Read Snow White and Rose Red Online
Authors: Patricia Wrede
Snow White and Rose Red (19 page)
At the instant Blanche began the spell, Hugh’s brother John sat bolt upright in bed. It took him an instant to realize what had awakened him; then he threw on his clothes and pulled on his boots as fast as he could move his hands to do so. He was out the door and halfway down the street, heading for the forest, before his conscious mind fully grasped that finally and with certainty he knew where Hugh was. As soon as he realized it, he broke into a run.
In the house of Master John Dee, the quartz globe flared redly in the empty study. It rocked slightly, then rolled across the table and dropped off the edge. The thump it made as it hit the floor echoed through the house with unnatural loudness, and summoned Dee and Kelly to the study in time to be half blinded by a second, more brilliant flash of light. When their eyes cleared the globe lay beneath the front window, quiescent once more.
The two men looked at each other in horrified speculation. Kelly had just time to scoop the crystal up and restore it to its accustomed place before one of the housemaids arrived, half dressed and frantic with fear of fire (that being the first explanation she thought of for the queer red light that had awakened her). It took considerable time and all Dee’s diplomacy to soothe the girl, and by that time half of the other servants and most of the family were also awake and demanding explanations. Neither Dee nor Kelly got much sleep during the remainder of the night.
Mistress Rundel’s servant girl, Joan Bowes, was also awake, though not for any arcane reason. Earlier in the day, she had complained of a putrid sore throat coming on, and been convincing enough to be excused from her duties to the relative comfort of her narrow bed in the attic at the top of the house. The mid-afternoon nap, though pleasant, had made her unusually restless that night, and she had slipped out of bed to kneel by the window and watch for the fall of a wishing star.
So it was that Joan was looking out over the dark fields and roads when Rosamund lit the bonfire for the spell. The flare of light was clearly visible from the attic window, and Joan at once lost interest in gazing at the stars. She dismissed the impulse to assign responsibility for the fire to tinkers or peddlers, and seized at once on the far more interesting idea of witches or fairies. But though she leaned forward over the sill and squinted with all her might, the distance was much too great for her to make out any figures around the fire. She was still watching when the fire went out, even more abruptly than it had begun. Joan blinked, and her lips curved in a small, satisfied smile as she stored her observations carefully in her memory against the time when they might become useful.
And in the realm of Faerie, a tremor passed through the crystalline night air, like a shimmer on a soap bubble, and was gone.
Brief though it was, it did not go unnoticed. Throughout Faerie, strange night creatures paused to raise their heads and peer about with wide, dark eyes, or sniff the air questioningly for an instant before returning to their occupations. Only two in all that unnatural realm, however, had more response than that. Madini stiffened as the invisible ripple passed her, and her dark eyes flamed. She waited, and when the strange phenomenon was not repeated she frowned, and went to call her fellow conspirators to see if she could discover what had happened and how it might affect their plans.
On the opposite side of the palace, the sleepless Faerie Queen walked through a garden made for night, where ghost-white blossoms reflected moonlight and dark leaves shed a subtle scent into the air. Like her subjects, the Queen lifted her head as the tremor in the air went past, but when she lowered it there was an infinitesimal line between her perfect eyebrows. She stood motionless for a long time amid the flowers, breathing in their perfume. Then she turned and went back to her rooms without finishing her walk.
CHAPTER TWELVE
“When spring came and the trees began to turn green, the bear said to the girls, ‘The time has come for me to leave, and I will not come back again until the end of summer. ’ ‘Where are you going, bear?’ asked Snow White. ‘Back to the forest, where I can guard my treasure from the wicked dwarfs. In winter they cannot come up through the frozen ground, but as soon as the earth has warmed a little they come out to pry and steal. Once they have laid their hands on something and hidden it in their caves, it seldom sees daylight again. ”
DESPITE HIS RESTORED CLARITY OF MIND, HUGH WAS not immediately aware of his brother’s approach. Unlike Rosamund and Blanche, who considered their partial success to be little better than an outright failure, Hugh was pleased indeed. The restoration of his mind and voice was far more than he had expected, and the relief he felt left him no room to notice more subtle tugs at his emotions. It was not until he was back in the Widow Arden’s cottage, lying before the hearth to watch the Widow and her daughters unload their baskets, that he felt the stirring at the back of his mind that told him John was somewhere near.
Hugh stretched lazily, reveling in the knowledge that now he could tell the Widow what he knew. He searched his mind for an elegant phrase or two to convey his meaning. Before he found them, there was a knock at the door.
The stricken expressions on the faces of the Widow and her daughters brought Hugh to his feet with a low growl. Blanche turned frightened eyes to him and whispered, “Hush! They must not find thee here, dear bear.”
“The blanket!” Rose said in an equally low voice. “Lie down, bear, and we’ll drape it over thee.”
“Hurry, girls,” the Widow said. She whisked the baskets out of sight behind the table and cast a quick eye around the room in search of other signs of their unorthodox excursion. Finding none, she started toward the door, just as the knock was repeated with polite insistence.
John had run nearly all the way from Mortlak, and he was still panting when the Widow opened her door. “Good evening, Mistress,” he said between puffs. He paused, unsure of how to phrase his questions. “May I come in?”
“No,” the Widow said firmly. “If you have business with me, tell it to me here; if not, be off with you. The hour’s a late one for an honest man to call.”
“True,” John said. “But my need’s urgent.” Over the Widow’s shoulder he caught a glimpse of the white faces of the girls, standing in front of the hearth, and he gave them his most charming smile. “I’m no rogue, I do assure you.”
His voice carried clearly into the room, and Hugh recognized it at once. He surged to his feet and shook off the blanket Rosamund and Blanche had hidden him under. “John!” he shouted, and was immediately stricken with a fit of coughing.
Afraid that Hugh was somehow being held prisoner, John shoved hard at the door. The frightened Widow tried to shut it in his face; Rosamund ran to help her mother, and Blanche stood in front of the bear and spread her skirts in a futile attempt to hide him.
“ ‘Tis my brother John!” Hugh said hastily. “Let him in, I pray you.”
As soon as she understood, the Widow stepped back and let John enter, though not without misgivings. John went straight across the room and knelt at the bear’s side. “Hugh?” he said uncertainly, and then, “Oh, Hugh!”
“ ‘Tis not so bad as it seems,” the bear told him. “Though that’s ill enough, I warrant thee.”
“I’ve been seeking thee these three months past,” John said, his voice muflled against the thick fur of the bear’s neck. “Where hast thou been?”
“Here,” Hugh replied. “And in the forest. No more than that, I think, though before tonight my memory’s less than clear.”
John raised his head and eyed the bear narrowly. “How’s that?”
“The tale’s a long one, and talking irks my throat,” Hugh said. “Sit down and speak with these my benefactors, and I’ll add what things I must.”
Reminded of his audience, John rose and turned. “Forgive my lack of courtesy, Mistresses,” he said, bowing extravagantly. The joy of having found Hugh at last, and the relief of finding him unharmed, was making John feel as light-headed as if he’d been drinking Faerie wine.
“‘Tis excusable, I think,” the Widow said. “It seems we were at cross-purposes when you arrived; for that, I beg your pardon.”
“‘Tis freely given,” John replied. “But will you tell your story? I would know how it happens that my brother’s welcomed here in such unlikely guise.”
“We’ll tell you, an you’ll do the same,” Rosamund said, coming forward to stand beside her mother.
“Why, Rosamund, well met!” John said, recognizing her at once. “I’ll tell you whate‘er you will.”
“Knowest thou this man, Rose?” the Widow said in surprise.
“I do not think so,” Rosamund said doubtfully.
“I well believe you have forgot a common peddler,” John said, “but how has Rose forgot my most uncommon rose?”
Rosamund stared for a moment, then blushed a fiery red. Blanche looked from her sister to John and asked, “Then ‘twas you who plucked a rose for her in late October?”
“It was,” John said. “And were a rosebush near, I’d give you one as well, though I know not your name.”
“My daughter’s name is Blanche,” the Widow said in a tone of mild censure. “And I am Widow Arden. I can see that we have much to talk on; sit down, and let’s begin.”
This was easier to say than do; the Widow’s tiny cottage had been overcrowded even before John’s arrival. Eventually they all found places: Rosamund and Blanche on the straw-stuffed sleeping pallet, the bear on the floor before the hearth, and the Widow on the single storage chest beside the table. John, though offered his choice of more comfortable places, preferred to sit on the rush-covered floor beside his brother, an act of affection that did him no disservice in the eyes of his hostesses.
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