Ozark Fantasy - Twelve Fair Kingdoms Part 21

EGG-ROTTEN BIRD DUNG.

FISTFULS OF MEALY WORMS.

NIGHT OF THE DEAD.

POTCHAMBER.

POLEBED.

a.s.s.

I was flabbergasted. As nasty a Charm as I'd heard anywhere, and bold as bra.s.s about it, terrified as she was. But no elegance. No style! And put together all c.o.c.keyed to boot. I'd seen six-year-old girls do a sight better than that, and without anything nasty in it to help them along, either. I said:

AIR.

BALSAM.

CINNAMON.

DENY ME NAUGHT.

EVERMORE WEEPING.

FOLLOW ME EVERYWHERE.

EVERMORE SLEEPING.

DOUBLE MY WORTH.

CINDERMAN.

BELLTONGUE.

AIR.

"And," I added, "if you'd like to go on to twelve syllables and back, in twelve sets of rhymed pairs, I'm ready. But do hurry, Una of Clark, because I intend to be in my bed before breakfast."

By that time, when she began to sob hopelessly, choking and sputtering, I wasn't surprised. I wondered what her life was going to be like, from this night on; she wasn't built for a burden like this, and her husband had chosen a poor instrument to break to his evil.

"See where foolish love will lead you?" I said to her sorrowfully. "See where it will lead you, woman? Into folly, into shame, into disgrace... Why didn't you tell him to do his own dirt? What would your father and mother say of you, Una of Clark, if they only knew what you have done?"

She only blubbered harder, and I was sick of watching her.

"I'll tell you what I'm going to do," I said, "and I suggest you listen to me more carefully than you've been listening to your Reverend these last few years. For I'm not playing with you, and I warn you-

I'm no Granny, to just put toads in your bed and rashes under your armpits and keep your cakes from rising. You do understand that?""What are you, really?" she hissed at me. "What are you?""Nor am I a witch," I went right on, ignoring that, "for if I were, you would have been at the bottom of that ocean long before this, and you know it very well. If I were a witch, Una of Clark, I'd set a Subst.i.tution Transformation. And another woman that looked just like you and talked just like you and walked just like you and moaned in the loving arms of Gabriel Laddercane Traveller just like you would go home from here-but she would not be you. You would be feeding the fishes and she would be only a Subst.i.tute, and n.o.body would ever know."

"Go ahead, then-you can do it, why don't you, and leave off torturing me?""Because I'm not a witch, I'm a law-abiding well-brought-up woman, that you've caused a lot more trouble than there's any excusing you for, that's why!"

"Then what are you going to do?" she whispered. "Make me ugly? Make me crippled? Oh dear saints, Responsible of Bright.w.a.ter, what is it going to be?"

"Your mind is a cesspool," I said, staring at her. "A cesspool. Make you ugly and cripple you indeed!"

"Tell me!" "What I am going to do is set a Binding Spell on you," I said. "That and nothing more. Seven years, Una of Clark, you'll say no word about this night or about what you know of me, or about what you've done. And seven years, you'll do no magic you haven't earned the rank for. You not even a Granny or any chance of ever being one... I'll bind you seven years; and then you're free to do your worst."

She went limp against the rock; I was glad there wasn't any place for her to fall to. "The reason I'm stopping there," I went on as I made my preparations, "is because I am not a witch! And because I have no desire to go beyond what's decent. You're a woman-and you're a Clark by birth. I am willing to wager that in seven years you'll achieve enough wisdom, that when the Spell is at its end you'll guard your own mouth out of shame and simple decency. I'm willing to take a chance on that."

And if I was wrong, I could bind her then again, of course; I'd be on the watch. She just huddled there and bawled, every other word some stuff about what was she going to tell Gabriel Laddercane, more shame to her, and I got on with my work.

It took me only a little while, and then I Moved her carefully back to Castle Clark, to the bed where-might could be-her husband had not yet even missed her. If he had, that was her problem, and it was up to her to figure out some way to get out of it. I'd done all I was willing to do, and more than she deserved, out of regard for her Family, and pity for her folly, and out of the kind of distaste that comes from dealing with an enemy that's really no match for your skills. There's a game called shooting ducks in a barrel-I don't play it. Never have.

And before the servingmaid tapped on my door with my pot of morning tea, everything was put away. Every sign of the wards and the pentacles swept clear, not a speck of sand from my shammybags on the Airy floor. And I lay there in my plain nightgown with the covers tucked up around my chin, and a smile on my face that suited my pose, like I'd not lifted a finger all that weary night.

Now I could go home.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

I don't mind saying that it went well, though it's bragging, for it's no more than the plain truth. My leavetaking may have had an unseemly abruptness due to my hightailing out of there before my common sense (or somebody else's) could stop me, but my homecoming went off as slick as I could possibly have desired it. And the rough edges I well knew were there didn't so much as show their shadows on the surface that was available for examination to others.

I timed it so as to fly in to Castle Bright.w.a.ter right at the end of breakfast on a sunny April morning. And the last ten miles I rode Sterling along the winding roads of the Kingdom, between the hedges of b.u.t.ter-yellow forsythia newly in bloom, and the fields of fruit trees covered with blossoms thick as snowflakes. Every blade of gra.s.s and every new leaf and bud was that perfect green that comes only in April, and that was what the Bright.w.a.ter green was meant to stand for (and never quite matched). And although the people didn't cheer me-we didn't hold with such display on Marktwain, and hadn't for hundreds of years-I knew they were glad to see me coming back. I knew by the smiles on their faces and the fact that they were out in the fields working in their Sundy best, and this not Sundy. I kept my own face straight and pretended not to notice... in fact, I worked at really not noticing, seeing as how if I arrived at Castle Bright.w.a.ter puffed up with anything that a sharp eye could spot as pride the family would be on me hike carrion birds on a new-dead squawker, and I'd come out of it blistered.

n.o.body came out to meet me, which was reasonable enough. I wasn't company here, I lived here, and I had to whistle for a stablemaid to come take Sterling off my hands. Then I stopped and indulged myself, just for a minute, since n.o.body seemed to be looking. I never would of imagined I could be so glad just to be home.

Ours was the first Castle built, and the Castle proper is not one of the shelters the Twelve Families set up when The s.h.i.+p landed and they were new to this planet. The one the Bright.w.a.ters built was made of logs that can't match Tinaseeh ironwood even halfway for durability, but have kept well enough under cover; and it sits within the front courtyard of the Castle as a constant reminder- lest we should ever forget-of our humble beginnings here. It had seven bedrooms round a common room; and forty-four Bright.w.a.ters- men, women, and children, and one fine hound that had quickly died -slept and ate and pa.s.sed their very limited leisure time under that wooden roof.

When I was at home I hardly saw the loghouse, I was so accustomed to it, but it was new to my eyes this morning, and I let them linger on it, glad it was still there for the children of all the Twelve Families to visit and play at living in.

And then I turned my eyes to the Castle itself, and it pleasured me, too. It was perfectly square, and a modest but satisfactory two stories high. It had twelve towers; one at each corner, one at the center of each wall, one on either side of the front doors, and two extra in the front wall for fancy. The Bright.w.a.ter flag flew from every one of the tower roofs, and I noticed that someone had polished the bra.s.s weathervane (an Old Earth rooster that was one of the few material things granted s.p.a.ce in The s.h.i.+p that could only be called a luxury), and that it turned briskly in the wind at the top of the tower spire where it had been fastened more than nine hundred years ago. I smiled; they'd claim that was done for spring cleaning, but I knew better-we were a good week away from spring cleaning time. It was done to welcome me home.

I knocked at the Castle doors, and they slid apart without a sound to let me in; someone had oiled them, too, for there'd been a grating sc.r.a.pe to them when I rode out in February. The Castle Housekeeper stood there casually watching three servingmaids polish the same banister over and over again, and she looked up as I stepped under the doorbeam and pretended to be surprised.

"Well, if it's not Miss Responsible," she said. "Good morning to

you, miss!"

"Good morning to you, Sally of Lewis," I said, and I greeted each of the servingmaids by name as well, including the one whose ap.r.o.n had a grease spot, for which there was no excuse in my front Hall.

I'm home," I said.

"We see you are," said Sally of Lewis. "And we're glad-it's been

a long time."

It had been that; nearly eight weeks, and at that I'd made a bit better time than I'd deserved.

"The Family's still having breakfast, miss," said Sally of Lewis. "They're just finis.h.i.+ng the coffee and there's still hot cornbread on the table. The cooks happened to make extra this morning."

It was amazing. I found that not only was I anxious for some Bright.w.a.ter cornbread and b.u.t.ter, I was even anxious to see my mother. I believed I was even anxious to see Emmalyn of Clark, and I couldn't remember that idea ever pa.s.sing through my mind before. I had clearly been away too long and was going weak in the head.

I went down the corridors to the room at the back of the Castle where we liked to have breakfast and supper both. It looked out on a wide field that was a riot of wildflowers in the spring and a riot of scarlet and golden leaves in the fall, and through which there flowed a quite respectable creek that you could catch glimpses of from the windows. That creek had been First Granny's only condition for choice of the Bright.w.a.ter land. "I don't care what else it has or hasn't," she'd declared. "Volcanoes, canyons, banana trees, swamps, anything you fancy-but it has got to have a creek or I won't build even an outbuilding on it. Keep that in mind!"

"Well, Responsible," they all said as I went in the door. And various other equally original greetings. Granny Hazelbide settled for "Decided to come back, did you?" and a full-scale Granny glare.

"Sit down, Responsible," said Patience of Clark, "and help yourself to the cornbread. Unless you want to change first, of course." I looked down at myself, at the black velvet corselet and the silver-and-gold embroidery and the scarlet leather gloves, and all the rest of it. "No," I said, "I'll have my breakfast first. And then I plan to take all this off, and burn it.""You'll do no such thing!" said Granny Hazelbide, dropping her silverware with a clatter onto her plate. "Waste not, want not, young woman-you think money grows on trees? You'll take that truck off and give it in to the staff for cleaning and storing away proper; and then next time you take a notion to play the fool you'll already have your fool outfit to hand. But spare us your spurs, please-they clank, and furthermore, they'll scratch the floorboards. And take off your gloves; they'll be all over Mule."

Emmalyn of Clark told me what a pretty outfit it was, and how

much she admired it, and how she had thought of that as I left but hadn't had a chance to express her admiration, and I thanked her politely.

"I think, personally," said Thorn of Guthrie, "that it is a tad Too

Much.""A tad! exclaimed Granny Hazelbide. "Why, she looks like a circus, or a-"

I interrupted with considerable haste, remembering how I'd reacted the last time I'd heard the word I was reasonably sure she was just about to use.

"Dear Granny Hazelbide," I said, sitting down and reaching for the hot cornbread and the b.u.t.ter, "you weren't here to advise me when I left, you see, you were ailing, I left in something of a hurry, and I did the best I could."

"Hmnunph," said Granny, "your 'best' is pretty puny, Responsible. And I am scandalized that either your mother or your grandmother let you leave this Castle looking like a-"

Well, there was clearly no hope for it.

"Granny Leeward of Castle Traveller said I looked like a wh.o.r.e," I

said blandly. If the word had to be used I might as well do it myself

and spare my sensibilities as best I could."Shows what she knows," muttered Granny Hazelbide instantly, just as if she hadn't had the exact same word on the tip of her fibbing tongue. "Had her way, you'd have gone on Quest in a black nightgown and a bonnet, I reckon."

"I expect I would," I said. "I expect."

The same crew was there that had been at the meeting in February; except that Jonathan Cardwell Bright.w.a.ter the 11th sat beside Ruth of Motley, and the Granny was present. My mother looked a vision,

as always, in a gown the exact color of the forsythia bushes; and she brought up the subject at hand without preliminary, as always.

"Well," she said, "did you find out who we owe for our sour milk?

And all the rest of it? And did you find out who put that baby up in the cedar tree? I am of the opinion, myself, that the McDaniels are growing somewhat more than just tired of camping under that tree and watching their baby through a life-support bubble, and I rather imagine that if you could see your way clear to do something about that they'd be properly grateful. Not that I'd want to hurry your breakfast, of course."

p.r.i.c.k, p.r.i.c.k, p.r.i.c.k... that was Thorn of Guthrie. p.r.i.c.k you here and when you jumped, stick you somewhere else.

"Mother," I said, "I learned everything I went to find out, and a

good deal more I never suspected, and we can take care of the baby matter in just a minute. I do intend to finish my breakfast."

"Well?" she demanded. "Who was it?""Can't tell," I said, shaking my head with what was intended to look like sincere regret. "I am sorry about that."

"You can't tell?" Jubal Brooks and Donald Patrick did that in chorus, both outraged, and my grandparents looked at each other significantly and said nothing.