“WHAT?!” shouted the giant.
He stood up straight as a pine, put his head back, and roared, smashing the handle of his cleaver and the fist that held the bag against his chest. “I’M THE TRULY TERRIFYING GIANT BEWARE!”
“You can’t be,” said Anya. It took a lot of effort to stop her teeth chattering as she got this out. “You’re not tall enough.”
“I STAND TWELVE CUBITS TALL IN MY SOCKS!” roared Beware. He smacked his chest a few more times.
“Nah,” said Anya. “You can’t be more than eleven cubits, if that. Those boots have got very high heels on them.”
“THEY HAVE NOT!” protested the giant. “I’LL SHOW YOU!”
He sat down on the road, sending a great wave of mud and water cascading over and around Anya. If it hadn’t been for Ardent bracing behind her legs she would have gone over. The dog was momentarily submerged, but when the wave subsided he shook himself vigorously and looked up at the princess in admiration.
“Well done,” whispered Ardent. “Do I go for his throat while he’s distracted?”
Anya looked at the giant’s throat. The skin there was folded and convoluted like elephant hide. It would take a two-handed axe and the muscles of a mighty forester to make even a dent in that.
“No, of course not,” she whispered. “We wait until—”
“WHAT’S THAT?” roared the giant. He swung his cleaver down, the blade burying itself in the mud only a few feet away from Anya.
“I’ll need something to measure you with!” Anya shouted back. “How about the drawstring from your bag? And you’ll have to lie down.”
“LIE DOWN IN THIS MUD?”
“You’re too tall for me to measure any other way,” Anya explained. “Maybe you are eleven cubits tall after all.”
“I’M TWELVE CUBITS TALL! TWELVE!” roared the giant angrily. He had one boot off already, which he threw over Anya’s head. It was like a near miss from a catapulted boulder, the passage of the huge, heavy object ruffling her hair and scaring her even more, if that was possible.
“As … as you say, Sir Beware!” answered Anya. She didn’t have to fake the trembling in her voice. Keeping it from getting out of control was the hard part. “Maybe you’re even closer to thirteen cubits. We’ll soon see, when I get measuring.”
“I COULD BE!” shouted the giant. “HURRY UP!”
He pulled the drawstring out of his bag and threw it towards Anya, who jumped to one side. The drawstring was essentially a twelve-foot length of heavy-duty rope and would have badly injured her if she hadn’t dodged. She picked up one end and swiftly tied a loop in it, with a slipknot.
“COME ON, THEN!” roared the giant as he settled back along the road, putting his hands behind his head. His socks were ragged and many-times patched, and his big toes stuck out. A horrible reek reminiscent of cheese left in the sun for a week or two and then mixed with sewage rolled off his feet, too strong for even the pounding rain to wash away.
“I HAVEN’T GOT ALL DAY TO GET MEASURED. I HAVE TO GET YOU BACK HOME AND COOKED UP. PRINCESS SURPRISE—MY FAVORITE MEAL!”
“Why do you call it ‘Princess Surprise’?” asked Anya. She tied a loop in the other end, also with a slipknot.
“BECAUSE THEY LOOK SO SURPRISED TO BE EATEN UP!” guffawed the giant. “PRINCESSES ALWAYS EXPECTS TO GET RESCUED.”
“Do they?” asked Anya mildly. “Better they should rescue themselves!”
She threw one loop over the giant’s left toe and the other over his right toe, pulled both loops tight, and ran away with Ardent close at her heels.
The giant roared behind her, a great shout that she felt as much as heard. She heard him sit up, and risked a glance over her shoulder as she ran by the side of the road, far faster than she had gone any time before.
He wasn’t trying to get up. He simply leaned forward from his sitting position, grabbed his cleaver—and threw it.
Anya dived for the mud, dragging Ardent with her. A huge mass of steel shot over her head, missing her by six inches at most.
Under the muddy water, Anya heard the giant roar again. She pushed herself up and launched herself away, wiping the mud from her eyes. Ardent briefly barked something but she didn’t hear what he said; there was so much mud in her ears.
Behind her, Beware the Giant struggled to his feet, took one step forward, looked down in surprise, tried to take another step, turned sideways, and fell over. His huge arms cartwheeled as he fell … and there was a horrific snap, crackle, and pop as something very bad happened to his hip.
Anya risked another glance. The giant was howling with pain now, clutching his left hip. She turned around and started to circle back, to get safely past the immobilized giant and join the others on his far side.
It was only at this moment that she realized she didn’t have her staff, her bundle, or Denholm in his little wicker cage.
I told you I c-c-could c-c-catch frogs,” said Ardent, carefully dropping the disgruntled Denholm’s bent-but-not-broken wicker cage at Anya’s feet, the dog correctly interpreting her panicked gaze as being caused by the realization that the prince was missing.
Anya picked up the cage very carefully. Her hands were shaking violently, and it wasn’t just from the cold. The giant had really frightened her. Coming so soon after the attack of the weasel creature, it had cemented just how dangerous it was to be on a Quest. It was quite different from reading about Quests, sitting in the best chair in the library, with her feet near the fireplace and a plate of honey cakes at her elbow.
Anya bit back a sob. She wished she hadn’t thought about the honey cakes.
They were a good quarter league past the giant’s ambush now, but they could still hear Beware howling in the distance. He’d broken his hip, Anya thought. It had looked like that from her swift glimpse as they were fleeing. If it was any lesser injury then he’d have staggered after them.
“Has anyone seen anything that might show us where the wizard is?” she asked the rest of her group. She suddenly felt even more tired, even hungrier, and even more despondent than ever, and didn’t know how she could go on. The burst of energy from being terrified by the giant and having to do something was now completely gone.
Smoothie scratched her sleek head. Shrub paused for a moment, one unblinking eye looking at the princess. Then he returned to dig at something interesting in the mud. Ardent ran in a circle, sniffing.
No one replied.
Anya took a deep breath to try to steady her nerves and looked about herself, shielding her eyes against the rain. The road had come to an end, and as far as she could see—which wasn’t very far—they were still in the middle of the grassy plain dotted with the same small thornbushes she’d been seeing for ages. There was no sign of any house, castle, tower, strange monolith, or anything else that might mark the presence of the Good Wizard.
“What’s a demesne anyway?” asked Shrub. “I mean, to look at. In case we missed it.”
“It just means the wizard’s lands.” Anya almost sighed, but managed to stop herself. It wasn’t a habit she wanted to develop any further than she already had. “The ‘Demesne of the Good Wizard’ is like saying the ‘Kingdom of Trallonia.’ I wish I could remember anything else from the map that might help me find it. And I really wish this rain would stop!”
“It’s going to stop soon,” said Smoothie.
“Is it?” asked Anya. “How do you know?”
“I just know.” Smoothie smiled, showing her fine sharp teeth. Her eyes twinkled. “It’s a Yarrow River otter thing. It’s going to stop raining, and the wind is going to come up from that direction.”
She pointed one webbed hand west.
“It will be colder,” she added.
Anya sneezed very violently. Her cold was already worse, without the temperature dropping. But this just made her more determined. She’d beaten a giant—she wasn’t going to be beaten by a sniffle.
“We have to find the wizard,” she said. “Let’s walk on a bi
t farther in the direction the road was heading. It looks like it’s climbing up a hill again. Maybe if the rain stops we’ll get a view and can spot something.”
“Would you like a grub?” asked Shrub. He’d found a decaying tree stump and had ripped it open with his claws to reveal a writhing group of white, segmented grubs.
“No thank you,” said Anya. “But please, you go ahead.”
Shrub needed no urging, gulping the grubs down before Ardent or Smoothie could get a look in.
Ten minutes later, just as Smoothie had predicted, it did stop raining. The wind changed direction and came back stronger and colder from the west, already beginning to clear the clouds away.
With the increased visibility, Anya saw that they had reached the top of a low ridge. She could see the road they’d left below and behind them. More important, looking ahead, the grassy plain extended to a narrow river, which had overtopped its banks and was busily flooding parts of the surrounding countryside. But there were also the remnants of a road leading to an almost-but-not-quite-submerged footbridge. On the other side the grassy plain became a meadow blessed with a great many charming yellow wildflowers, and in the middle of that meadow there was a building.
A wizard’s tower, to be precise.
It was easily recognizable as a wizard’s tower because it had the traditional kink in the middle and would have fallen down long since if there hadn’t been some kind of magic holding it up. Counting windows, which were not mere arrow slits but fine glass windows, each of four panes, it was seven stories high, and it had a sharp-peaked, shingled roof above a narrow sentry’s walk.
The stone facings were whitewashed, which did not indicate it was a Good Wizard’s tower, only that the inhabitant liked whitewashed walls. Plenty of Good Wizards lived in basalt-black towers, or houses painted blood red, or tents daubed with scary paintings. It was all personal taste and didn’t mean a lot.
A low cloud soon rolled back across, but it didn’t deliver any rain. Anya could still see the path, though the bridge and the river were now obscured by wisps of drifting white.
“Come on,” she said, relief lifting her voice, visions of hot baths and food and clean clothes flitting through her head. “Let’s go and meet the wizard!”
With their spirits buoyed by the prospect of food and shelter, their progress was swift. Low, wet white clouds kept blowing past, rather like a swift-moving fog. In other circumstances this would have been depressing, since they were already cold and wet, but it felt as if this was the last dash and soon all would be well.
Then, just as they came to the river, Ardent, who was in front, gave a bark of alarm.
“There’s someone on the bridge!” he cried.
There was someone on the bridge, standing right in the middle, over the swollen river. A figure in a voluminous dark cloak, with the hood pulled right up so the face was shadowed. His or her feet were the most visible things, clad in beautifully made bright scarlet boots with curled-up toes and high heels, which were parting the shallow film of floodwater that was only just beginning to trickle over the planks of the bridge.
Anya was certain there hadn’t been anyone there a moment before.
“I will c-c-lear the way!” barked Ardent, charging forward.
“No! Ardent! Stop!” shouted Anya, even as the person on the bridge raised one hand, the ring on the middle finger suddenly glowing as bright as the sun. Ardent skidded to a stop and yelped. The cloaked figure slowly lowered his or her hand.
Anya ran forward and slipped her fingers through Ardent’s collar. She still couldn’t see the bridgekeeper’s face under the hood, but that ring was obviously magical and probably extremely dangerous.
“We’d like to see the Good Wizard, please,” panted Anya.
“Dthhh ywwww hefff ahppenmen,” whispered the cloaked figure.
“Ah, I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch that,” said Anya nervously. She was keeping a close eye on that magic ring, desperately trying to think of what she should do if it was raised again. It probably sent out fire bolts, or maybe lightning, or at the very least caused the ground to open up beneath an enemy’s feet.
A horrible gulping noise came from inside the bridgekeeper’s hood. Anya stiffened, wondering what this meant and what ghastly creature was within.
“Sorry,” said the bridgekeeper, pushing back her hood to reveal that she was a young woman, perhaps only ten years older than Anya. She was pretty and her luxuriant dark hair was loosely pulled back and tied carelessly with a white ribbon. “I was eating a biscuit. Very contemplative thing to do, eat biscuits and watch floodwater. I recommend it.”
Ardent made a gulping noise at the mention of biscuits.
“Do you have an appointment?” asked the woman.
“No, I’m afraid we don’t. But it is very important. I’m Princess Anya—”
“Ah, the Frogkisser!” said the woman. “We heard about you from a Gerald the Herald this morning. And the dog, the frog, the newt, and the half otter-maid are all transformed humans?”
“I’m not!” said Ardent and Smoothie together, both in highly offended tones.
“Hmmm,” said the woman. “And you don’t have an appointment?”
“No,” said Anya. Her vision of a hot bath and food started to fray at the edges, to be replaced with the image of starving in a ditch … with the rain coming back again, of course.
“Can’t see the Good Wizard without an appointment,” said the woman regretfully.
Anya thought for a moment, and looked at the red boots again. She was fairly certain she knew what they meant. Surely, only the Good Wizard herself could have such wonderful footwear. But she looked so young …
“Can’t you make an exception?” asked Anya.
“No exceptions,” said the bridgekeeper firmly. “No appointment, no seeing the wizard.”
Anya thought for a few more seconds. Being very tired, very cold, and very hungry didn’t help. Her mind felt extremely sluggish. She looked down at Ardent, who gazed back at her with great confidence, obviously expecting her to work something out. Shrub was looking at her in the same way, and so was Smoothie. Denholm wasn’t looking at her at all; he was eyeing a mosquito that was venturing close to his cage.
She had to do something. They were relying on her to lead. She was a princess on a Quest, after all, and not just a totally sodden young girl with a cold who hadn’t had anything to eat for what seemed like days.
“Could … could we make an appointment, please?” she asked.
“Certainly,” said the bridgekeeper. She reached under her cloak and took out a dark blue leather-bound book that had Appointments embossed in gold type on the cover.
“Do you have anything in the next five minutes?” asked Anya.
“Certainly,” said the bridgekeeper. She opened the book and wrote in it with the long, artificial nail on her forefinger. The nail turned ink-blue as she wrote and then back to pink again when she stopped writing and shut the book.
“You actually are the Good Wizard yourself, aren’t you?” asked Anya.
“Her, the Good Wizard!” blurted out Shrub. He sounded very doubtful.
“Shhh,” said Anya.
“I am the Good Wizard,” said the woman calmly. She bent her head to meet the newt’s gaze. “And you are?”
“Shrub,” said Shrub. “I’m a good thief. I’m going to join Bert and the Association of Responsible Robbers. Just as soon as Anya changes me back. Are you sure you’re even a wizard?”
“Shrub,” Anya warned, seeing their appointment about to vanish before their eyes, and with it dryness, sustenance, and comfort. She sneezed violently at that thought, and the cold edged its way a bit more into her chest.
“You think I don’t look like a wizard, is that it?” asked the woman.
“I’m sure you’re the Good Wizard,” said Anya fervently. “No one else could have such boots.”
“Yes, they are nice boots,” said the Wizard, if indeed she was the Wizard. She pu
shed one foot forward and pointed the toe. “Very nice, if I say so myself. Surprisingly waterproof too, even better than I’d hoped. But I suppose you were expecting someone more … ah … traditional, my suspicious newt?”
Shrub mumbled something. Anya could only catch the words beard, staff, and with stars.
“Ah, you want the full regalia,” said the red-booted woman, who still might or might not be the Good Wizard. She turned her head to one side and spoke, apparently to thin air. “The complete outfit, please. Quick as you can.”
She paused, as if listening to a reply. Anya could almost hear something too, but strain as she might, it was no more than a faint whistling, like some small bird in the far distance warbling in a tree.
“I don’t know. In the cupboard by the front door, if you put them back properly the last time, I would suppose. Hurry along now.”
“Invisible servant?” asked Anya. She had been reasonably confident from the boots, but now it was definite. Surely only a wizard could have an invisible servant.
“First-year apprentice,” said the Good Wizard. “All wizarding apprentices start as invisible and almost inaudible servants. It’s the only way. Barely heard but not seen. Leads them into temptation, and that’s always a test. He’ll be a while, so we might as well go on. We’ll meet him on his way back. Provided young Master Newt is satisfied I’m not some imposter who’ll drink your blood or something equally horrible.”
“I’m not going anywhere until I see for sure,” said Shrub stubbornly.
Ardent nuzzled Anya’s hand. She looked down and he twitched his nose. She bent lower, and the dog whispered in her ear.
“She doesn’t smell of magic, but her boots do, a lot. And her cloak, and that ring, her fingernail, and some other stuff. Shouldn’t a wizard smell of magic?”
Before Anya could answer, the Wizard looked very piercingly at Ardent. She clearly had exceptional hearing, probably from having to listen to nearly inaudible invisible servants.
“What are they teaching royal dogs these days? Surely you know how wizards work?”
“I might have skipped that lesson,” said Ardent. He looked at Anya guiltily. “I only missed a few. Honest.”