Briar Blackwood's Grimmest of Fairytales (13 page)

“An incident? Not another,” Cole grumbled. Briar thought he seemed like lost, petulant a child who had been forced to take the crown and make something of it, rather than a monarch who knew his place and acted from the certainty and gravity of his throne.

“It is best for you to see,” Damarius said.

Briar, Dax, and Sherman jogged along the carpet to keep up with the men. They passed cloaked musicians who held fluted
trumpets by their sides. And as the king passed they blasted a royal welcome salute. Cole yanked away a horn from the pucker of one trumpeter, bent it in half, and handed it back with a look of disgust. The other trumpeters stopped and looked at one another.

“Obviously not a music lover,” Dax whispered.

Cole grumbled as he and Damarius hurried into the palace. “Ninnies. How much are these good-for-nothing street vagabonds paid?” he asked. Without waiting for a response, he answered his own question. “More than I care to afford. Damarius, I want you to disrobe them, empty their pockets, and throw them out onto the street—preferably far beyond the palace. Make sure that there is no further frivolity unless it is by my decree. Is that understood?”

Damarius bowed his head, and showed no sign of emotion.

Briar and the others followed with frantic steps, barely making it into the palace vestibule, as a dozen shirtless strongmen heaved from behind the immense doors, straining with their tree-trunk arms to close them. Several more arrived with an iron bar that heaved into slots across the door.

Cole addressed Sherman. “They know in these times our movements are to remain as hidden as possible. Why the blasted trumpets is a mystery.”

Sherman scurried along to keep pace. “Forgive me, Your Majesty,” he said. “Why exactly must you be so elusive?”

“The damnable Orpion.” The king spoke in a whisper, but still his words carried across the emptiness of the hall. Briar and Dax, followed along to one side and glanced at each other. “Not much of a lady, if you ask me,” the king continued. They rushed along another long runway of burgundy carpet.

Briar marveled at the high stone walls with hundreds of tiny square windows lined in rows extending far above their heads. Banners emblazoned with a crest depicting a gold lion and a green tree fluttered at the head of the drafty hall. The banners
flanked a throne backed with the shields of soldiers who had given their lives—freely or otherwise—in service to the crown.

“My friend,” the king continued, “perhaps in your leave you've not known that most of these Realms are commanded now from Scarlocke. The marriage of my son to Orpion's ward will seal the last of it. After that, the whole of our world will be in the hands of…I dare not say it. At least my son and I will be safe. It is indeed a perilous time that you have chosen to come from the shadows to do your business.”

“You would wed your only son to the kingdom of Scarlocke?” Sherman asked.

“And why would I not? She has inflicted wars upon our kingdom to its furthest reaches and beyond. Drained us of land and gold,” the king said. “A marriage between our kingdoms may ease the burden of innocents. If lives can be spared, then is it not a necessity?”

They finally reached a raised platform upon which the throne stood. Tarfeather hopped out of Damarius' hood and jumped alongside the king. He plopped down on a velvet cushion at the base of the throne.

Briar wondered how this creature, obviously intelligent, must feel about being treated like a cocker spaniel. Maybe that's why she saw him in the mirror—he wanted Briar to set him free. The king paid no attention to the small creature and almost stepped on him while fitting himself between the Throne's arms.

“Well, Damarius?” the king asked.

Tarfeather studied the king and then mimicked him.

Damarius bowed and stepped aside. He whispered to a nearby attendant who nodded and rushed away. Shortly thereafter, two more guards brought in a cage with seven other golden creatures that looked exactly like Tarfeather—save for the fact that they all had their eyes. Golden darting eyes, they were, with slits like that of a cat. The guards positioned themselves on either side of the cage, watching them carefully as though the tiny
things were a great menace to the country and in need of maximum security.

“Dwarefs,” Damarius said. He had a hard time disguising the loathing in his voice. The seven creatures were without clothes and they clung together, some clutching the cage bars and ogling the king as though they had never seen anything of his like before. “They were found along the eastern wall, gouging at the foundation stones.”

Tarfeather tried to get up and approach the cage. But Cole yanked him back with the choke-chain. Tarfeather gagged and then obediently sat back down.

“We were hungry, Your Royalness,” said one of the dwarefs. His voice was scratchy and sounded like rocks rubbing together. He spoke the truth, Briar realized, seeing his distended belly and counting the ribs in his chest beneath his faded golden skin.

Damarius struck the cage with his staff. “Shut up. You are not here to state your case.”

Briar could feel the familiar tingling starting in her body while watching Damarius speak this way to the helpless creatures. She began to realize that if she could focus her attention to something else, her feelings would subside and this might keep the blue flames away.

“Let them speak Damarius,” said the king. Damarius bowed and tried to collect himself. Such an obvious display of personal aversion was not befitting one of his position.

“No eatery for weeks, Royalness,” the dwaref pleaded.

“And my palace was the only meal available?” the king chuckled.

“Your majesty,” Damarius interjected, “all stones of worth, and of value to
them
, have been confiscated—to rebuild the royal coffers.”

King Cole sat for a moment in weighty silence. “Yes, of course. Well then, Damarius, take them where they will cause no harm and set them free. One of them is enough use for one king.” He
glanced at Tarfeather, who had gotten up from his cushion again, and was standing quite close to the cage.

The jailed dwarefs smiled back at Tarfeather. Some tried reaching out to him through the bars. Tarfeather simply regarded them with his hollowed eyes, but did not reach back. It might mean another sharp yank at the neck. The dwaref that spoke seemed relieved at the king's pardon; he smiled with his horrifying pin-sharp teeth, and attempted an elaborate approximation of a courtly bow.

“I beg pardon, Majesty,” Damarius said. His tone was humble, reverent. “But the mines beneath the Flowery Hill are in eternal need of strong diggers.”

“Oh yes. Quite right,” the king said distractedly. “But I have no time for such matters, Damarius. Our guests will be here any time now. Take them wherever you must, only leave me out of it.”

Damarius once more whispered into a guard's ear, and the two positioned beside the cage lifted it and took it away. The seven dwarefs looked at each other, perplexed, the smiles in their eyes fading to panic. Tarfeather sat on the ground as though all strength had left him. He sat gazing without eyes at the space where the cage stood, touching the choking collar and leash around his neck.

“Shall I make preparations for three more guests?” Damarius asked, bowing toward Briar, Dax, and Sherman.

“Oh, Damarius. You're still here,” the king said. “Take these young persons and their master to chambers of their own. Have them scrubbed properly and fit with clothing suitable for the occasion. Thereafter, they shall remain at Murbra Faire, until it no longer pleases me.”

Sherman spoke up. “Cole, please, we must be on our way.”

“That will be all!” King Cole boomed. And with a wave of his hand, several guards armed with drawn swords accompanied Briar, Dax, and Sherman down the long stone corridors, Damarius leading them with his head bowed.

Chapter 18

Damarius smiled like someone who had something dark brewing just below his neatly manicured exterior. “Well, then,” he said. He strode ahead with his robes billowing impressively behind him. “On a little adventure, are we?”

Briar, Dax, and Sherman shuffled together between the flanking, spear-carrying soldiers. Sherman looked more worried than ever and this didn't help Briar feel any better about what was happening. “Sir, I neglected to introduce myself,” Sherman finally said.

“Did you? I hadn't noticed,” the king's advisor replied. Damarius finally decided that smiling was too much effort. And seeing that there was no king to witness his words or deeds, he suddenly seemed even darker and heavier than before—like the clouds that gather before a torrential rain.

“Yes, well, my name is Sherman Herbclaw, dillywig teacher of enchantments. Perhaps my name is familiar to you—?”

Damarius saw no need to turn, but kept his stride down the flickering torch-lit inner passageways. “The name is as unfamiliar to me as you will soon be with the light of the sun—”

“Yes—” Sherman went on nervously. “Well, you should know that my charges and I would not make suitable company for the king, his court, nor the night's festivities. We are simple folk from the Squirrel's Province—”

“Fascinating,” Damarius tossed out.

“You wouldn't want to be responsible for marring His Majesty's' reputation—especially on such a joyous occasion, now would you?” Sherman tried.

Damarius stopped at an arched wooden door. He fitted an iron key into the lock and with a rusty clank, the door groaned open. “Don't be modest,” he said. He widened a smile that looked like he had too many teeth. “The Lady Orpion and her
entourage will welcome you all with open arms this evening. Of that I am sure.”

Damarius' face fell like it was full of wet sand. His gazed at them with a cold, flat indifference. He signaled the guards, who then roughly shoved the lot of them into the chamber.

“Tonight shall be an event that none will soon forget,” Damarius said. Then he slammed the door shut. Briar ran to it, but it was already locked.

Dax looked ill and incurable. “When the Lady Orpion sees you, she'll know who you are.” Then he turned to Sherman. “I thought you were friends with Cole. Why is this happening?”

“I—I don't understand it myself,” Sherman admitted.

“Oh God. I just want to throw that asshole egg against someone's front door,” Dax said.

“There must be a way out,” Sherman said. He inspected the high stone walls behind several of the faded tapestries for hidden openings.

In the center of the room was a bed fitted with sumptuous linens and thick, opulent pillows. The walls were higher than two men—one standing atop the others' shoulders, but they had no windows. They were, however, fitted with several small torches to give the room some vacillating light.

“Use magic,” Briar said.

Dax joined in. “Yeah, what the hell, Sherman? You're supposed to be Mr. Hot-Shot
Lord of the Rings
. Well, it's time to pull a rabbit out of a hat and get us out of here.”

Sherman continued searching the walls, but allowed a long silence to fill the room before he said anything. “Magic is rarely the answer we seek. It's to be reserved for more serious occasions.” Sherman would say no more. Or perhaps he had run out of excuses.

Briar was in a state. She felt the choke of worry. “What could be more serious than this?” she asked.

Just then, they all heard sounds of stone scraping against
mortar. Briar backed up to the bed, watching as a small stone lifted, held up by a pair of thin golden hands with sharp claws. Tarfeather carefully peered in. Seeing no danger, he popped the stone aside and lifted his head in full view.

“Look what's behind door number three!” Tarfeather said. His words and voice perfectly mimicked a television game-show host. It seemed odd to Briar, since his fellow dwarefs spoke in choppy sentences with voices like sandpaper on granite.

Sherman looked a bit shocked too, which told Briar that even he thought it outrageous.

“Help is on the way—right when you need it most,” Tarfeather said. This time sounding like a chipper woman from a commercial.

He hopped out of the small tunnel, then, as quick as water sizzling on a hot skillet, he hopped up onto the bed. He stood very close, looking up and down Briar's body with his empty eyes.

“Tarfeather!” Sherman said. “What are you doing? If someone finds you here we'll all be hanged.”

“Why, just one tablet helps you to get to sleep and stay asleep longer,” Tarfeather said, again like an advertiser. Then he gave his horrifying spikey smile as he pointed to the ceiling.

“Wait,” Briar replied. She realized he was pointing to the chambers above them. “Is someone asleep?”

Tarfeather nodded.

She thought for a minute. It must be the king. How else would Tarfeather get away. “The king?”

The dwaref nodded again.

“Why did you come here?” she asked.

“You're in good hands—” he said, again like daytime TV.

“You mean you're here to help us?” Briar asked.

Tarfeather nodded yet again.

“Oh dear, where is my boyfriend—?” he said mimicking a scratchy 1960s movie.

“Hey, Creep Show, Leon's not my boyfriend.”

Sherman said, “It sounds like he knows something. What is it?”

Tarfeather then announced, “A book is a child's best friend.”

Dax caught on to Tarfeather's weird television snippet language. “How does he know about the book?”

“Don't be ridiculous,” Sherman said. “We discussed Leon and the book in the carriage.”

Tarfeather then held a shushing finger to his leathery lips and whispered, this time using his own scratchy voice. “Briar Blackwood helpery Tarfeather find ha'tua. Helpery get two eyes.”

“Let's try that again in English.” Briar said.

“Ha'tua is dwaref language for something like
spirit—as
if this creature had one,” Sherman said. “Dwarefs believe that the spirit lives in the eyes.”

“She's a bad, bad woman,” the dwaref said like a vintage B-movie actress. Then back to his raspy voice, “Bad lady takery ha'tua. Puttery ha'tua in king food. Ha'tua gone king belly now. King makery Tarfeather doery bad things.”

Dax looked striken. “He ate your eyes? Now that's taking an eating disorder to a whole new level.”

Tarfeather nodded. “I can help ya', see?” He said just like an old time gangster. “Tarfeather helpery Briar Blackwood findery boy-friend.”

“He's not my boyfriend!” Briar insisted.

“Findery book. Book givery Tarfeather new eyes, new ha'tua.”

“This is extremely dangerous!” Sherman said. “We can't open that book, let alone use it to help some stray rock-eater get new eyes.”

“If this nightmare from Elf-Street can help us, then we better accept, Sherman. I mean, what's the alternative?” Briar asked.

Sherman leapt on top of the bed and growled at Tarfeather. “May I remind you that we are here without anyone knowing
who you are, Briar. How does
he
know you? I think this is a trap and that we should put an end to this by feeding me lunch.” He stood nose to nose with the dwaref, who then began backing up against the pillows.

“He's got a point, I've got to hand him that,” Dax said.

Taking off his cap of fringe and feathers, the dwaref looked even smaller. He shivered and drew back his gold pointed ears.

“Don't you threaten me, you no-good snake in the grass,” the creature copied a trilling female vibrato. Then he spoke past Sherman to Briar in his own voice. “No trappery. Briar Blackwood girl from Three Omens. All dwaref knowery Three Omens from mines. No harmery to you. Believery me, Briar Blackwood. Tarfeather wantery eyes.” Then switching back to a television announcer's voice, “—and it's absolutely free!” His lip quivered and then he broke down sobbing into his sharp, spindly fingers.

“Humbug!” Sherman huffed.

“Sherman, I think believe him,” Briar said. She was watching Tarfeather carefully. There was something in his manner that Briar found innocent. After all, he seemed to be as much of a freak as she and Dax. Why shouldn't she cut the little guy a break? “He is risking too much by coming to us,” she ventured. “All we have to do is say no and he will have to live the rest of his life as a pet at the end of a leash. And if the king or Lady Orpion ever found out that he came to us—well, you know better than I what would happen.”

“Don't be naïve. He's nothing but lies,” Sherman said. He turned to the dwaref again. “You seem to know so much about the boy. Where is he?”

Tarfeather wiped his cheeks and caught his breath. “Boy, oh boy!” The dwaref parroted a child actor. The he switched to the voice of a dramatic woman. “You mean he's coming tonight? Here? Why, how could I ever have visitors?”

“He's coming here to the palace?” Briar asked.

Tarfeather nodded timidly then said, “Bad Lady bringery him. Makery him frog. Trickery you. Boy like bait in trap.”

“How do you know this, you vile, vomitus thing?” Sherman snarled, exposing his sharp canines.

“Tarfeather many stories listenery with king.”

Dax looked sideways at Briar. “Okay, so he may not be a Berlitz graduate, but he gets his point across.”

Briar sat down on the bed and looked at Sherman. “Before him we had nothing. And right now, something is better than nothing.”

After a short silence, a polite knock at the door caused them all to jump. A woman from the hallway called out in a petite voice. “Madame? Monsieur?”

“Quick, hide!” Briar said. She swept Tarfeather up, and stuffed him behind two dusty pillows.

“Sorry. We didn't order room service,” Briar said. She shrugged and placed a finger on her lips.

“Madame, I am to bring you to zee dressmaker,” the woman said. From her tiny voice, Briar figured she would be no taller than Tarfeather. The door jiggled until the rusty lock clicked. She swung open the door and stood hulking in the hallway: big, hairy and too broad to enter the room.

She hunched over to peer in, and Briar was nauseated by the single eye she had at the center of her forehead. She held soft white towels folded over her arm. “Oh, madam and monsieur are zo pretty. Zo handsome.” The cyclops grinned, exposing about six or seven rotten teeth. Then she stood upright again and reached in with an enormous hairy hand. “I zee you zere,” she said in a singsong voice.

Briar signaled to Tarfeather to leave. He slipped down from the bed and into his floor hole. Before he placed the floor stone he whispered. “Disguisery, Briar Blackwood.”

“What's that?” the cyclops asked.

“We're coming,” Briar replied. The dwaref nodded and fitted
the stone down over his head.

Once the creature stopped flailing her arm through the doorway, Briar and Dax were able to step out into the corridor.

“Zere you are!” the cycolps squealed. She lifted them both under her arms, then she kicked the chamber door shut.

Sherman whispered to himself. “Be careful.”

The evening's event was both elegant and odd. Creatures of all sorts dressed in white and gold, lace, satin, and silk danced in pairs atop the glowing, burnished marble floors. Wolves and knee-high gnomes with grubby hands and feet danced together while winged bird-men in tuxedos and curly powdered wigs played a sedate violin chamber dance.

But there were other creatures too, that confounded Briar. Some were as tall as basketball players with hairy backs and pendulous breasts. These lovelies held up the sides of their dresses with long-gloved hands and danced daintily with their waist-coated counterparts, which appeared to be tusked ogres. Meanwhile, gauzy pink-winged girls danced and flittered together above the floor around and around the ballroom. It was a better freak show than the nerds at Gluteus High, Briar had to admit.

Briar and Dax stood at the top of a curved marble staircase watching the scene below. Just as Tarfeather had suggested, they disguised themselves with sculpted powdered wigs and black masks tied in satin ribbon bows that covered their eyes and noses.

Briar could barely catch her breath. The brutish cyclops fitted her into a white silk bodice that was as stiff as formed steel. It drastically tapered to her waist, cinched her ribs, and squeezed like a grizzly. The Lady Orpion might already be within the crowd, she thought, hoping that if they could just spot her, they might be able to keep their distance. She strained to see across the vast, sparkling ballroom, but no one gave special deference to
anyone else. So it might not be that a woman of great, dark power was yet among the crowd.

Dax stood beside Briar smoothing down his own overgrown golden attire—the shimmering vest layered beneath an equally glimmering waistcoat, the golden knickers and the black shoes each fitted with a puffy golden bow. With the added powdered wig, he looked a bit like a walking wedding cake. He snapped open a lace fan and whispered behind it, “Just act natural—”

An overgrown toad fancied up with a ribboned white wig and white gloves stood at the head of the staircase. He announced to the room, “The dillywig charges of Sherman Herbclaw.” Making the announcement gave Briar a gurgle in her stomach that wouldn't stop. The frog gestured, and the two knew they had to descend the stairs. To Briar's relief, no one in the ballroom seemed to notice or care. They all continued dancing and laughing to the lilting violin that played lengthy, complex baroque loops.

Dax spotted Sherman and pointed him out to Briar. He was standing beside Cole and another broad-shouldered man with his back turned to the crowd. As Briar and Dax approached, Sherman's eyes grew wide with warning. “Good evening,” he said with a tense, constricted voice.