Fairly Wicked Tales (27 page)

“This treasure, it belongs to the old woman?” I asked.

The creature nodded. “Yes, I have gathered and hidden it for her.”

“Well, then, I don’t think she’ll notice a small bit missing.”

I jumped into the treasure with wild abandon, stuffing my pockets, wrapping jewelry around my neck, until I wondered if I’d be able to walk under the extra weight.

I knew I should have been happy right then. I had just become rich. But, the King, the old hag, the mercy I’d received at their hands, their treatment dug at me, bit at me. I itched for revenge.

After I’d claimed what treasure I could carry, the black doll led me back to the main tunnel, and I followed behind, my stride strong, my footing sure, the limp already forgotten. The tunnel kept its course, and after a long stretch it slanted upwards. A gentle breeze caressed my face, and moments later I observed the opening, a crack that led outside.

Relieved, I squeezed through the opening and leaned against the hill that covered the tunnel, my breath fast and hard from the rapid pace the doll had set.

“Manikin,” I said, once my chest stopped heaving. “The old woman, I’d like you to pay her a visit. Give the witch to the whims of a judge.”

She had taken advantage of my honor, had worked my body to the point of breakdown, and then at the slightest challenge she had thrown me down a well, no thought at all if I’d lived or died. No, justice wouldn’t be good enough for her. She deserved something else.

“Wait,” I called to the retreating manikin. “I’d rather tend to it myself. Bring her to the well and hold her there. I’ll meet you shortly.”

“As you command, my Lord,” the manikin said. Another bow and the creature dashed back through the opening in the hill, faster than I imagined its short legs capable of.

I took a moment to catch my breath. A few paces away a stump of a tree sat, withered and rotten with age. I took out a silver knife and slashed the bark, digging a sign to mark the spot. Then I strode over the hill, in the direction the doll had taken.

The walk turned out to not be nearly so long as it had been underground. The sun still stood high in the sky when I spotted the cottage sitting between two stands of trees, on top of a larger rise. My pace quickened.

The old woman stood by the well’s opening when I arrived, just as I’d commanded. She wore a look of pale anger on her face, her eyes brimming with resentment. The manikin, black and stark against the rock of the well, watched me silently as I approached the witch.

“A gift brought by the mercy you’ve shown, lady,” I said, nodding towards the doll, fingering the blue light tucked at my waist. “You have my thanks.”

A good, hard shove forced her over the lip of the well. Her scream was cut short by a loud smack of bone against rock, then the dull, soft sound of a body colliding with the ground below.

Mercy is best provided with a personal touch.

***

The walk back to Rikkersfell brought back memories of the trip taken just three days ago, my mind desperate, body broken, dreams shattered. With those memories came other thoughts, angry ones filled with bitterness and vengeance. My body had been mended, but the spirit within, well, that might take a stretch longer.

“Manikin, come when I call for you,” I nodded to the creature. “You are not needed at the moment.”

The black doll bowed and walked back towards the trees. I looked back an instant later and the manikin had disappeared.

The sun had begun to fall by the time I walked through town. The Wayside Inn, one of many to refuse me service three days ago, had a decidedly different response when I slapped a silver coin down on the table. The barkeep’s snarl died in his throat, replaced by awkward flattery. I secured a room on the upper level, their cleanest, largest room. The bed was soft down, with wool blankets, and a thick pillow. A storage chest sat by the locked window.

I pulled out the treasures in my pockets, threw them in the chest, and made my way downstairs.

Sitting down at a square table in back, I motioned to a serving girl. “Your best ale, mutton, and fresh bread,” I said. I caught her wrist as she moved away, more roughly than I’d intended. “And send for a tailor, I have need of new clothes.”

She nodded briskly, her eyes avoiding mine, and hurried off into the kitchen, rubbing her wrist.

The tavern was fairly quiet, still early in the evening, only a handful of patrons at other tables.

I kept to myself, my thoughts sinister, the dark look on my face enough to ward off any who approached my table, and plotted my revenge on the King who’d spurned me.

***

I relaxed on the bed as I pulled out the pipe from my pocket, the blue light from the locked chest. I lit the pipe, the blue flame washing over the tobacco, watching the spark and sizzle as the tobacco burned.

Smoke from the pipe swirled around the room, and as promised, the manikin appeared next to the bed.

“Your wish, my Lord?”

“The King, Silas, he has only the one child, a daughter?” I asked.

The black doll nodded. “Yes. Her name is Amalia.”

“He has wronged me, manikin,” I said, dark thoughts swirling. “I wish to pay him in kind.”

The manikin turned its head, that unreadable expression on its face, the round, tiny eyes betraying nothing of its thoughts. “And what of the girl, my Lord?”

“Bring her to me,” I said. “Wait until the moon is at its peak, when she is sound asleep. Do not awaken her.”

“I will do as you command, my Lord,” the black creature said. “But you must be careful; this is a dangerous game you play.”

“I didn’t start this game,” I said. “But now I intend to play by my own rules.”

“Very well, my Lord.” The manikin bowed and left the room, its tiny feet making no sound on the wooden floor.

I took a few more puffs from the pipe and settled into the comfortable bed, my head relaxed on the fluffy down pillow, visions of a young, beautiful princess at my whim running through my mind.

***

I didn’t hear the manikin arrive until after the small creature had closed the bedroom door. The sound of the door snapping shut woke me from a troubled dream, a lucid vision of breathless flight from a nightmare of blood and metal, snapping teeth and deep, dark eyes. Eyes I knew, unmistakably, without reservation, belonged to me.

Sitting up in bed, the dream already fading, reality still working to take hold with its firm grip, I watched as the manikin carried a girl to the foot of my bed. I say girl, but she was woman enough, shapely form teasing under her nightdress, her pale, peaceful face framed by flowing auburn hair.

The creature set her on her feet, and she stood there, swaying gently, eyes closed. Her eyelids flickered and I saw her eyes shifting underneath, like she was in dream.

Looking at her beauty, my plan went up in a dash of smoke. Couldn’t hardly kill her now, could I? A tremendous waste to go so far. No, not death for her, then, but a different fate of my choosing. Revenge of an entirely different fashion.

***

I stifled a yawn just as the first glimmers of the sun lanced through the glass of the window. I hadn’t realized the girl had been here for so long.

“Manikin, quickly, get the girl home and in her bed!” I hissed. The doll swept the girl off her feet in one smooth motion, holding her easily even though she must have been three or four times its size, and I dashed to open the door for the burdened creature. After closing the door behind them, I moved to the window. I caught no sight of the manikin or the sleeping form the thing carried back to the castle.

Several moments passed before I realized I still held my breath, my heart pounding in my chest. Thoughts of flight crossed my mind. Might have been a smart thing to do, but I had been born stubborn.

I sighed, the wave of panic passing, and fell on the bed, a relieved smile on my face. Sleep came quickly, and the smile left soon enough. Another nightmare claimed me.

***

Shouts and banging below woke me. My head ached, my neck stiff, like I’d slept wrong. I sat up gently, cringing. My pulse beat against my head like a drum.

I opened the door to the hall in time to see soldiers and militia marching up the stairs. Panic struck as I closed the door, my imagination jumping to the conclusion that the princess had told them exactly where to find me, certain she hadn’t been as asleep as I thought. Not possible, no one could feign sleep while sweeping a room, and certainly not while rubbing the stink and sweat from my feet, unless they were truly asleep.

Convincing myself I’d panicked for nothing, I looked back by the bed. Near the foot, clear as day, sat the princess’ slippers.

Fate chose that precise moment to strike, like a thunderbolt. The lock on the door clicked and four soldiers barged into the room, pushing the door aside and knocking me from my feet. The lead soldier’s eyes widened when he saw the slippers.

“Aye, that’d be them, boys!” he said. “Just like the princess said!”

Two of the soldiers gave me suspicious looks as they twisted my arms behind my back and tied them there.

“She said she dreamt it, right?” one of the soldiers, a young man, short and stringy, asked the one I assumed to be the leader, who only nodded, like he didn’t want to put voice to his thoughts. “So, he’s a witch, then, right?”

“No, that’s not right at all,” said one of the guards who held me. “Unless this one’s missing parts, he’d be a warlock. Women are witches.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” said the leader, and the four of them burst into laughter. They started to push me through the door.

I turned my head as I was led out. My gear, including the precious blue light and my pipe, sat on a chest. The manikin had been right to call this a dangerous game.

***

Silas appeared most gracious when I arrived at his throne room for a second time, this time bound in shackles and chains.

“Ah, Thorne, so good to see you again!” He leapt from his throne, rushed to stand in front of me. He stopped at the lowest step, and he beamed at me from his towering vantage point. Silas wore no crown now, and had seemingly not bothered to dress for the occasion, garbed in simple clothing, a plain shirt and brown pants.

He never had been one for the outlandish, decorous attire throne rooms often required.

“And it seems you were correct,” he said with a wide, worrisome grin. “You did heal quite well, after all, didn’t you?”

I didn’t answer, and I wasn’t about to bow my head now, so I just stood there, staring at him.

“You have my apologies for the error,” he finally said. The King was still very quick for his age, a fierce warrior in his prime and no less so now, even with graying hair and softened edges. His knee took me completely by surprise, a thunderous shock to my chest, and the impact sent me flying from the dais to land heavily on the floor.

I coughed and wheezed, trying to will the air back into my lungs, the room spinning, darkness on the fringes of my vision. I felt rough hands drag me upright.

“I’ll be curious to see how well you’ll heal this time,” the King said, the grin gone, replaced by cold, harsh lines. He dismissed me with a nod of his head. “Take him to the dungeons. For now.”

***

I knew one of the men escorting me to the dungeon, an older, stocky man with a thick, grizzled beard. An old veteran of the war, and several others besides, one I had gone to battle with. I thought him a good man, which I planned to now put to the test.

“Goren, you know me, right?”

“Aye, I know you,” he answered. “Though not so well as I thought, apparently.”

“Only a misunderstanding,” I lied. “You’ll see soon enough, my old friend.”

He didn’t answer, and I decided not to talk the rest of the way. Didn’t want to say or risk too much with the other guard nearby. We wound through a maze of darkened halls, descending down stairs and walkways lit by the occasional torch, shadows lurking in corners.

We came to a thick door made of strong wood, a guard standing in front of the closed door. He nodded at Goren and opened the door, allowing us through.

The door creaked open and the odors of desperation and foulness hit me. Stale piss, the sharp scent of old blood mixed with new, the wretched stench of men wasting away in the dark and dank below ground. I fought the urge to gag as we passed through the door, the guard’s eyes on me until we’d gone through the doorway.

We passed a row of cells, mostly empty save for two, one occupied by a foul-smelling man, even judged against the already horrid stink of the dungeon. I couldn’t tell who lay in the other cell, as they crouched in the deepest corner, hidden by shadows and darkness. Eyes peered at me, and then a flash of teeth.

The guards stopped me at the last cell in the row, set against the thick walls of the castle on two sides. The guard I didn’t know unlocked my chains and pushed me through the open gate with a harsh shove. He started to walk away as Goren swung the gate closed with a clank. He locked it with a key attached to a thick ring of several others.

“Goren, you’re a good man,” I said softly, little more than a whisper. “Stay behind, will you, just for a moment? I need a small favor.”

He eyed me, his tongue rolling over his teeth. “Aye, what sort of favor, warlock?”

“Simple enough, really. At the Wayside, I’ve paid for several nights already. Would you gather my belongings and bring them to me? Just a small bag on a chest.” I couldn’t expect him to just roll over and fetch them for me, so I continued with the hook, my voice low. Wouldn’t do to have anyone else in earshot catch wind. “As payment for your small mercy, the chest in my room is full of gold. You are welcome to as much as you can carry.”

He could have it all, if he wanted. Much more in the secret cave under the witch’s well, and that was all mine.

I watched him roll and twist the thought in his mind, work his mouth, his eyes frowning. “And that’s it? Just the bag, pipe, and light?” He paused, gave me another hard look. “You’ve not bewitched the gold, have you?” he whispered.