Question Quest (15 page)

Lady Ashley touched the base of the coffin. A panel slid aside. There was a shallow chamber beneath the main compartment.

“In there?” Rose asked, appalled.

“It is the one place they will not look,” her mother said grimly.

Rose knew it was true. She nerved herself and squeezed into the chamber, and the Lady Ashley slid the panel back, shutting her in. There was a small pillow for her head, and a wan bit of light filtered in from a crevice; those were the only comforts she had.

Do not despair, my daughter.

Rose would have jumped, had there been room. It was no voice which had spoken; rather it was just a thought squeezing down from the corpse immediately above her.

It was a grisly business, but the thought did reassure her. Even in his death, her father had a care for her welfare. He would help her to escape the King. In fact, instead of feeling worse, she was feeling better, because of this realization.

She must have slept, for suddenly she woke to the jolting of the coffin. It was being picked up and carried away. Her mother must have had the bearers come in for it, one to each corner and two more for the sides. Strong men, who would not notice the extra weight. Or perhaps trustworthy men, who would not say anything if they did notice.

She heard the hard breathing of the men as they bore the burden and the voice of the Lady Ashley giving them instructions. The coffin lurched out of the house and into the village. It passed a soldier, who laughed callously.

“What, your fair daughter is not attending the burial? Maybe I'll go into that house and keep her some company. Haw, haw!”

“Do that,” the Lady Ashley responded evenly. “And in the morning when the King learns ...”

The soldier's laughter cut off so suddenly it was as if a sword had been run through his gut. That was of course a far kinder fate than what the King would arrange if the soldier interfered in any way with the King's pleasure. No one would go near that house, not even to verify Rose's presence there, for fear of being put under suspicion. The King's suspicion was deadly too.

There is a one-time enchanted path from here to Castle Roogna, her father's thought came. Follow it without fear, for though there are monsters along it, none will harm you. When you are challenged, state your name and business, and you will be allowed to pass. Do not turn back, for then the spell will be broken and you wilt be lost indeed.

“Thank you, my dear father,” Rose said without voice. She had first thought he was helping her even in death; now she knew that he had planned this in life, and set up his death so as to enable her to be saved. The love she bore him was returned, and death had become an instrument of help, rather than a cruel separation. Still, she wished there had been some other way. Had she known the nature of the poison-pen letter in time, she would have stolen it and buried it unopened.

Thank you, beloved daughter.

They came to the burial place. “The spades!” the Lady Ashley said, sounding irritated. “Did no one bring the spades?”

“We shall fetch them,” one of the men replied. He seemed somehow unsurprised that such a vital detail had been neglected, and of course it did not require all six men to fetch the spades.

Then the panel slid open. “Quickly, before they return,” the Lady Ashley said.

Rose scrambled out. Farewell, my darling. In this manner I repay a bit of the care you so generously lavished on me. I know you go to great love, a long time hence.

“Farewell, beloved Father,” Rose whispered, a tear in her eye again.

The Lady Ashley hugged her. “I must remain here for the burial. But you—”

“I know, Mother.” And what of this wonderful woman, left bereft of husband and daughter, doomed to live out her declining life alone? Rose's other eye flowed a tear.

“Down that trail! It leads around the village. When you see an unfamiliar path with a slight glow, follow it without hesitation. Go, before the men return!”

“Farewell, beloved Mother.” Rose disengaged and set off down the trail, not daring even to look back.

Already a man was returning with a shovel. She recognized him, but hoped he would not recognize her, masked as she was in dirt. She hunched her shoulders and tried to walk in the manner of a boy, crudely, instead of keeping her natural delicate gait. It seemed to work, for he did not give her a second glance.

Then she saw a bit of a glimmer on the ground. She was about to pass it by, before realizing what it was. She turned quickly onto the magic path, which headed directly away from the village.

The trees of the forest closed in about her, and in an instant the light shaded into gloom. It had been dusk, but this was more than that. The path ahead glowed ever so faintly, winding deviously through the jungle. Rose walked along it as fast as she could, fear of imminent pursuit lending her strength. But there was no sound from behind, and finally she slowed and glanced back—and saw nothing but trees and vines and foliage.

She almost paused, but remembered the warning. This was a one-way path, and if she took even one step backward it would disappear and she would be stranded in the wilderness, unable to fend for herself. So she settled for peeking back without stopping her walking. There was no doubt: there was no path behind. She looked down at her moving feet, and saw that the path faded out as her slippers left it behind.

How had her parents obtained this one-time path? The magic must have cost them dearly! They had not said a word to her about it until the time of its use. They had suspected that something like this would be required and had prepared. How fortunate she was for their loving foresight!

She settled into a steadier walk, not knowing how far she would have to go. The West Stockade was not very far from the ancient Castle Roogna, but neither was it very close. She would probably have to walk all night, and she really was not structured for that sort of thing.

A grotesque shape loomed ahead of her, blocking the path. He was huge, hairy, and unbearably ugly. He was an ogre!

“Me see a she!” the ogre boomed in stupid verse, because ugliness was his first nature and stupidity was his second nature. He lifted an arm in surprise. His ham hand accidentally brushed against a small tree. The tree snapped off and crashed to the ground, terrified. Strength was an ogre's third nature. Or maybe she had the order reversed. At any rate, she knew that ogres were justifiably proud of all three.

Rose remembered what she had been told. She stood straight and addressed the monster. “I am Rose, granddaughter of King Yang, and I am on my way to Castle Roogna to await a Magician to marry.” She was afraid that if the monster reached for her, she would step back involuntarily and lose the path.

The ogre considered that. It was evident that a thought or two was forging through his brain, because steam rose from his head and fleas with hot feet were jumping off. At last the thought reached its destination just before the hair caught on fire, and the monster stepped off the path. “So go,” he growled, disappointed. It was evident that he would have loved to crunch bones as shapely as hers.

Relieved, Rose resumed motion. She hurried by, wrinkling her nose where the air was fraught with the odor of boiled fleas and toasted bugs and the remnants of a scorched thought, and in a moment was well beyond. She glanced back and saw the hulk in the middle of the thickest possible tangle of trees. She wasn't sure that even such a monster could get through that!

Then she heard bashing, and her next glance showed splinters of wood flying up. The ogre could get through well enough, it seemed. She pitied the next person that ogre encountered and was sorry it was unlikely to be the King. But perhaps the creature would not care to crunch the King's foul bones; there were limits even to ogres.

She continued her walk. After a time, or perhaps slightly more, she smelled smoke. She hoped there wasn't a forest fire ahead! But it turned out to be worse: a dragon. A huge fierce smoker, lying athwart the path. If it even breathed on her, she would go into a choking fit.

She came about two steps closer than she dared and stopped. “I am Rose, on my way to Castle Roogna, and—”

The dragon's head turned to orient on her. The holes of its nose were emitting curlicues of dark smoke which drifted up to frighten the leaves of an overhanging branch. Rose almost stepped back, but caught herself. “And I will wait there for a Magician to come and marry me,” she concluded.

The dragon sighed somewhat steamily. Then it hefted up its bulk and moved on. It would have no smoked maiden to gnaw this day. It was evidently somewhat disappointed. Or perhaps it was for some other reason that it turned its head and fired such a blast of smoke at a nearby tangle tree that the tree went into a coughing fit and its tentacles turned black with soot. Rose suspected that that particular tangler would not treat the next dragon it encountered very kindly. But perhaps she was being unfair to the tree; she really did not know it very well. She chided herself for possibly thinking ill of it or the dragon without proper cause.

She hurried on. She was glad that the magic of the path was in good order! It was now full night in the forest, but the glow of the path seemed to have brightened in compensation so that she could see her way.

Perhaps a time and a half later, her legs becoming deadly tired, Rose encountered another obstacle. The trees had grown larger, and now crowded the path unmercifully and extended their massive lower branches across it. She would have to scramble around and under and over those branches. This would not be very ladylike, but perhaps no one would notice.

But when she tried to pass the first one, it moved. Surprised, she stopped, not quite stepped back. How could a tree move its branch?

Then she remembered something she had heard. There was an orchard around Castle Roogna, and its outermost ring of trees were active guardians. She was getting near her destination!

She stopped again. “I am Rose, granddaughter of-”

The branches moved. They lifted and twisted like the tentacles of a kraken weed, clearing the path. It seemed that the trees had been expecting her. Maybe they knew that only she could follow this particular path.

It was a relief, for she was about ready to collapse. She had smeared on dirt to make herself look ugly; now she felt just as bad. She tramped on. In her more innocent time she would never have tramped, for it was completely unmaidenly, but right now she felt more like tramp than maiden.

The path wound on through the orchard, and the massive gnarled guardian trees gave way to fruiting trees of every type. In the darkness it was hard to see,  but she saw a shoe almost overhanging the path, so knew there was a shoe tree here, and spied another extremely pretty branch arching over the path, which was probably part of an artis-tree. She was definitely approaching the castle.

Now at last it loomed into view, its imposing stonework silhouetted against the background stars. The castle was so tall she wondered whether any stars got snagged on the turrets. It was surrounded by a murky moat, but the path led to a drawbridge that was down. She kept moving, afraid that if she stopped she would collapse in fatigue and dirt where she was. That would definitely be out of character for a maiden princess.

The wooden planks of the drawbridge vibrated with her footsteps. Then she came to the front gate and found that it was open. This castle hadn't even been properly closed by the last person here! But as she entered, she heard squealing behind her and saw that the drawbridge was lifting itself. Then the gate closed, sealing her in. It was the castle opening and closing itself!

“Thank you, Castle Roogna,” she said. Then, safe at last, she did collapse in what was probably not a properly maidenly swoon. Fortunately no one was watching.

She woke to sunlight. She was in a bed! It had wonderfully clean sheets and a truly pleasant soft pillow.

“But I'm a grimy mess!” she exclaimed, realizing how she must be soiling the sheets.

Something flickered nearby. “Nooooo,” it moaned.

“Eeeeek!” Rose screamed in proper maidenly fashion. “A ghost!”

The ghost, frightened by her eeeeek, vanished. Rose realized that she had been impolite. “I'm sorry, ghost; I didn't mean to scream at you,” Rose called apologetically. It just wasn't proper for a princessly maiden to be rude to anyone, even a ghost.

The shape reappeared. It was mistyish and amorphous, floating somewhat above the floor. It concentrated and became more like a human figure, female. “Noooo messs,” it breathed.

Now Rose understood. “But I'm all covered in—and the sheets—” She looked down at herself, and her mouth dropped delicately open. For both she and the sheets were quite clean. “How—?” she asked, her chagrin changing type.

The ghost coalesced further, becoming shapely to the eye of those who might like that type. “Ffrienndss ccaaame,” she said. “Yoou weere oon flooor—”

Now Rose remembered: she had collapsed on the stone floor just inside the door. Her legs still felt sore. Now she was not only in what was evidently an upstairs bed, she was clean and in a clean and fully princessly nightie. Someone must have—must have—

“What friends?” she asked, perhaps a fraction more sharply than was polite.

“Thhe zzombieees,” the ghost replied.

“Zombies!” Rose exclaimed, horrified anew. But she realized that zombies, being dead, had very little human emotion and would not have cared a great deal about the exposure of her living body. They had not hurt her. So perhaps she would be best advised simply to forget that aspect. Selective memory was another maidenly trait, for it helped protect innocence. She had been dirty and now was clean, and the mechanism of it was no one's business.

“Perhaps we should introduce ourselves,” she said, remembering her manners. "I am Rose, daughter of Lord Bliss and Lady Ashley Rose, granddaughter of King Yang and his second wife whose name escapes me at the moment.”

The ghost made a floating curtsy. “I aam Millliee the Ghoosst, oonce a ssiimple mmaid, betrothed to the Zzombie Mmaster.” Her speech was getting better as she practiced. So was her form; she was now about as shapely an apparition as Rose had seen outside of the mirror.