Puss in Boots (Timeless Fairy Tales Book 6) (4 page)

When Queen Ingrid died, King Henrik had lost his anchor to the world.

This morning, like all the others, the king had spoken very little after they climbed into the coach.

“What village is next?” Steffen asked.

“Ilz, a border settlement,” his father answered, staring down at his boots.

“We’re that close to the border of Loire?”

“Yes.”

Steffen nodded and, at loss for words, looked outside the carriage window. He saw a girl—he caught only a glimpse of her, but she was quite pretty—and a cat, walking in the opposite direction, and then there were acres of countryside.

“It will be nice to return to Castle Brandis in a few days—for a short time, anyway. I’m sure there are piles of work waiting for us.”

His father nodded and said nothing.

They sat in silence until the carriage rolled to a stop in Ilz. Relieved, Steffen climbed out of the carriage and took a deep gulp of fresh air. He almost choked—the Ilz air was liberally peppered with smoke from all of the forge fires—and his knees cracked as he glided away from the carriage to caress his horse.

They had drawn a crowd. Although no herald rode with them to announce the king’s presence, Steffen’s father was well known to his people, and the simple crown he wore on his head—as well as the golden circlet Steffen wore—marked them as royalty.

Villagers whispered and bobbed in bows and curtsies whenever anyone from the small, understated, royal procession looked in their direction.

“Are you going to have a look around and make the first inspection?” Steffen asked his father as the king approached his horse—a large gelding led by a member of his guard.

“Yes. You’ll make the sleeping arrangements?”

“As you wish,” Steffen said. “Take care, Father.” But he stayed near enough to watch for a moment—and listen.

King Henrik nodded and wore a feeble smile when he turned to meet his subjects. “Greetings, people of Ilz.” His voice was much quieter than usual, lacking its thunderous and joyful peals.

“It’s the king!”

“Poor soul—he looks dreadful.”

“Gabi is going to be enraged when she learns what she missed out on while she pouted in the hills.”

“Give her grace, Rupert.”

“God bless the king!”

The people, aware of their king’s pain, rallied around the man, trailing after his horse as a short scrawny man—the master of the local merchant guild office, presumably—scrambled down the road, halting at the hooves of King Henrik’s horse.

“Welcome to Ilz, Your Majesty,” the man said, bowing deeply. “It is our honor to host you here. We heard of your inspection, but we did not dare hope that you would bless us with your grace and presence.”

“At ease, man. Could you show me your beautiful village?” King Henrik asked, making a good pretense at interest for his subjects’ sake.

“Of course, Your Majesty! This way, please,” the scrawny man babbled.

Steffen rubbed the back of his neck as he watched his father ride down the street. “This has been one stupendous failure.”

“What makes you think that, Kronprinz?” asked Timo. He was the commander of the king’s personal guard and had handpicked all the guards and soldiers that accompanied Steffen and King Henrik on this inspection.

“He is still deep in his grief. I knew the loss of my mother weighed heavily on him, but…” Steffen raised and dropped his hand, unable to find words that described the depth of sadness that had taken King Henrik.

When Queen Ingrid—Steffen’s beloved mother—had passed away suddenly in the spring, there were a few tense weeks where Steffen and his seven siblings wondered if their father would join her, due to the strength of his grief.

Steffen, his six brothers, and his foster-sister all felt the loss of their mother. The heartbreaking loss had done much damage to his closely knit family.

“It’s barely been a season since her death. Give him time,” Timo said, unbuckling gear from his mount. He smiled at Steffen, making the white scar on his cheek pucker.

“It was a mistake to have me ride with Father,” Steffen said, rubbing his horse’s forehead. “It should have been one of my siblings. Someone better at using kind words.”

“But they do not share King Henrik’s burden, as you do. You know your responsibility to the people, just as His Majesty knows,” Timo said. Behind the older man, another guard—Moritz, a lanky fellow who had the propensity to slink in shadows—skulked, leading several horses to a water trough where the newest member of the guard—Dominik—was pouring out buckets of water from a well.

“I can’t call him back, Timo. I loved my mother, but I don’t understand this.”

“Of course you don’t. You have not loved with the passion Their Majesties shared.”

“I hope I never do,” Steffen muttered.

“And it is not your responsibility to call him back. You can show His Majesty why he must live, but it is His Majesty who must decide to return,” Timo said.

“I dislike feelings and emotions, and I have an even greater dislike of speaking about them.” Steffen rubbed his tired eyes.

“You have a few more stops on this leg of the inspection, and then you can return to Castle Brandis.”

“For a few measly weeks. Then we begin an inspection of the northeast cities. It’s madness—with the ogre still settled in Carabas,” Steffen said.

“They are still your people, Kronprinz.” Timo patted Steffen on the shoulder. Then he left Steffen to organize his men.

“Your horse, Kronprinz,” a flat, emotionless voice said.

Steffen turned to face Alwin, another one of his father’s personal guards.
Why is he not sweating?
Alwin always wore his helm with a fastened chinstrap, even now when the sun was insistent and everyone else had removed their headgear. “I’ll water him. Thank you, Alwin.”

Alwin bowed and moved to assist with unhitching the carriage horses, his movements stiff but methodical.

Steffen waited until the shadowy Moritz watered the last horse of his throng before he led his gelding up to the water trough. His head ached—not because of any malady, but because of all the problems that crowded his skull, fighting for his attention.

“It’s a good thing Rune and Falk will be at Brandis when we return,” Steffen said to his horse. “With luck, they will attempt to flirt with Elise and fail in the most pitiful way. I could then call them out. I would welcome a chance to smack sense into someone—especially my brothers.”

Moritz, as quiet as a cat even though he led four horses, ghosted up behind Steffen. The crown prince nodded to the man and led his horse away, clearing out for the unwatered horses.

“Does anyone know if Ilz has an inn?” Steffen asked, approaching several of the guards.

“It doesn’t,” Dominik said, his eyes bright and his voice eager to share his information. “It lacks goods to trade and isn’t on any major roads, so there hasn’t been a need for one. Your orders?”

“Dominik and Alwin, please ask some of the farmers if we could stable our horses with them. We’ll reimburse them with coin.”

“And for yourself and His Majesty?” Alwin prompted as he minutely adjusted his helm.

“Perhaps the master merchant will be willing to house us. He’s with Father, so I suppose we cannot ask until they will return.”

“A good plan, Kronprinz,” Dominik enthusiastically nodded.

Alwin bent at the waist in a perfect bow before he started to walk out of the village. “Newbie,” he called, gesturing for Dominik to follow him.

“Right away,” Dominik said, trotting after the more experienced guard.

Steffen turned to look back in the direction in which his father and the master merchant had set off. “Send help, please,” he whispered. “Someone strong enough to break this grief. Someone heroic.”

Chapter 3

The First Adventure

“I despise most people,” Gabrielle announced as she walked down the worn dirt road, the morning sun slicing through the sky. “But I would very much like to meet a ship of pirates.”

“Whatever for?” Puss asked, artfully draped over her shoulders and enjoying the ride. “The lot of them are nothing but dirty, dishonorable knaves.”

“You’ve met one, then?”

“Whether or not I have, it does not change the fact that humans cannot easily bathe in a ship.”

“Which means you haven’t met any, so how could you know?”

Vexed, Puss twitched his whiskers forward. “And I suppose you would like to meet a group of thieves or highwaymen, or perhaps even a member of the Verglas Assassins’ Guild?”

“Even I am not so daring as to wish to meet a Verglas assassin. I long for adventure, not death. But I would not mind meeting a debonair highwayman—a well-behaved one,” Gabrielle said. “But I do not think that sort of man exists here. Arcainia offers only common, scrubby, mean-hearted bandits.”

“And how did you become convinced that pirates and highwaymen can be
debonair
?”

“Stories. I’ve heard tales about a pirate queen and king, and there’s more than one tale about a highwayman,” Gabrielle said.

“Whatever thief put such a story into circulation has an excellent grasp of public relations,” Puss said.

“What?”

“Nothing. Based on my understanding of Arcainian geography, I think we will reach the village of Wied before dark.”

“I assume we will walk straight through it?”

“Will the villagers recognize you and drag you home?”

“Not likely. I’ve visited Wied twice in my life,” Gabrielle said.

“Then perhaps we will linger.”

“Why? We haven’t any money to stay at an inn. And last night was quite enjoyable,” Gabrielle said. She had slept, with Puss curled at her side, in a small copse of trees. The cat had made a fire with flames that burned a ghostly blue color and had caught them a fish to share while she gathered berries, which she had eaten for breakfast.

“We shall not sleep outside if I can manage it, but the main factor will be the strength of your luck.”

Gabrielle lost some of the spring in her step. “Luck? If that’s the case, we’re doomed.”

“I never specified if I meant bad luck or good luck,” Puss said, his whiskers tickling Gabrielle’s cheek.

“Which is it?”

“Either will do. To an adventurer, they are one and the same.”

“I disagree. The difference between good luck and bad luck is what separates successful adventurers from dead ones,” Gabrielle said.

“That might be true in some cases, but either will suit our purposes.”

“And what are our purposes?”

“I was thinking it is time that someone throws a coup over that despot of an ogre squatting in Carabas,” Puss said.

Gabrielle halted so swiftly she almost dislodged Puss from her shoulders. “You’re mad. No!”

“Why not? You wanted adventure.”

“Yes, but I want to
live
through my adventures!”

“But there is no greater adventure than saving a land and its inhabitants.”

“No, no, no. Before we go any farther, I must make something clear,” Gabrielle said. She pulled the magical cat from her shoulders and considered holding him, but he was quite hefty even though he was sleek-looking, so instead she put him down on the ground. “I want adventures, but in no way do I want to be a hero,” Gabrielle said.

Puss tilted his head and curled his black tail around his white paws. “Truly? You are not like one of those demented blacksmith’s apprentices or such who dream about going off and saving people?”

“You asked me something similar earlier, and I said no then. My answer hasn’t changed.”

“Why? I thought all pubescent humans dreamed of becoming heroes with songs sung about them.”

“For many reasons.”

“Name one.”

“I’ll do better; I will give you two. First of all, I have already had my fair share of attention, and I have
hated
it.”

“Ahhhh,” the cat said, standing and thrusting his tail in the air so it formed a black question mark. “I had not reckoned with that. Very well, I will grudgingly admit you have a point there—although heroes are treated with more reverence than a beauty. Your second reason?”

“I don’t like many people.”

“You are so stone-hearted that you would not aid your fellow man?”

Gabrielle shrugged. “I never claimed a good heart came with the curse of beauty. But, and you will not distract me from this point, we will
not
be freeing Carabas.”

Puss started washing his paws.

“Are you listening, Puss?” Gabrielle asked.

“It is Roland Archibald Whisperpaws the Fifth, and if you do not wish to free Carabas, we will not free it,” he said. His voice was suspiciously guileless and innocent.

“I mean it.”

“And I agree,” Puss said, turning to walk in the direction of Wied.

Unconvinced, Gabrielle followed behind him. “Besides, Carabas won’t be ruled by that ogre much longer. When Prince Rune the heroic grows experienced enough, he will be dispatched to address the ogre. It will only be a few more years until he’ll risk it.”

“While I’m sure this prince is very heroic and all, the ogre has held Carabas for nearly two generations. If he could not be dislodged from Carabas when magic was allowed in Arcainia, I doubt one prince—heroic or not—will win against him.”

Gabrielle glared at the magic cat’s black behind as they passed through a scraggy excuse of a forest. “If that is so, what possessed you to think that
we
might be able to take it on?”

“I am certain when I say no one who approached the ogre has had my superior intelligence.”

Gabrielle rolled her eyes to the sky and shook her head. “Right,” she said. She was preparing to make an obnoxious observation when two men slipped out of the trees and stepped into the road, blocking the way. She swung around, but behind her were two more men, caging her in. Their clothes were tattered, their faces smeared with dirt, and they smiled—an animalistic sneer that stiffened her spine.

“Oh look, it’s some of the
debonair
highwaymen you were referring to earlier,” Puss snorted. His sophisticated voice was colored with scorn and held no trace of fear.

“Shhh,” Gabrielle shushed as she edged towards the forest. She stopped moving when the bandit pairs separated, so she was surrounded on all sides. This was why she had never ventured from Ilz on her own. It was too dangerous. While she could nearly hold her own against a high-handed village boy, she was no match for hardened bandits.

“A talking cat, imagine that,” one bandit said, his voice like gravel against Gabrielle’s skin. “What do you think, boys? Could we get a good price for him?”

“Could prolly sell ’im to a dark mage…if we could find one,” a bandit behind her said.

“Puss,” Gabrielle hissed. “Do something!”

“I have told you before, Gabrielle, my name is Roland Archibald Whisperpaws the Fifth,” Puss said, sounding bored.

“Idiot, that’s what the black market is for. We’ll sell this one there, too,” Gravel-voice said, taking a menacing step towards Gabrielle.

“Aww, do we hafta? She’s pretty! We ain’t caught a pretty one in weeks,” said the bandit behind her.

Gabrielle glanced at Puss, stretching as if he hadn’t a care in the world.
If he’s so unbothered, he must have something planned, or he would have turned invisible and run off. That means he thinks we will get out of this
.

Although Gabrielle’s heart beat frantically in her chest, she was clear-headed as she cast a look around her, searching for potential weapons. A sturdy branch fallen from one of the trees wasn’t far from her feet. The bandits were armed with swords and daggers—which she didn’t have a hope of properly using—but one bandit held a crude spear. Her target selected, Gabrielle shifted, so she was a little closer to the fallen branch.

Gravel-voice smirked at her and extended his hand, as if to touch her face. “Maybe we can have a bit o’ fun with this one before we sell ’er,” he said, laughing. Gabrielle snapped her teeth at him when he almost brushed her cheek. “Hooo, we’ve got a fighter here, men. That’ll make it all the more fun—ahh!” the man broke off into screams when he realized his trousers were on fire. Blue flames licked at his clothes, turning the fabric to ash and scorching his skin. The bandit stumbled backwards and tumbled to the ground, where he tried rolling to put out the fire.

While his fellow bandits glazed over with shock and bewilderment, Gabrielle grabbed her sturdy branch and smashed it into the skull of the bandit holding the spear. He relinquished his weapon and grabbed his head.

Gabrielle caught the spear and, using the pole end—not the spearhead—thrust the spear into the man’s stomach, making him double over. She took another whack at him with the shaft, this time smacking him in the neck. He groaned and fell to the ground like a toppled tree.

The third bandit behind Gabrielle screamed shrilly, but the fourth bandit reached for her hair and yanked on it, pulling her to him. “Stop this witchery,” he growled.

She tried to hit him with the spear, but he plucked it from her with one hand and tossed it away.

“Call off your magics, or I’ll spit you like a pig over a fire,” the bandit warned, unsheathing his sword.

Gabrielle tried grinding her heels on the toes of his ratty shoes, but the man grabbed at her skirts, yanking her off balance. She managed to apply an elbow to his gut, when Puss appeared on top of the bandit’s head.

“Sleep,” the cat ordered in a lofty tone.

The man’s eyes rolled back, and he slumped, sagging to the ground when his legs couldn’t hold him up.

“That went quite well.” Puss sounded satisfied as he leaped off the bandit’s head.

The burning bandit had finally gotten the flames put out, but he was curled up in a position of pain, unlikely to rise anytime soon. The nasally-sounding bandit was as stiff as stone and splayed out on the road with his eyes open. The bandit Gabrielle had attacked was rolling on the ground, gurgling and clutching his throat.

She looked from her bandit to the three Puss had taken care of. “You really are magic.”

“You doubted me, in spite of my displays?” Puss approached Gabrielle’s feet and twined about her skirts.

“No, but I thought it was for show. I didn’t think you could do…
this
,” Gabrielle said, gesturing to the bandits.

“Small magic,” Puss said, although his tone was smug. “I must say, I am impressed with your conduct. I thought you might erupt into hysterics. Your clearheaded reaction and tenacity on the attack are very admirable.”

She tried to rearrange her skewed skirts. “I learned early on that it doesn’t do any good to panic in a fight. It leads to sloppy mistakes.”

“You learned well. It is official: I have decided to make you my mistress.”

Gabrielle looked away from her skirts to give the black and white cat a disturbed look. “What.”

“You are my new owner: my master. Or, as you are a female, my mistress,” Puss said, his tail curling with satisfaction.

“Oh. Are you sure you
want
me to be your, er, owner? I only took out one bandit. You handled three.”

“You cannot help your lack of talent and various deficiencies. No, I will gift you with my presence because of your other merits,” Puss said.

Gabrielle gave up on her skirts. “What are we going to do with the bandits? We can’t haul them with us. Do we let them run free?”

“So they can attack the next innocent who crosses their path? Goodness, no. I imagine they have supplies somewhere nearby. Find rope and secure them before we question them.”

“What do we need to question them for?” Gabrielle asked.

“To see if they are part of a larger group.”

“Oh. That seems wise.”

“I am
always
wise,” Puss said. “Now go search in the bushes. I will remain here to see that our new friends stay seated.”

Shaking her head, Gabrielle followed her orders. After a few minutes of searching—and a close encounter with some tendrils of poison ivy—she climbed out of the forest with a length of rope. “I’ll tie them together—unless you think I should cut the rope. But it seems to me if they’re tied together it will be harder for them to run,” she said, hunkering down next to one of the unconscious bandits.

Puss said nothing, and instead sat on the chest of the bandit Gabrielle had abused, his bronze eyes fixed on the man’s face.

The man was trembling like a newborn fawn. “C-call off yer beast,” he begged.

“What?”

“C-call ’im off! I won’t try ’n run away. I won’t do nothing! Just, call ’im off!” the man begged.

Before Gabrielle could respond, Puss spoke, his voice unusually dark and cold. “Where are your comrades?”