to trap one since I moved to Greater Greensward. There was no need with the Green Witch watching over the kingdom. We were spoiled when your mother protected us, but now that she isn’t doing that, we’ll have to handle it ourselves the way rulers of other kingdoms do.”
“But you should be resting.”
“It’s just a cold. I’ll be fine. A little fresh air will do me good.”
Grassina was worried. She followed her father out of the dungeon, returning to her own chamber while he sent for the men he intended to take with him. She already had the necessary plants dried and hanging from her ceiling, so it didn’t take long for her to mix a tonic for his cough. To her dismay, he and his men had already departed by the time she returned downstairs. With the tonic tucked safely in her purse, Grassina hurried to the stable and had her palfrey, Buttercup, saddled. Since she didn’t know the way to Darby-in-the-Woods, she was glad that the head groom insisted on accompanying her. Normally, she would have chatted with the groom as they rode, discussing the weather, the crops in the fields they passed, and any unusual plants they happened to see, but she was so worried about her father that she couldn’t think about anything else.
The sun was still climbing when they reached the point where the road to the village entered the forest. At first Buttercup seemed to enjoy the cooler air of the forest shade, pricking her ears and looking around with great curiosity, but after a time, she began to act nervous, startling at the smallest sound and snorting when the shade grew deeper. The groom’s normally placid horse also seemed uneasy, prancing sideways when a squirrel ran in front of him. Buttercup shied at a dark spot on the road, fighting the reins until Grassina brought her under control.
They reached Darby-in-the-Woods without further incident just as her father and his men were riding out of the village in the opposite direction. Of all of Chartreuse’s suitors, only Prince Limelyn had elected to accompany the king. The two royals rode side by side through the strangely quiet village, the single road dividing the cluster of cottages devoid of children, dogs, or geese to challenge a stranger’s approach.
Here and there anxious faces peered from doorways, but no one came out to speak to Grassina as she passed by. A silent group of men stood in the shadow of the last cottage watching the king and his knights, turning their attention to Grassina only after Buttercup whinnied to the other horses. One of the villagers, a tall man with long dark hair, stared at Grassina openly without any of the deference commoners usually paid to a princess. He made her feel so uneasy that she urged her horse to a gallop, joining her father in a shower of dust and pebbles.
“Grassina!” he said, turning his horse to face her. “What are you doing here?”
“Looking for you,” she replied. “I brought you this.” Reaching into her leather sack, she drew out the bottle of tonic and held it up for him to see. “It’s for your cough.”
“I appreciate your thoughtfulness, but that was neither necessary nor wise. These woods aren’t safe if there are werewolves around.”
“But you said that werewolves were active only at night.”
“That isn’t the point. Men from the village are already trying to track them down. Any hunters still out here will be using whatever means they can. It’s during times like these that I particularly want you to stay close to the castle. Fear can make people do terrible things.
The king looked around, letting his eyes fall on two of his men. “Stay behind and see that we’re not followed. There were no dogs in that village, which probably means that the werewolves have already disposed of them. Werewolves hate dogs because dogs hate werewolves and can find them when no one else can. I would have brought my own if I’d been thinking straight. No matter now. Just keep your eyes and ears open. Some of the villagers may have been turned into werewolves already and would be happy to see where we place our traps. And as for you,” he said, looking at his daughter, “you’ll have to stay with me now. We’ll be returning to the castle as soon as we’ve dug some . . .” King Aldrid broke off when a deep, wracking cough made him close his eyes and grip his saddle to keep his balance.
Grassina watched with concern until her father’s cough subsided. “Please try the tonic,” she said, uncorking the bottle and handing it to him.
“Did you make this or did your mother?” he asked, sniffing it suspiciously.
“I did. It should help calm your cough.”
“You’re a very thoughtful girl,” he said before taking a sip from the bottle. “Just like your mother used to be,” he added, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
No one spoke as they rode into the forest, leaving the village and the two knights behind. They hadn’t gone far when a horse whinnied deeper in the woods. The party stopped to wait while Prince Limelyn and three knights rode off to investigate, returning with an armored destrier, its head hanging as it limped across the forest floor. “I think that’s Clarence’s horse,” said Grassina. Even in the shade of the tall trees she could see that the armor of the riderless horse was no longer bright and shiny, but was smudged with something dark.
Slipping off her mare, Grassina ran to the destrier and reached for his bridle where a singed scrap of pale green ribbon still dangled. A smear of black came off on her finger. It was soot. As her father rode up, she raised her hand to show him. Rubbing her thumb and forefinger together, she said in a subdued voice, “I guess there really was a dragon after all.”
With the destrier slowing them down, the knights didn’t go far before stopping to lay the first trap—just far enough that no one from the village could hear them. While some of the men dug a deep hole, others cut down branches and saplings, whittling the ends to make sharpened stakes. Once King Aldrid declared the hole deep enough, one man was lowered in to line the bottom with the stakes, angling them upward so they’d impale anything that fell in. When he was finished, they rode on to the next likely spot, leaving two more men behind to cover the hole and erase any sign of the trap.
“How do you know where to put them?” Grassina asked her father when they’d stopped once again.
“We dig the traps near the road where a werewolf might lie in wait for an unsuspecting traveler. Werewolves are stronger and faster than either men or wolves. They have the wolves’ fangs and a man’s intelligence, yet they avoid fair fights whenever possible. For all their nasty, brutish ways, werewolves are basically cowards. They hide from their prey where the wind will carry their scent away, sneaking up when they are sure to take them by surprise. Only stout locks and tall trees will keep them at bay, because they can neither manipulate locks with their paws nor climb higher than they can jump.”
Grassina shuddered as she peered into the deeper gloom of the forest. “What should I do if I see a werewolf ?”
“Just stay in the castle,” said her father. “It’s the only place you’ll be truly safe, especially if there are dragons around as well.”
Nine
Grassina was still in bed the next morning when a buzzard smelling of its recent meal of rotting muskrat flew in through her window and dropped a note on her. “She was righ
t,” said the bird as it landed on the sill. “Although why anyone would be in bed this late in the day is beyond me.”
Rolling over, Grassina blinked, then sat up with a start when she saw the filthy bird. The buzzard snickered at the frightened look in her eyes, clacking its beak in irritation when the note fluttered off Grassina and onto the floor.
“Don’t just sit there,” said the buzzard. “Pick it up and read it! Why do you think I’m here? She said you were slow as well as lazy and that I should lend you a wing if you needed it.” Extending a wing covered with dried blood and reeking bits of offal, the bird snickered again when Grassina retreated to the far side of the bed. “She said you’d be prissy. You might as well get the note though. I’m not leaving until you do.”
Keeping her distance from the bird, Grassina slipped out from under her covers and knelt on the floor, reaching under the bed for the wayward note. “Good,” said the buzzard. “It’s officially delivered, so I’m off. I’d read it right away if I were you. You don’t have much time since you’ve already slept away most of the morning.”
Grassina glanced out the window as one of the castle’s roosters crowed. The sun was just rising over the tops of the trees in the distance, and the first rays had yet to reach the cold stone walls. The buzzard flapped its wings and flew away, shedding a loose feather that drifted onto Grassina’s bed. She didn’t notice, however, because she was already trying to decipher her mother’s handwriting.
Grassina,
Get your lazy rump out of bed and go to your precious swamp. Find enough eggshells from just-hatched blackbirds to fill a washtub and bring them back to me before midnight tonight. If you fail to do this, go straight to the moat and make yourself comfortable, because I’ll be turning you into a slimy, loathsome snail.
Signed,
Queen Olivene (your mother)
P.S. Have Cook bring me some rotten grapes, stale bread, and a flagon of brackish water. Yesterday’s breakfast was so good I can’t wait to taste it again.
“How am I supposed to do that?” Grassina muttered, thinking about the size of the washtubs she’d seen in the kitchen. The task was so daunting that she was tempted to give up before she’d even begun, but she couldn’t—not if she didn’t want to become a snail for who knew how long.
This time when Grassina sought out a scullery maid, she asked for the smallest washtub. Unfortunately, even the smallest tub was unwieldy when the princess tried to carry it herself. Grassina staggered under its weight as she lifted it with both arms and lugged it out of the castle and across the drawbridge. She had to set it down twice so she could rest before reaching the tree house, groaning each time she picked it up.
Grassina was setting the washtub down once again when she thought about Pippa. It had been days since she had last visited the little snake, but she’d been so busy, she hadn’t had a chance. Grassina bit her lip. She hadn’t taken Pippa any food in all that time either, and with the queen’s magic keeping the snake inside . . .
Something crunched under her feet as Grassina approached the ladder. Broken glass sparkled on the ground, some of it still in the shape of feathers. Worried, Grassina hurried to the ladder and began to climb, almost falling when a rung snapped beneath her foot. She gripped the ladder with white-knuckled hands, her heart racing. After that she tested each rung before putting her weight on it and was relieved when she reached the platform. Her relief gave way to dismay when she saw the cottage. Wasps buzzed through the open window. Branches from the supporting tree had broken, smashing through the roof and some of the platform boards.
“It’s like the castle,” murmured Grassina. “When Mother changed, she stopped caring about a lot of things. She must have let the maintenance spells lapse.” Stepping over the larger debris, she set her hand on the door, which was sagging so badly that she had to give it a hard shove to move it out of her way.
More shards of glass littered the floor inside, and the copper birds were gone. The fire was out in the fireplace, where even the ashes were cold.
“Pippa!” called Grassina. “Are you here?”
At first there was no reply, but then over the creaking of the tree’s branches and the angry complaint of the wasps, Grassina heard a faint, almost tentative tapping coming from the wooden trunk in the corner. Skirting a branch that protruded through the ceiling, she reached the trunk and lifted the lid. Hector’s eyes were wild when he whinnied to her, but Marniekins looked even worse. Her dress was disheveled, her wool hair a stiff corona around her head. The poor doll was so upset that she couldn’t stop wringing her hands.
“Oh, Princess, I’m glad you came!” exclaimed the doll. “There was a big storm and the wind shook our tree and there was crashing and banging and it was just awful!”
“Are you all right?” asked Grassina.
Marniekins nodded until Grassina feared that her head would come off. “We’re fine. We stayed in the trunk while your friend told us what was happening. Pippa was so nice! She talked to me after you left and told me about monkeys and bright-colored birds and scary lizards and all sorts of things. But then the storm came and everything changed and she left to get something to eat and never came back.”
Grassina frowned, wishing she had come sooner. “I hope she wasn’t hurt. She already had an injured tail.”
“She told us about that,” said Marniekins. “She told us about how she met you, too. Were you really a rabbit?”
“Yes,” said Grassina, scooping up the doll and tucking her in her sack. “And I’ll be something else if I don’t find the eggshells my mother wants. I’m taking you and Hector with me. You can’t stay here any longer.”
“Where are we going?”
“After I do something for my mother, I’ll have to hide you in the castle. Rag dolls and wooden horses don’t last long outside in bad weather.”
“But didn’t you take Pippa out of the castle because it wasn’t safe?”
Grassina nodded. “That’s true. But this time I don’t have any choice.”
As the swamp wasn’t far from the tree house, Grassina forced herself to carry the washtub without stopping once. She sighed when she finally set it down by a pond.
“This is a beautiful place,” Marniekins said, peeking out of Grassina’s leather sack. “But what kind of errand would your mother send you on that would bring you here?”
“I have to collect enough blackbird eggshells to fill this tub. If I don’t, she’ll turn me into a snail and I’ll have to live in the moat.”
“That’s so mean! I saw your mother only a few times, but she didn’t seem mean to me.”
“Mother wasn’t horrid until recently. A curse turned her nasty. Now she orders us around and makes us get her all sorts of strange things.”
“And if you don’t get them, she turns you into a snail?”
“Not always. She turned me into a turtle yesterday. And when I met Pippa, I was a rabbit, remember?” Grassina sighed. “I don’t know how I’ll ever find the eggshells, let alone enough to fill this tub, so I’ll probably be a snail before the day is out.”
A sound like muffled thunder made Grassina look up. An angry-looking cloud was forming over the trees to the north. As it grew, it seemed to writhe and churn, becoming darker and more ominous each moment. With a muffled shriek, Marniekins pulled her head into the sack and tugged it closed behind her.
When Grassina finally realized that the cloud was coming her way, there wasn’t time to reach shelter. She was looking up into the heart of the cloud when it started to break apart, raining bits of itself down on her. Crouching low to the ground, she covered her head with her arms, squeezed her eyes shut, and waited for whatever it was to strike. A roaring wind nearly knocked her over, carrying with it a pungent odor. The sound grew so loud, it was deafening, yet Grassina remained untouched. Warily opening her eyes, she was surprised to see blackbirds hurtling past, one after another, slowing long enough to drop something from their beaks into the washtub. Having decided that the
birds weren’t coming after her, Grassina sat back on her heels to watch the cloud lessen and finally disperse. When the sky was clear once again, she peered into the washtub and was surprised to see that it was filled with bits of broken eggshells.
“The blackbirds brought me the eggshells I needed!” Grassina exclaimed. “I wonder who did this.” Turning her head from side to side, she tried to spot her mysterious benefactor. “Those birds wouldn’t have done it on their own. It’s just like when the toad jumped in the basket. Someone with magic must be doing this. A fairy perhaps . . . Maybe even the swamp fairy. Hello! Whoever you are—thank you for your help!”
When no one appeared, Grassina picked up the tub, staggering under its even greater weight. The way back seemed longer than the trip out had been, and she had to set the tub down five or six times before she had the castle in sight. Whatever magic had made the birds bring her their shells hadn’t made the tub or its contents any lighter.
Grassina had passed the practice field and could smell the fetid water of the moat when she heard a woman screaming. An anguished, wavering cry of loss and despair, the sound would have made her turn and run if it hadn’t been coming from the castle. Dropping the washtub with a loud thump, she ran toward the drawbridge. Her first thought was that the werewolves had somehow gotten past the defenses, but she couldn’t understand how it could have happened. The moat completely encircled the castle, and the drawbridge was always well guarded. Only something with wings could have gotten over the castle walls, and even then . . .
A piercing shriek made Grassina stumble and nearly fall. The sound dissolved into a wordless wail that clutched at her heart and brought involuntary tears to her eyes. She looked up when a woman wearing a long, white gown drifted through a tower window, wailing and tearing at her streaming white hair. The woman swooped low enough that Grassina could see her bloodred eyes and gaunt features. “Woe is me!” the woman wailed. “Death and destruction shall visit this castle before the day is out!”