Back to the Fuchsia (11 page)

“Did you ever think you’d have to walk this much ever again?” Brad asked.

“You know, it’s not something I’ve ever thought about. Of all the modern conveniences, I don’t even drive a car. There’s something about having your feet on the ground, feeling the earth’s loving vibrations seep through you.”

“Yeah, Gertie. What you’re really feeling is the pain from your blistered feet shooting through your body. I should know, I make my living on my feet,” Jessica noted.

“You could look at it that way, but if you keep a positive outlook, good things will happen.”

Regardless of my cheeriness, when an old man offered us a lift in his firewood laden cart, pulled by his even older horse, we gratefully accepted. Our feet rejoiced, dancing loosely off the back end of the cart.

“People in the country sure are friendlier than those stuffy people at the king’s court,” Brad said.

Jessica nodded her head. “You’ve got that right. You know, it’s always been my observation that people who have less, and work the hardest, are more giving than the people who have everything. Sure, it’s not always the case, you always have your exceptions, but by and large it’s true. Any waitress will tell you the same thing.”

I guess Jessica had a valid point. When you’ve survived with nothing and needed a little help, you learn to appreciate what it means to share. It made me think we could probably trust a few people we might meet on our trip.

“Brad, I have an idea. As we pass through villages, we should make it a point to meet the local elders, the cunning folk as they’re supposedly called. I mean, who else can we talk to about dragons?”

“Good idea, but be careful not to mention witches or witchcraft. I have a feeling it would mean trouble.”

We unexpectedly tested our theory after the woodcutter dropped us off in a tiny village.

“Brad, Gertie, I’m going to wander around a bit, talk to a few of the townspeople to try and dig up some information about the road ahead. Might as well put my fancy-schmancy waitress debonair superpowers to good use. Trust me, I can gracefully charm a hundred dollar bill out of Scrooge’s wallet, without taking my clothes off.”

“Okay, Gertie and I will check out the market. Maybe we’ll find something decent to eat besides Cosmos’ rock-hard bread. I think I broke a tooth on that last roll.”

“Brad! Look over there at those poor creatures! Six little pigs in tiny cages.”

Nothing gets my hackles up like the cruel treatment of animals. Each pig had been stuffed in a wooden cage so small its skin bulged between the slats.

“Hmm. I can negotiate a deal for their freedom. Cosmos gave me a whole sack full of gold coins. I’ll buy them and you can do whatever you do with pigs. Can you let them loose in the forest? I don’t know anything about pigs.”

“Great! Of course we can. Pigs can live in the wild, with no problem.”

Just as Brad approached the pig owner, Jessica huffed and puffed her way back to where I stood.

“Gertie! I found a real wit—I mean, a real one of those cunning folks you mentioned. That old woman in black. See her? Sitting on that chair outside of that dive bar, or saloon, or whatever they call it here.”

I nodded when I saw the woman she described. “Yeah.”

“I was talking to this really old dude. I told him that I was looking for the cunning folk. He singled her out, and said I’d need to give her a penny. So I gathered my wits and went to ask her if she knew of any dragons around the area, and she said yeah, she knew a guy who had one. A real dragon, Gertie! But I need you to come with me. The man is drinking in there and I’m not going into that bar alone.”

“How exciting! Brad? We’ll be right back!” Brad was busy with the pig seller, leaving Jessica and me to speak to the mysterious dragon owner.

Jessica pulled me by the hand. “She told me the dragon’s name and everything. Just got to ask permission to see it.”

Right through the pub door and up to the bar we went. A large, unshaven and very filthy man leaned against a table. He was quite drunk. Jessica nudged him. “Hey, Mister, will you show me One Eyed Willy?” She shot me a glance. “That’s the dragon’s name.”

The man grinned, showing us all three of his teeth. “Christ almighty, Jessica. He’s got a grin on him like a dead hare, and a head like a rusty cabbage.”

“One Eyed Willy atch yer service, m’ladies!” The ugly beast tore open his coat and whipped out his flaccid, misshapen penis. The entire establishment exploded with laughter and shook with the wild drumming of pints being slammed on the tables. Jessica screamed and I drew my wand—pure reflex, really. Although I leveled it at him, I didn’t intend to harm him.

“Feckin’ nasty bastard! You’re a goat shite eatin’ skunk sack suckin’ son of an Ulster Orangeman!”

I’m normally quite reserved from hurling insults, but they flew from my tongue like flames from a blowtorch. “Let’s get out of here.” I pulled Jessica out the door.

The old woman stuck her foot out, nearly tripping Jessica. She even cackled as loud as the men inside.

“You’re no cunning folk! To think I gave you a penny for that disgusting show!” Jessica barked.

The old woman smiled and flipped her skirt up, to give us a quite disgusting reveal of everything Mother Nature had given her—in the raw. “Cunny! Cunny folk! Ha ha ha ha!”

“Oh, no you didn’t just flash your nasty bits at us.” Jessica snatched my wand. “That’s it. How do I work this thing?”

“No! Jessica, you can’t—” My warning spoken a second too late. She had already stepped back inside the pub.

A blue flash of light erupted from the door and windows.

“Ahhh!”

She raced out the door, howling like a banshee while waving the wand wildly in front of her. Random streams of blue fire shot in all directions, as if she danced with a magical flame thrower.

“Help! How do I turn it off?”

The nasty old degenerate stumbled out of the pub, his hands covering his blackened groin.

“Witch! Witch!” he struggled to shout. Considerable pain evident in his voice. The old woman dove into a nearby thorn bush for safety.

“You call that your fancy-schmancy waitress debonair superpower? Sweet Baby Jaysus!”

“What the hell?” Brad ran toward us, carrying three wide-eyed, squealing, caged piglets under each arm. A single stray beam of electric fire hit one of the cages.

The magic visibly scrambled through the cages, making weird sizzling sounds. It reminded me of the sounds of an overworked bug zapper on a hot summer’s night. That little bit of nostalgia was enough to make me feel instantly homesick.

The sad feeling didn’t last long. Brad tossed the cages and ran to my side. We watched them bounce and crackle until they burst open. The cute little piglets were gone. They’d been transformed into gargantuan wild boars, hell-bent on plunder and pillage.

We ran from the doomed hamlet, never looking back to witness its certain destruction.

Fugitives on the Run

W
e plodded silently along for the better part of the day before I decided to state the thing that had us all worried sick. “How fast do you think word travels around here?”

Brad was first to respond.

“Considering the lack of any sort of mass communication infrastructure in this time period, I’d say news only travels as fast as it is interesting enough to talk about. News about witches turning piglets into man-eating hogzillas and blasting some old guy’s pecker off with a magic wand? Oh, I’d say that made it all over England by now.”

“At least he’ll think twice before he waves his genitals around again. That is, if he has any left,” I said as cheerfully as possible.

Jessica sniffled. “I’m really sorry for taking your wand and causing so much trouble. If something happens to us…well, it’s all my fault.”

“Hey!” I put my arm around her shoulder, pulling her close. “There are no tears in witchcraft. Besides, that was nothing back there. Pssh. You should have seen just half of the calamities I’ve caused and every one of them ten times worse than that.”

“She’s right, Jessica. I’ve borne the brunt of a few of Gertie’s happy accidents. I know what a real magical disaster is. But what you did back there? Some overgrown pigs, a scorched wiener, and some busted up shacks? Just a slight misfortune. We don’t even bat an eyelash over stuff like that.”

“You guys are just trying to make me feel better.”

“Of course we are. But we’re still telling you the truth. In fact, I’m quite impressed by the way you took the bull by the horns. You’re a natural! The way you handled a wand for the first time without any reservations was impressive. Sure, the uncontrolled spurts of magic splattering all over the place certainly caught you off guard, but that sometimes happens at times. Even to a more experienced wand
-
handler, like myself. Though, I’m not all
that
experienced, mind you, I’ve only handled one wand.”

“She’s right again, Jessica,” Brad agreed.

“I have an idea, Jessica. One of these days, we’ll play around with a wand together. I can show you some tricks. Who knows? You might find out you like it and become a witch. It suits you.”

“Whew! Is it getting hot out, or is it just me?” Brad swiped his hand across his forehead.

“No, I’m comfortable. Just you, I guess,” I replied, hoping Brad wasn’t coming down with a cold.

That night we made a camp far enough from the road to remain unseen. I can see why people choose to occasionally get away from their normal routine by heading out into the wild. I’m sure being one with nature is a big part of the experience for many, not so much for me.

I loved the time Brad and I spent together, from silently holding hands to our seemingly endless conversations. The freedom from our work at home was the key. We made a promise that we’d get away together at least twice a year.

Our overabundance of caution paid off when the next day our journey took us to yet another village. We crept up on it, looking for a suitable path to bypass the town and avoid anyone on the lookout for rogue witches. The town was larger and more crowded than the little village we’d destroyed. In fact, there seemed to be a considerable commotion in the market square.

“Oyez! Oyez! Oyez!” a man cried out.

“What in blazes did he say?” I asked. Brad and Jessica shrugged their shoulders, and we crawled behind a stone wall to get a closer look.

“I think it’s the town crier. The guy that yells the news out to everyone,” Brad replied. “Let’s hear what he has to say.”

“A decree by His Majesty, King Henry VIII. To all my subjects, be warned! A scourge of witches descended upon our peaceable kingdom, from court to countryside. All practitioners of witchcraft, sorcery, necromancy, etcetera and so on, will be hanged and burned.”

The crier placed the royal decree into a shoulder bag and retrieved another as he continued delivering the news.

“In other news, the nearby village of Slippery Knob was visited by two witches. These same evil sorceresses brought forth a large demon and all together laid waste to the Cockingmouth Tavern, scorching the bollocks of the swine farmer, Ben Shitlingthorn, with hellfire, leaving his person’s privy parts bald and blistered. These witches cursed piglets in the market, growing them into monsters. With their demon beasts, they descended on all of Slippery Knob. A reward is offered for the arrest of the witches.”

“Does everyone and everything have such a filthy sounding name here?” I pondered out loud.

“The reward can be claimed by turning in the witches to…” I quickly covered my ears up to avoid hearing yet another vulgar name. The crier continued, “Sheriff John Smith.”

“Really? That wasn’t bad at all.” I dropped my hands down, certain my ears had been spared.

“Pardon my mistake, to Sheriff Ivan Fingringhoe or Bishop Rimswell.”

“They should censor the morning news around here. Good lord!” Jessica said.

“I think I’ve heard enough,” Brad added.

“Geez, now I have a price on my head! What do you say, Gertie? Ready to get the heck away from here?”

“But from here on out, we better stay off the main road. I’m sure we’ll find forest paths, or trails, or something.”

I didn’t say it out loud, but I seriously worried Brad or Jessica would decide our mission to find Olaf had become too risky.

Brad must have detected my worries. Maybe it was my wavering voice that betrayed my confidence, or the way my eyes scanned the forest edge for anything that looked remotely like a path. In any case, Brad took my hand and led us off the road.

“Don’t worry, baby. We aren’t going to quit. After all, things are just starting to get interesting.”

“Interesting indeed,” an unfamiliar and small feminine voice spoke.

“Who’s there?” Brad demanded.

A blonde haired girl, no more than twelve, stepped out from behind a large oak tree. A flock of snow-white geese followed behind her. One of the geese nipped at her rough brown dress.

“My name is Katherine.”

Katherine

D
ropping to one knee, I reached out to pet one of the geese. “That’s a beautiful name. Katherine. Has such a noble ring to it. How long have you been listening to us, Katherine?”

“Long enough to ask a favor from you,” she replied in a confident voice.

“And what would that be?”

“I want to go with you. I want to see Olaf, your dragon.”

Her request physically knocked me backwards. I glanced at Jessica and Brad. From the astonished looks I saw, they heard it, too.

“Well…we have a long way to go. It will take us days just to reach Northumberland. I think you would be missed here. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“Not so much as one would hope to be missed. And not so much that you couldn’t take me with you when you go back to the future.”

I was actually speechless. “You have been following us for a while. Maybe we shouldn’t discuss such important matters out in the open. After all, you know that people are looking for us.”

Brad pointed skyward. Dark clouds grew in the distance. “The weather’s nice now, but it looks like we’re in for some storms by evening. Not only do we need to hide out, we need shelter.”