"Ah, the fetters of responsibility," he said smiling sadly. "All the same, Kaela, I think you'd have made a good king."
"Not I!" she said impishly. "To be a king, one must learn things like tact and diplomacy, and other such things which I should find unspeakably dull and boring."
"Well," said Kippen, "that's the half of it: you'd be so frank and direct."
"You have to be a king to get away with it," she said sadly. "A princess isn't good enough. All in all, Kippen, I'm well out of a bad business. I should like to leave my royal heritage by the wayside; I've a long way to go and I don't need a title to burden me."
"Fair enough," he replied. "But we'll need some tale if we are to travel together."
"Why not say simply that you are my brother?"
"It won't wash, I fear. We are not enough alike."
"I am not like my sisters."
"This is different. If we were two women, or two men, we would not be questioned, but..." he faltered. "Remember Achra? Men needn't be outlaws to get the wrong impression."
Kaela sighed. "What's to do then? I could cut my hair and say I was a lad."
"You almost could—but your voice would give you away. No, it won't work." He sighed. "Perhaps they'll believe us, perhaps not, but few will call us liars to our faces. You must be careful, though, to stay near me when we are in towns."
"Good Lord, Kippen, I didn't ask you to play nursemaid to me!" she snapped, embarrassed and irritated. "It's not as though I were a helpless child, or a kitten that might wander off. I'm perfectly capable of looking after myself."
"Remember Achra," he warned. "Next time, you might not be so lucky."
She tossed her head. "I'll have you remember just who rescued whom, if you don't mind."
Kippen shook his head. "Kaela, be reasonable! You're clever, lass, dangerously clever, but you are as naive as an infant. This is not Relsa, remember. I know people and I don't want you to come to grief. Now, may I have your word on this, that you'll stay near me?"
Kaela rounded on him furiously. "I can't bear to be fussed over!" she snapped. "And though you may know a precious great deal about people, you've still quite a bit to learn about me." She drew her dagger out of her boot top, where it had been conveniently concealed by the hem of her woolen skirt.
"I have a knife and I know how to use it. I can shoot a bow and wield a sword. You may know the world, but you don't know Relsa if you think it's a city of wide avenues and promenading gentry. I have roamed the streets—and not just the ones in the rich section of town—and have learned their sordid stories. I am stronger than I look, and when I say I can handle myself, I mean just that—and I'll thank you to remember it, Master Worldly-wise Kippen!" She stalked off.
Kippen stood motionless for a moment, then ran to catch up with her. "Kaela, I'm sorry," he began. "I—well, how was I to know? One doesn't usually think of a girl, much less a princess, roving the streets. But give me your hand and let's cry friends?" He held out his hand so hopefully, his eyes and voice were so beseeching, that she relented despite her anger and found herself smiling as she took his hand.
"You've quite a temper, Kaela," he said with something akin to respect.
"Another way I am like my father," she said, the wrath gone as quickly as it had come. "Do you still think I'd be a good king? It'd be 'Off with his head!' every time someone made me angry. I am sorry for it, but really, Kippen, I am so tired of being treated like some sort of fragile household ornament!"
The minstrel chuckled. "Well, I'll see that I treat you like something more sturdy in the future. Did you know? When you get very angry, your eyes go sort of greenish, like a cat's. I half expected you to arch your back and hiss."
Kaela grinned. "When I really get very angry, I do."
He laughed and harmony returned, even as the sun fled behind a cloud. "Look at the sky," he said in wonder. "I'd guess we're in for quite some storm."
Great mounds of thick gray clouds were stacked one upon another in ominous towers. As they watched, the towers swayed and rolled and toppled in a wind that had leapt from nowhere. With a growl of thunder, the clouds spread across the sky in new formations. Kippen took her hand.
"Come on, Kaela. Let's run. Tilnak cannot be much farther and perhaps there is a barn or a farmhouse we can shelter in. It's going to be fierce."
They began to run, hand in hand before the wind. The road turned sharply and dipped into a little hollow. There was fenced pastureland and a little farther on, a barn and a fieldstone farmhouse. Then they saw, coming the other way, a man on a horse, trying to lead two others—yearlings by their looks—while controlling his own frightened mount.
"Hey, you, lad!" he called to Kippen. "Give me a hand with these brutes and I'll let you shelter under my roof." They didn't need to be asked twice. Kaela went to the head of the nearest beast and tried to soothe it. It snorted and plunged and tried to get free, but she held firm, speaking reassuringly all the while. After a minute or two, she had the animal calm enough to lead, and she followed the man on the horse into the farmyard, with Kippen leading the other animal behind them.
Once in the shelter of the stable, with the horses seen to, the three had the chance to inspect each other. The farmer was a lean man with a wrinkled face like well-worn leather and a pair of bright blue eyes that seemed both shrewd and merry. He smiled at them and stuck out his work-hardened hand.
"I'm much obliged to you both—you really know how to handle a horse. Mablyr's my name and it would please me if you'd share our supper with us."
"Why, that is a kind offer indeed," said Kaela, shaking his hand and smiling. "I am Kaela, and this is my brother Kippen."
"Pleased to meet you," he said. "And now, if we dash across the yard, we may just beat the rain. I can see Hali, my wife, holding the door for us."
The house of Mablyr and Hali was warm and friendly. There was a merry blaze on the hearth, and the roof and windows were snug, with no room for drafts or drips. There was a heavy iron kettle of rich, fragrant stew on the hob and loaves of fresh bread laid out on the red and white checked tablecloth.
Kaela felt an instant liking for them both, but especially for Hali, who seemed to Kaela a warm, loving woman. She had strong, gentle hands and green eyes with a hint of the faraway look of a dreamer. She welcomed the two wayfarers and quickly set two more places, being careful not to tread upon the kittens on the hearthrug or the two children playing with them.
"Are they yours?" Kaela asked, smiling at the children, who were completely absorbed in the three fluffy kittens.
"If only they were," said Hali, softly. "Mablyr journeys into Relsa once or twice a season, and he brings back a child or two with him. I'd gladly keep these two, for I've grown fond of their mischief, but they have parents who want them back when they are old enough to work the fishing smacks." She sighed. "At least this way the children get some love and enough to eat for a little while. Relsa is no city for children.
"But now," Hali continued, "let us seat ourselves for the meal, and Mablyr will serve. I would hear of yourselves over dinner, for news is scarce here and we seldom have visitors." Then she turned to the children and said, "Come. The kittens will wait while you have your dinners."
The two young boys did as they were told and sat wide-eyed, staring at Kaela and Kippen. The children resembled the ones Kaela had so often told stories to; they had the same sandy hair and gray eyes, the same scrawny frame, though they lacked the wary look about their eyes and were not as thin as most. Suddenly, the older boy smiled shyly at them and extended his hand in greeting. "My name is Polan, and this is Flen, my brother."
"I am Kippen, and this is my sister Kaela."
The two boys exchanged glances and suddenly turned shy. Kaela smiled at them and then at Mablyr and Hali.
Soon they were all served and talking merrily. Both Kaela and Kippen were eager for Hali and Mablyr to talk. They liked their hosts and did not wish to lie to them; yet, they did not quite dare to tell the truth. The
boys remained shy, as though in awe, so that Kaela guessed they knew her name. She wondered if they had ever heard her, and she searched in her mind for a recollection of their faces. She became aware, suddenly, that the conversation had gone on without her and she pulled away from her thoughts.
Kippen was speaking. "We wander. I am a minstrel and Kaela is a teller of tales."
Kaela noticed that Flen nudged Polan excitedly. She caught their eyes and gave an almost imperceptible shake of her head. Polan smiled knowingly and they stopped squirming, regarding the scene with utter nonchalance.
"A minstrel, Master Kippen?" Polan asked, showing remarkable control for one of scarcely thirteen summers. "What do you play?"
"The flute," he replied.
"Ah, yes," said the boy sagely. "And Miss Kaela, what sort of stories do you tell?"
"All sorts," she said. "Shall I tell you one?"
"Oh yes!" cried Flen and Polan together, bouncing in their chairs with eagerness.
"Please," added Polan, hastily.
"And what shall I tell about?"
"A cat!" Flen said, then changed his mind. "No! A dragon!"
"Magic!" cried Polan. "And evil."
"Very well," said Kaela, smiling. "After dinner..."
"We're finished now," said Polan hopefully. "Aren't we, Hali?"
"There's pie," she told them, "but we could have that after the tale. Come, let's pull our chairs about the fire. Kaela, do you need a few minutes to think?"
Kaela smiled. "If Kippen will play while I weave my story, the minutes will go quickly."
Not waiting to be asked twice, Kippen drew out his flute and began to play. The voice of the instrument filled the room, a glorious silver sound, lilting and joyous, full of mischief and laughter. By the time Kippen had finished, they were all smiling.
Kaela turned to Flen and Polan. "You said a cat, a dragon, magic and evil?"
They nodded, bouncing up and down in their eagerness.
"Good," she told them. "I have just the tale. It's called 'Bottled Palindrome.' " And she began.
Bottled Palindrome
I have been told that there is a kingdom on the far side of the Northern Sea, and that in that kingdom, all of summer is one long day and all of winter one long night, and spring and autumn are sunrise and sunset. As wanderers and storytellers cannot be trusted with the truth, I am inclined not to believe that. Nonetheless, I shall tell a tale about this far land, where children ride unicorns and dragons are tamed and trained to make the breakfast tea, where goatherds are kings and kings are goatherds, where, in short, nothing is unusual except the expected.
Now, in this land, there lived a boy named Muffum. He was a lively lad, but he was not considered acceptable, for he was always getting into mischief and he had no parents. He lived in a hut at the edge of town with his cat, a foul-tempered, battle-scarred, tiger-striped tom named—most inappropriately—Snuggles. With them also lived a timid, rather undersized dragon named Sara. They all survived quite nicely, for Sara was a rather good housekeeper and cook, and Snuggles, if approached properly, was a superb hunter.
It was fortunate for Muffum that he had his faithful friends, for the parents of all the village children had forbidden them to play with the odd boy. You see, his name was spelled the same both forward and backward, and that, the villagers knew, was a palindrome and a sign of magic.
Not that Muffum's magic name ever helped him. In fact, the only thing the village children envied him for was that he was forbidden to attend the town school. For Muffum, this was a hardship rather than a blessing, because he was eager to learn. Sara, for all she was a good, kind-hearted dragon, couldn't count, much less read, and Snuggles, who could do both, was rarely in a temper to put up with the boy's slow progress. Time and time again, Snuggles would begin a lesson with a strong determination to be patient, and finish barely ten minutes later by growling, "You have no sense, boy! Why, I could read, write and do simple sums before you could even walk!" Then, the cat would stalk off, leaving Muffum to struggle on by himself.
One morning—it was a Tuesday, which is washday in the town of Kriat, where Muffum lived—when Muffum was idly swinging on the front gate, a stranger came walking up the road toward him. Muffum watched him, for any new face was an unusual sight. The stranger was slightly bald, rather plump, and his gray eyes were set too close together, deep in fleshy folds of skin. His clothing, however, was sensational. Instead of the sober, homespun browns and greens Muffum was used to, the stranger wore robes (not tunic and leggings, but long, flowing robes, like a lady's!) of a deep, striking blue color that gave off a glossy shine. Around his waist, the man wore an intricately tooled leather belt with an enormous golden buckle, and most astonishing of all to Muffum, the man wore many gold, silver and jeweled rings.
The stranger hailed Muffum and asked him why he was not in school. When Muffum told him that the villagers had forbidden him to attend, the man looked horrified. "Why ever did they do that?" he asked. "Did you hit the mayor's daughter?"
Muffum laughed ruefully and explained about his name. A peculiar eagerness touched the stranger's eyes, a look nearly of hunger. In fact, it probably was hunger, for the stranger was none other than the evil wizard, Tararat. As Muffum explained about his magic name, a dastardly plan began to form in the wizard's mind. He knew of a spell, a difficult and complicated one to be sure, that would change people into statues of gold. For many years he had longed to attempt the spell, but one ingredient had been lacking; now, he thought he had found it. So Tararat smiled, licked his lips and told Muffum his name and that he was a professor. He went on to say that he'd be flattered if young Muffum would become his student. Muffum's eyes opened wide in astonishment, for he was eager to learn. But at the same time, he felt bound to protest, because he could not pay Professor Tararat and he could not expect a man as important as a professor to waste his time on someone as poor as he.
"Nonsense! Nonsense, Muffum," Professor Tararat replied jovially. "Good students are so difficult to find. I shall be delighted to have such a bright, intelligent lad. Come to my house this afternoon. I've rented the old Parneswon place, near the schoolhouse."
Muffum thanked the professor long and loud, and ran inside to tell Sara of his miraculous good fortune. The dragon was heating the laundry water in the washtub when Muffum came bouncing in. Muffum told her all about his talk with Professor Tararat, but instead of joining in his enthusiasm, the dragon looked thoughtful, concerned. She scratched a green-silver scale with one of her talons and asked Muffum why he thought Professor Tararat was so eager to teach him. When the boy replied that he thought the professor was being kind, Sara snorted. Flames raced along the floor. Muffum jumped and came down, bang, on Snuggles's tail. The cat awoke with a fearful curse and scratched Muffum's bare foot.
"No lesson today!" he hissed. "Oaf! Watch where you put your great clumsy hooves!"
Muffum apologized meekly, but told Snuggles that he wouldn't be needing lessons anymore. Professor Tararat had offered to take him on as a student. Snuggles stiffened at the name and arched his back. His tail bristled like a bottlebrush. Then, his eyes full of golden fury, he spat, "I forbid you to go anywhere near that Professor Tararat!" While the boy protested and pleaded, Snuggles calmed himself and curled up on the hearthrug. "If you do go near him," he purred menacingly, "you will find out what is, as you say, wrong with him. And you will be excessively sorry." Then, he closed his eyes and went back to sleep.
In low voices, so as not to disturb Snuggles, Sara and Muffum discussed the cat's behavior. Though such outbursts were not uncommon, Snuggles was usually willing enough to explain himself, and failing that, Sara, who had known him for ever so long, could usually figure out his motives. But today, she only shook her head and suggested that perhaps later they could persuade Snuggles to be more clear. At that, Snuggles opened one eye and remarked smugly, "It is not in my nature to be clear." Then he went back to sleep.
Sara and Muffum exchanged rueful glances, for the
re was nothing to be done. Then Sara asked Muffum if he would be kind enough to fetch some mint to add to the wash water. It would make his clothes smell much cleaner. Though privately, Muffum couldn't have cared less about how his clothes smelled, he didn't like to say so, for fear of hurting the dragon's tender heart. Muffum went outside into the meadow behind his hut and began to look about for wild mint. At last, he found a large patch of new mint growing in the rich, damp soil by the stream, and he began to pluck the top few leaves from each plant. This way, he'd be sure of some being left for the next washday. As he went about his work, he thought over all the happenings of the day so far: his meeting with the mysterious professor, Snuggles's warning and his unwillingness to elaborate. All of it was very strange—even Sara had been affected by the coming of the mysterious stranger, Tararat.
"Oh, there you are, boy."
Muffum jumped, for standing beside him, almost as though the thought had called him, was Professor Tararat. He had changed his garb for a sober robe of black, but it only served to make him all the more mysterious, and even, given his sudden appearance, sinister. Muffum mumbled a greeting, Snuggles's warning uppermost in his mind. The professor asked whether he was ready for his lesson, and without waiting for a reply, ordered the boy to come along.
"Well, really, sir," he began, unsure of what to say, "I talked this over with my ca—current tutor, and he seemed rather put out by my wanting to switch. And thinking it over, I'm rather fond of the old boy, for all that he's a bit surly. Besides, I'm sure that a busy and prominent professor like yourself really hasn't the time for someone like me."
"Nonsense!" snapped Tararat, frowning mightily. "Now you just tell me who this tutor is and where he lives, and I'll pop around and tell him—persuade him—that we are doing the right thing for a boy with your remarkable talents. What's his name?"
Muffum turned red in the face and explained that his tutor was his cat, Snuggles, adding that he didn't think the professor should take the trouble to discuss the matter as Snuggles was remarkably stubborn.