A Wedding for Wiglaf? (2 page)

Wiglaf hurried over to Erica on the far side of the room. She was scraping burned lumpen pudding from a big pot.
How like Erica to pick the dirtiest pot,
Wiglaf thought. No wonder she always won the Dragon Slayer of the Month medal.

“Wiglaf!” Erica cried when she saw him. “What were you doing in Mordred’s office?”

“I’ll tell you,” Wiglaf whispered. “But first I must ask you something. Do you princesses—”

“Talk not of princesses!” Erica hissed. “If you have breathed a word of my secret, Wiglaf...”

“I have said nothing!” Wiglaf said. “I swear it on my sword!”

“Ha!” Erica scoffed. “That rusty old thing?”

“I shall never tell your secret,” Wiglaf said. “But tell me! Do you know Belcheena?”

“Belcheena!” Erica cried.

Several heads turned toward them.

“Shhhh!” Wiglaf whispered. “What is she like?”

“Belcheena doesn’t come out of her tower much,” Erica said. “But I saw her once at a Princess Talent Contest. That was the day I won first prize in sword fighting! True, only one other princess had entered, but I—”

“What about Belcheena?” Wiglaf put in.

“As I remember, she sang a sad song. ‘The Squire of My Desire,’ I think. Why do you ask, Wiglaf?”

“There is a story about her in the paper,” Wiglaf said. “She is looking for a husband.”

“Belcheena is very...” Erica stopped for a moment. “How shall I put it? Belcheena has a very strong personality. I pity the man who marries her.”

“Then you may have to pity me!” Wiglaf cried. And he told Erica all that had taken place in Mordred’s office.

“I have no wish to marry
anyone,”
Wiglaf finished up. “I want to stay here at DSA with my friends. I want to become a knight someday. I want to travel the kingdom, helping villagers. And saving small, helpless animals—”

“Yes, yes,” Erica broke in. “So tell Mordred that you won’t marry Belcheena.”

“But she has promised a pot of gold to the matchmaker who finds her a redheaded, dragon-slaying,
W
-named husband,” Wiglaf said. “And Mordred has his heart set on this pot.”

“Ah,” Erica said. “Mordred is after her gold, is he? Well then, if I were you, Wiggie, I know what I’d be doing right now.”

“What?” Wiglaf cried. “Tell me!”

Erica smiled. “I’d be picking out the perfect spot for my honeymoon!”

T
he lumpen pudding that night was even worse than usual. Frypot had burned it to a crisp. But he hacked the blackened glop to pieces and served it anyway.

After supper, Wiglaf felt sick. But he didn’t know if it was from the pudding or the thought of getting mar...mar... Oh, he could not even think it! Slowly he made his way to Mordred’s office.

Mordred beamed as he let Wiglaf in. “Here he is, Lobelia. The lucky groom!”

Lobelia smiled. She had violet eyes and thick dark hair like Mordred. But there the likeness between brother and sister ended. Lobelia was thin and known for her high style.

“Sit, Wiglaf,” Mordred said.

Wiglaf sat down across from Mordred’s desk.

“I have written to Belcheena.” Mordred handed Wiglaf a sheet of parchment. “This is a first draft. Read it—quickly! I shall have Brother Dave up in the—oh, what do you call that room in the tower with all the books?”

“The library,” Wiglaf said.

“Yes, yes,” Mordred said. “Brother Dave up in the library will copy it over. Then I shall send it off to Belcheena.”

Wiglaf’s hand shook as he held the letter: