Authors: Elizabeth Ann Scarborough
She straightened her shoulders to squeeze the chill from between them, and boldly tiptoed down three more steps. He didn’t really need her talent, she knew, for Hugo did all the cooking. Hugo doubtlessly had also long ago informed his master of the magical peculiarities of his niece at Fort Iceworm. She wondered that he hadn’t mentioned the death of her mother, as well. But even if he knew about her talent, she was still miffed that her uncle hadn’t asked her to do anything, so she thought she would surprise all of them with a lovely feast from whatever raw materials she could find in the kitchen. Which brought her to this point, hovering at the foot of the stairs, trying to remember which direction to take to find the kitchen door. She knew where it
had
been in the clear light of day, but in the darkness her sense of direction had deserted her.
She thought her eyes must be adjusting to the dark, finally, when she saw a faint lightening of the gloom to her right. A moment more and she should be able to continue.
It was odd, too, how once she’d decided she wanted to make Uncle Fearchar a feast, and had excused herself to take a walk along the parapets to ponder her menu, that the mirror in her pocket began to feel uncomfortably warm, even through her skirt. She pulled it out and stared at herself in it, which was all it seemed to be good for since the visions were used up. “If you still worked,” she’d mumbled at it, “I’d try to see Aunt Sybil and find out what dishes he likes especially. I do wish it would be something tastier than what we’ve had so far.” To her surprise, the rainbow glow had appeared in the mirror and her aunt’s face followed it.
“Maggie, dear! How exciting! I’ve done it!” she said.
“Aunt Sybil, I thought your visions couldn’t talk to you—or rather you couldn’t talk to them—how is it that you’re talking to me when you’re in the mirror?”
“Because you’re in the glass as well. Simultaneous sightings! My dear, we may have made a major breakthrough.”
“But how did we happen to use glasses at the same time? And why is this one working? Weren’t three visions all I got?”
“But you didn’t use three, darling, or I’d never have been able to reach you this way. It was because you hadn’t used your last one I wanted to try to contact you and see how you were doing. There’s some barrier at Castle Rowan, and when I tried to find you there, I met with failure. Have you found Amberwine yet?”
“Oh—yes, I have. And Auntie—I’ve met Uncle Fearchar. He’s a wonderful man and—”
“He is? You mean to say you’ve met your UNCLE Fearchar, my brother?”
“Yes, I have and he’s, as I’ve said, a wonderful man and—”
“Well, well. Will wonders never cease?” Her aunt said softly.
Maggie was as puzzled as her aunt appeared to be. “What wonders?”
“Never mind, dear. I’m so glad you’ve found your sister. How’s young Colin? Will you be starting for home again soon?”
“I haven’t seen Colin lately. But he was quite well when I saw him last—though in a bit of a hurry. I believe we’ll probably stay here with Uncle Fearchar until Winnie’s baby is born. Aunt Sybil?”
“Yes, child?”
“I wanted to ask you about something. What does Uncle Fearchar like to eat? He hasn’t but one servant, and the man can’t cook at all. Everything is flat and bland. I thought I’d fix something nice…”
Her aunt’s pleasant, candid features took on a stiff mask of reserve. “I really don’t recall, Maggie, what your uncle likes. It used to be that he didn’t like any of us well enough to mention the matter.”
“Sorry I asked. He’s changed, though, since then. I’m sure. Did you know he’s to be one of the nominees for the crown?”
Sybil looked startled. “No! Who told you that?”
“He did.”
Her aunt laughed so hard she began to fade from the glass till at last there were only her bright brown eyes twinkling in among the rainbow lights, saying, “Maggie, dear, you really must take Fearchar with a grain of salt.”
Salt. That was what made the food so bad, of course. The lack of salt. It must be that Hugo, like the woman at the inn, upheld some local prejudice against salt, and would not use it. Everything had been so exciting since she’d gotten here that she hadn’t really been that aware of what she was putting in her mouth, except that it might have been sand for all the impression it made. Poor Uncle Fearchar, who was not raised in these parts, doubtless had accustomed himself to the saltlessness of the region.
Shuffling slowly towards the light patch she’d noticed before, Maggie barked her shin on one of the low decorative tables her uncle kept beside the ornate stove. This was like playing pin the tail on the cart horse! She wished she’d brought Winnie along for company, if not security, but Winnie acted oddly about Uncle Fearchar. Though she always said he had been good and kind to her, she certainly persisted in looking quaking and weepy in his company, though she reverted to almost her normal sunny self again with Maggie, and never again mentioned their first conversation. Maggie thought her sister probably secretly disliked Uncle Fearchar, but hated to say so after all he had done for her. She ought to have asked her to come, after all. Even if Winnie didn’t like him, she wouldn’t have minded helping—then the darkness would have been less intimidating—and Winnie would have insisted they bring a candle.
As she was considering how much noise it would raise if she should cause the fire in the tile stove to kindle, thus getting both warmth and light, the patch of light to her right began to glow brighter, and to grow. First the legs, then the body, and finally the arms—shimmering pale and eerie they were—but certainly legs, body and arms of a once-human entity. Maggie waited for the head to form as well, but it failed to appear.
A headless ghost then. All too common in a land where bounty on an enemy had been awarded the dispatcher of that enemy on receipt by interested parties of the head of said enemy. Or something like that. Bounties had been outlawed since Maggie was a child, but she’d come across one of the scrolls government officials used to read aloud. At the time she’d been disappointed there were no famous outlaws mentioned, but her father explained it was the custom to save expensive scribed parchment by having the name added orally at the time the scroll was publicly read.
She was very curious to know if this headless ghost was that of some notorious bandit or other, but could hardly expect it to speak without a head. Raising an armload of ghostly clanking chains, the spectre floated towards her. For chains that appeared as insubstantial as the wraith itself, they made an awful racket.
“Do be quiet,” she whispered. “I appreciate the light, but I’d rather not wake everybody. It’s a—” she broke off, shivering, as the ghost brushed her gown. It was hovering before her now, in the opposite direction from where it had been. Slowly, it beckoned.
Maggie followed hopefully. Perhaps, since it was easier for ghosts to find their way in the dark, it would lead her to the kitchen. Although she couldn’t imagine what a ghost would want with a kitchen, particularly a decapitated ghost.
As the ghost passed through the room’s furnishings, the cold light it shed illuminated them, so that if Maggie kept very close behind the spectre she was able to miss most of the obstacles in her path. Unfortunately, she did not see the outline of the door when the ghost passed through it, and got quite a nasty jolt when she did not pass through it as easily. It was as she was recovering from this that she heard the voices on the other side of the door, slightly raised to make themselves heard above the clanking of the chains.
“Damn, Hugo!” her uncle’s voice said. “There it is again. I do wish you had heeded me when I told you that murdering a man in his own home invariably leads to an impossible tenacious haunting—shoo, you! Get away!” The last, Maggie imagined, was not spoken to Hugo.
“I know you told me, but you talk so much I have to give my ears a break once in a while. Besides, I thought if the dragon disposed of the body he’d have no reason to come back and haunt this hall.”
“No reason, indeed! What about that head you hung on a stake at the threshold to greet me when I took possession? You have a grisly sense of humor, my friend.”
“Don’t go getting all lordly on me, Fearchar Brown. If your magic hadn’t give out on you, you’d have talked that spook into moving to a sunnier climate and there’d have been no work for me to do.”
“Give out on me indeed! Watch what you say or I’ll convince you to go for a stroll on the Feeding Grounds yourself.”
“Your wizardy wiles don’t work on me, as well you know,
Mas
ter Brown.”
Maggie thought she heard a chuckle. Fearchar’s?
“No, Hugo, you’re too salty for me—just like poor Seagram here—oh, get out of here, I tell you! I haven’t got your bloody head.”
More clankings and an agitated rattling drowned out any conversation for a time. Maggie didn’t think this ghost was one of the nasty sort who could actually do physical harm, but she worried for a moment. Even if he was a murderer, she didn’t want her uncle slain by a ghost just when they were getting acquainted. The thought surprised her—she didn’t quite understand why she felt it was alright for Uncle Fearchar to kill someone named Seagram but not alright for Seagram’s ghost to kill Fearchar.
“Lucky for us at least some of the townsfolk follow your restriction on salt. Little Miss Maggie can be a regular terror. I hate to think what would have happened if your magic hadn’t worked on her and the bear.”
“It did, though. My lovely niece, far from being a regular terror, has been gentle as a dove. Though it gave me pause, I’ll admit, to see her and that so-called sister of hers reunited barely an hour after she was in the castle. And after all that wonderful speech I made the stupid faery cow about how little Maggie was out to kill her. If it wasn’t for their red eyes and sniffles at the dinner table, I’d never have known how they found me out. I had Amberwine so terrified of Maggie I’d have sworn she’d jump out the window when she first saw her.”
“Window’s not big enough.”
“Unfortunately. But as I was saying, I am pleased with my little niece. She’ll make a beautiful queen, don’t you think?”
Maggie pulled her earlobe. Surely she hadn’t heard that bit correctly. Queen? Could her great-uncle be thinking to marry her if he won the throne of Argonia?
“Don’t count your chickens till they’re in the nest, Brown. That bear can’t sign nothin’ proper till the gypsy gets here so you can turn him back into a man again. Then could be you’ll have a problem with both of ’em. You can’t make no sweet little bride out of Miss Maggie Brown neither. She’ll be more queen than you or Davey, either one, can handle once she’s away from you and on the throne of Ablemarle.”
“Nonsense. She trusts me. Once you’ve finished your job—I say, you DID tell Lorelei what to do with that ship the swans saw Songsmith on, didn’t you?”
“Lorelei does as she pleases, too, but she’ll do it. And she wanted to know when you were going to keep that promise you made her when she gave you the song to charm her ladyship with. One of these days, Brown, you’ll have to dry her out from all that salt water long enough to convince her she’d rather have some nice merman for a mate or else you’ll be needin’ a salt pool at the palace. Princess Pegeen wouldn’t like that now, would she?”
“Never mind Lorelei and Princess Pegeen. They are my business. Yours is to redeem yourself for bungling that job you started on William Hood. Once you’ve done that, and removed my sister’s subversive influence…”
“And I’ll want half your bloody kingdom for that, I can tell you…”
“And when, once enthroned, my niece learns of the tragic loss of her lady sister, and the baby, of course, she’ll naturally turn to her only relative for advice and assistance.”
“And good old King Fearchar will be there with bells on to help the little witch out, eh?”
“Yes, I will. How I envy young Davey such a beautiful bride!”
“You only think she’s good-looking because she’s brown as a bear, just like you,” Hugo said spitefully.
A long silence, then Fearchar saying, “Ahhh, yes, that’s what I like about you, Hugo. You’re so perceptive. Shall we retire?”
“Aye, I’m tired with all that fetching and carrying for you and the women and that bloody bear. And I expect you must be too, Master Brown. Becoming king of two countries on such short notice is bound to be tiring.”
Maggie backed away from the door, hoping to hide in the darkness of the far corners of the room where their candlelight would not penetrate. She kept on backing, long after she ought to have reached a wall. The door creaked open and candlelight spilled into the room, lighting the men who bore the lamps with sinister shadows redundantly in keeping with their conversation.
They didn’t see her, but ascended the stairs with no further conversation. When their lights had completely disappeared, Maggie whistled with relief and sank to the floor. She sat there shaking with a delayed reaction to being nearly caught, to hearing so much derogatory information about her uncle while she was still technically spellbound, and to the alarming contents of the conversation. From all that they said, she had at least gathered the reason for lack of salt in their diet. It appeared to be some sort of antidote for Fearchar’s magic, whose nature was still not entirely clear. She could stop her reaction to the aborted enchantment by finishing it off in the prescribed manner, now that she knew what it was. She ordered a fire to light in the nearest lamp. For a moment she saw the glow of the light, but didn’t see the lamp, then realized it was behind and above her. Turning to fetch it down where she could use it to explore her medicine pouch, she found herself staring into two shining feral eyes.