Chapter Eighteen: Wherein I have my final confrontation with sorceress Myolaena Maetar.

“You can’t do anything to me. You need me. Who will protect you from the hordes of goblins and monsters? Who will enchant your armor, breed your winged horses, or transport your armies through the ether? You need me.”

The actress playing Myolaena, which is to say Myolaena herself, delivered her lines with feeling. It was as though she had lived through the situation before, which of course she had, and had spoken the lines before, which she hadn’t because I just made most of it up. It was poetic license. As she spoke her last line and exited stage left with the actor playing Priss the Dragon, there was a thunderous ovation. The actors were called out to make three bows. I waited patiently for someone to call “author, author” and when no one did, I began the call myself. Others nearby took up the call and soon, many around the theater were calling as well. I stood up and took my own bow from my seat.

Now I account myself brave, and I have faced many dangers that would have cowed another, weaker man. Still facing off with a sorceress, one who might well be the most powerful in the world, is akin to charging a dragon in his lair, and what man, even a brave man would not think twice before doing that? Myolaena Maetar had much to answer for though, so I headed to the stage and made my way back behind it.

Backstage, the actors were milling around with a few dozen theater fanatics and other hangers-on, but I did not see hide nor hair of the woman for whom I was looking. I asked and was directed to a dressing room with a star and a moon on the door.  I opened the door and quietly stepped inside. Myolaena Maetar was sitting in front of a great mirror removing her stage make-up. I was pleased to see that from the angle I entered I did not appear in the mirror. Slowly drawing my sword, I stealthily crept toward her. When I was only about four feet away, she suddenly raised her wand and I found myself frozen in place. My sword grew suddenly white hot and I dropped it clattering to the floorboards.

“You!” said Myolaena, turning to look at me with astonishment. “I was sure that I had killed you.”

“It was the disconsolateberries,” said I. “They are a natural proof against poison.”

“Huh. I just assumed that they would work like incarnadineberries, which enhance any poison in them.”

“You know what they say about assuming.”

“No, what?”

“Um, that it’s not good.”

“Well, my dear Buckethead. I am glad that you survived. I have decided that your play is not so bad after all.”

“Of course it isn’t,” I agreed. “It’s a fine play—a wonderful play. It is perhaps the greatest play ever written.”

“Whatever,” said she. “I have decided that playing a sorceress on stage is a far more enjoyable pastime than actually being a sorceress. I think acting really is in my blood. I’m going to take it up full time.”

“You’re going to give up being sorceress?”

“Sure, why not?”

“How could you… how could anyone give up all that power?”

“Oh, I admit that it frightens me a bit. Still, you know what they say—power corrupts. I’ve had so much power for such a long time. I used to be a nice person, you know. I don’t know if I could be again, but at least if I become an actor, people won’t expect me to be nice, at least not all at once and not all the time. I’m going to take my wand and bury it so deep in the ground that nobody will ever be able to find it, and I’m going to drop my spellbook into the deepest depths of the ocean.”

“Even so, I can’t let you go,” said I. “I can forgive you for trying to poison me, but you turned an innocent young actress into a tree and then she was cut down for firewood.”

“Angeletta Seedling is not so young or so innocent, and she is also not dead. She’s right down the street starring in “A Mighty Heart.”

“You didn’t change her to a tree?”

“Yes, I did. But I changed her back long before anyone could cut her down. The worst thing that happened to her was that a bird built a nest on her.”

“Oh. I guess all’s well that ends well.”

Chapter Seventeen: Wherein I deliver the young woman to her intended and hurry back to Antriador.

The bit with Cleveland Normandy and our swordfight was the only real adventure on the way to Oordport, with the exception that when we got there and found Miss Capillarie’s true love, he was enjoying the company of a young woman named Roxanne. I personally didn’t think this Roxanne was anything to write home about, but I suppose there is something to the old saying ‘a decent looking girl in the hand is worth a beautiful one in a faraway city’. I didn’t stick around to find out how things worked out with Megara and beautiful, sweet Henri, instead leaving just as she was beating him about the head and shoulders. I noted that Roxanne had wisely made a hasty retreat, no doubt unable to match Megara either in beauty or in fisticuffs.

I left Oordport, which is a lovely city only about a third the size of Antriador and is chiefly in the business of sheep, forthwith. That is, I left forthwith. Not that the sheep were forthwith, which doesn’t even make any sense, now that I think about it, so never mind. I stopped just outside the city wall at a little meadow to let Hysteria, who was still a bit upset, eat some clover and take a drink of water. I intended to ride her much harder on the way back than I had on the way there. While she was thus engaged, I took a pleasant nap beneath a tree. When I was well rested, having dreamed only manly dreams, and so was my noble steed, which is to say Hysteria, I set off once again.

I made good time, especially considering that most of the trip was taken in darkness. Lyrria is one of the few lands where a trip in darkness is easily made. The roads are paved with nice smooth stones and the wild beasts and robbers have for the most part been chased away. I arrived at the gate of Antriador less than twenty four hours later, and reached the playhouse just as the audience was filing in to their seats.

Mr. Burbage, a fine gentleman despite having been in his youth an actor, stood outside the playhouse door watching as the crowd filed in. If anything, there were more people here to see my work than there were on opening night and that gave me a warm feeling deep inside as I thought of my ten percent of gross ticket receipts.

“Mr. Burbage,” I said, as I tossed a coin to a stable boy to have Hysteria taken care of. “I heard about what happened to our lead actress. Have you put the understudy on in her place?”

Burbage rolled his eyes. “You know she’s not right for the part. She’s too dark and too tall.”

“What matters that?” I cried. “She knows the words! The words are the important part! The show must go on!”

“My dear Buxton,” said he. “Fret not. The show will go on. The show has gone on for more than a week since I saw you last. Fear not. I have hired an actress for the lead role, and she is perfect if I do say so myself.”

“I hope you are right,” said I.

“I am right. I believe that I am right, and more importantly the audiences believe that I am right. Attendance has been up every day since the unfortunate tree incident. That didn’t hurt either. You know there really is no such thing as bad publicity.”

“You know better than me,” said I. “And that is something I almost never say.”

I took the side door entrance into the theater and found a comfortable seat in the upper gallery so that I could watch it along with the throngs of my many fans. I didn’t have long to wait for the lights to dim and the curtain to rise revealing the stage decorated to resemble the streets of the great city of Illustria. The actors playing the parts of street venders wandered around on stage, among the citizens, singing their lines. Then came the first bit of excitement: Penny the thief cuts the purse of the apple vendor and leaves the stage. Then the new actress playing the lead part stepped on stage. She was tall and striking and moved just as a sorceress should move. She sauntered across the stage and delivered her lines.

“It’s a lovely day in Illustria, the jewel of Aerithtraine, nay the very jewel of all Celestria. The people are happy. The kingdom is prosperous. The king sits well upon his throne.”

Next, the actress playing Luna came onto the stage to deliver her soliloquy, wherein she spills her heart so the audience can feel her loneliness. The sorceress then casts a spell of love upon her and she leaves, giving the sorceress a chance for to give her own speech, setting up the plot of the play.

“There you see magic. But it is a small thing for me. I am Myolaena Maetar, the court magician—sorceress, thaumatageur, prestidigitator, diviner, seer, mystic– I am spellcaster, mage, conjurer, and necromancer. I am all that.

“I am she who keeps the kingdom running well. I am she who keeps King Justin on his throne. I bring prosperity and fair weather. I am all that.

“I can read minds! I can shape creations of matter and energy. I can brew potions of love or hate or death. I can let you fly through the air, or stew in your own juices. I can summon up the wise men of all the ages, or the most horrifying monsters. I am all that… and a bag of chips.

“I should be openly acknowledged as the mighty ruler I am. I should be Queen. But though I am not, I have cast my spells and laid my plots. I am like the spider in the center of a vast web. And I will devour my prey, after my own fashion.”

It was only as she delivered the final line “And I will devour my prey, after my own fashion,” that I realized whom I was watching. The actress playing Myolaena Maetar was none other than Myolaena Maetar herself.

Chapter Sixteen: Wherein hot blood is spilled.

Now might be a good time to mention that while I purchased Hysteria, for thirteen crowns silver, as a warhorse, she has a number of deficiencies that make her inadequate to the task. Oh, don’t misunderstand me, she is a very fine animal, in good health, and she has almost never failed to carry anything that I asked of her. Warhorses though need to be of quite stern stuff. Hysteria was never comfortable with the sound of sword on sword, or sword on shield, or sword on body, or shield on body, or shield on shield. In fact, she’s not too fond of the shhtink sound that a sword makes as it comes out of a scabbard. It was just this sound which accompanied the shout of “stop knave, and prepare to meet your maker,” and it was no doubt this sound that caused her to rear up and toss Megara and myself to the ground. I was not unduly bothered by this, not only because I had been thrown by Hysteria on a number of occasions, but also because I landed on Megara and she was quite nicely padded. She on the other hand had more than a lung-full of air knocked from her by my weight suddenly landing on her. I jumped to my feet and drew my own sword.

“Identify yourself or die,” said I, striking an intimidating pose.

“I am Cleveland Normandy and I am here to put an end to your days of steeling young women.”

“-‘s hearts,” said I.

“What?”

“-‘s hearts. You are going to put an end to my days of steeling young women’s hearts. That’s what you meant to say.”

“No it isn’t,” said he. “I am here to put an end to your days of steeling young women’s bodies.”

“I’ve never… almost never stolen a body in my entire life. Seven, eight times at the most. And why would you care anyway?”

“I care because I am Cleveland Normandy, and I am Megara Capillarie’s true love.”

“No you aren’t,” said Megara, having successfully refilled her lungs with air and climbed back to her feet. She tossed back her hair and struck a pose. “You are my father’s one true love.”

“What?” Cleveland and I both said at the same time.

“He is the one my father has betrothed me to, but I don’t love him, don’t want him, can’t stand him, and don’t want to look at him.”

“She sounds pretty emphatic,” said I.

“I don’t know what that means,” said he.

“It means that she has strongly expressed her desire with great emphasis or…”

“I don’t care what it means.” He jumped to within sword-reach of me. “You are standing in the way of true love.”

“I don’t think we have the same definition of ‘love’, or of ‘true’, and probably not of ‘way’,” said I. “I guess we’re okay with ‘standing’. I guess it all really hinges on what your definition of ‘is’ is.”

My clever wordplay was apparently too much for Cleveland Normandy, for rather than replying with rhetoric, he replied with his sword, thrusting directly at me. Fortunately I am even quicker with my sword than I am with my tongue. Of course with a tongue, speed is not so important as wit. And now that I think about it, with a sword, speed is not so important as swordsmanship. So tongues and swords are quite a bit alike. I parried his blow and swung my sword up, intending to take of his head, but I was wide of the mark and took off only part of his right ear. He squealed like a little girl and turning, ran away.

Chapter Fifteen: Wherein we are accosted on the road to Oordport.

The three of us rode down the road to Oordport: myself, the lovely Megara Fennec, and my valiant steed Hysteria, which is to say my horse. Night had fallen, and while one could caution that it is a very good idea not to set out from one city to another in the dead of night, but to take a room at an inn and start instead the next day, I have seldom been one to follow a good idea. It was a day and a half ride from Antriador to Oordport and I wanted to make it there and back within three days. My play was no doubt in difficulty without a lead actress, though she did have an understudy, and I wanted to put things right, and maybe even settle with Myolaena Maetar before Ellwood Cyrene returned from Auksavl in five days.

“So what gave you the idea to act in my play?” I asked the lovely young woman who was pressed up against my back. “Other than hearing that my actress had been turned into a tree, I mean.”

“I read a review of The Ideal Magic in the local broadsheet.”

“Really? What did it say?”

“Well…”

“Come on girl, and tell me. We writers are a thick-skinned lot.”

“It said that your play was made of big words on small matters.”

“What a most excellent review,” said I.

“It is a terrible review.”

“No, it is a wonderful review. Big words on small matters. Why, that is exactly how I write.”

We rode all through the night. Hysteria having been well fed and watered the previous day was more than happy to clop along at a leisurely pace. After a while our conversation lagged however and I dozed off in my saddle. You might wonder that this is possible—falling asleep and sleeping while riding. I do it all the time. In fact, it is probably my single best equestrian skill, which is to say thing I can do on a horse. Unknown to me at the time was that Miss Fennec had dozed off as well. While no doubt far less skilled than me at horsemanship, she was pressed against me so tightly and had her arms wrapped around me so well, that she didn’t fall off either. Neither of us even knew we were asleep until we were awakened by a shout.

“Stop knave, and prepare to meet your maker!”

Chapter Fourteen: Wherein I divulge my plan to reunite the lovers.

I led the beautiful Megara Fennec, which is to say Megara Capillarie from the home of some unknown person, who was no doubt a chubby little red-head with a checkered apron and a brown bonnet, and out into the town square of Potter Town, where the shadows were growing long, which is to say it was getting late. My valiant steed Hysteria still waited patiently at the well. As we walked, I explained my plan.

“The plan is thus,” said I. “I will fetch from the apothecary a dram of a potion that is known as living death. You will go home and make peace with your parents and then take this potion. It will make you fall into a coma, a semblance of death itself. From you there will be no evidence that you still live: no breath, no heartbeat, and no body warmth. Your family will think that you are dead and place your body in the family crypt. In the meantime, I will send a message to your beloved in Oordport, telling him the entire plan and he will rush to your side, to reach you just as you return to life, having experienced nothing more than a pleasant sleep.”

We reached Hysteria’s side and I turned to smile at my lovely companion, but she was frowning.

“What’s the matter?” I asked.

“Your plan seems fraught with unnecessary problems,” she replied.

“How so?”

“If the apothecaries of the area are wont to sell drams of ‘living death’, won’t someone suggest that perhaps I have been given ‘living death’ when I appear to die of unknown causes.”

“Living death is pretty secret,” said I.

“How secret?”

“Really secret.”

“But not so secret that just anyone can purchase it from an apothecary?”

“No, not so secret as that.”

“What if, when I die, they decide to burn my body instead of placing it in the family crypt?”

“Why would they do that?”

“To save space.”

“You are a member of the family, are you not?”

“Yes, but I’m just a girl, and I’m young. I haven’t had a chance to do anything grand or impressive that would warrant entombing me in a place of honor. Our family has had that crypt for at least a dozen generations and there have been a lot of us. It’s getting pretty full.”

“But you are Lord Capillaries’ only daughter.”

“I am the only child of his current wife, true. But my mother is his fourth wife and I am his sixteenth daughter.”

“I see.”

“Now that I think about it,” she continued. “I don’t think that I would want to wake up in that crypt anyway. It’s got to be pretty rank in there, and there is always the possibility of zombie attacks.”

“Yes, I forgot about zombies.”

“The only people who can afford to forget about zombies are those people with no brains.”

“That is true,” I agreed. “I suppose we could plan to have your body sequestered somewhere else.”

“And here’s another thing,” she said. “What if your message doesn’t get to my beloved in time? Suppose he hears about me dying before he finds out about your plan. He might do something rash—like hurt himself.”

“He wouldn’t do that would he?”

“He might. He’s very passionate.”

“He’s passionate enough to kill himself?”

“Oh yes. He thinks about it all the time.”

“So what do you propose?” I asked.

“Why don’t we climb on your horse and you just give me a ride to Oordport, where I can meet beautiful, sweet Henri and live together with him there.”

“Well, it is not nearly so poetical a plan as mine,” said I. “But I will do it.”

Chapter Twelve: Wherein, as you probably guessed, I don’t die of poison.

“Wake up, Master Buxton, wake up.” I felt a gentle slap upon my right cheek and then my left. “Here. Drink this.”

The mouth of a small bottle was pressed between my lips and cool sweet liquid flowed over my tongue and down my throat.

“Is that an antidote?” I asked.

“Antidote to what?”

I looked into the face above me. It was one of the most beautiful faces that I had ever seen. Very large brown eyes, like cow eyes, but in a good way, which is to say large and brown, and with long lashes. A cute little nose. Perfect lips.

“I’ve been poisoned.”

“How?”

“You are the most beautiful woman that I’ve ever seen. Kiss me quickly before I die.”

“What poisoned you?”

“Quickly, the kiss.”

“I don’t think I had better kiss you if you’ve been poisoned. I might get some of the poison on my tongue.”

“Don’t use your tongue. Just use your lips.”

“Well, that’s not really much of a kiss, is it?” quoth she.

“I like the way you think,” I said, sitting up. “If you didn’t know I was poisoned, what was that liquid you just gave me?”

“That was water from the well outside. It’s supposed to be naturally healthful.”

“I feel much better, but ‘naturally healthful, does not quite equal ‘antidote to poison’.”

“I ask again. With what were you poisoned?”

“That pie over there.”

The young woman got up from my side and walked across the room to where the remainder of the pie still sat. From my vantage point, I could see that, as beautiful as her face was, it was nothing compared to her body, especially that part of her body which she presented as she walked away across the room. In a word she was fetching, which is to say very attractive.

“Is this a disconsolateberry pie?” she asked.

“Yes. It was one of the finest buttocks I’ve ever had.”

“What?”

“I said it was one of the finest pies I’ve ever had.”

“Well you can’t poison somebody with disconsolateberries,” she said, walking back over to me and kneeling down. “They are a natural counteragent.”

“That’s very breast for me,” I said, getting up.

“What?”

“I said that’s very lucky for me.”

“They are full of natural antioxidants too,” said she.

“Is that good?”

She nodded. “Would you like that kiss now?”

Then it was my turn to nod, as I was suddenly but momentarily mute. She put her hand on my cheek and gave me one of the best kisses that I have had in my entire life. The only better ones that I can think of off the top of my head, which is to say within easy reach of my memory, are the kiss that I received from the Queen of Aerithraine, in whose company I once had the pleasure of spending a fortnight, and my cousin Tuki, who was the first girl I ever kissed and was also a first-rate kickball player.

“What are you thinking about?” the beautiful young woman asked.

“Kickball.”

“Well, stop it. I want you to think about me.”

“I don’t even know your name, or how you found me, or how you know me, or what you want, or how you were able to squeeze into that dress, or how much pie is left.”

“My name is Megara Fennec, and I’ve been looking for you for more than a week. I want to be an actress in your play.”

Chapter Nine: Wherein we stop at the well at Potter Town.

Taking into account that a group of sword-wielding would-be assassins, fifteen strong, had found and the gone after Ellwood Cyrene, attempting to kill him, notwithstanding my valiant efforts on his behalf, we decided that it was probably a good idea if we found some other location for ourselves. To wit, which is to say therefore, we left. Ellwood had brought my horse Hysteria and had her stabled nearby along with his own, so we quickly packed and set off for Potter Town, which was an area of simple houses and low class eating establishments just outside the northern city gate. Ellwood offered that it was a good idea to get out of Antriador entirely, but I was loath to leave as I was still expecting to make a sizable fortune from my play. Ten percent of gross receipts are nothing to sneeze at. We stopped at the local well to discuss the matter.

A word about the well in Potter Town. This particular well was a relic of some earlier civilization who had inhabited the promontory where now sits Antriador. It was made of stone, which is to say the well was made of stone and not the previous civilization, though a good many of the monuments from that civilization are indeed made of stone. This well had carved all around the outside, fanciful images of people now long forgotten. Its center was formed of a round silo some eight or nine feet tall, and above this was constructed a wind-mill to take advantage of the plentiful breezes that made their way up the slope from the sea. The windmill turned a long shaft with a screw which pumped up the water from some unseen underground aquifer. The water poured out of about twenty spouts cut into the stone silo and flowed into a pool thirty feet around. This three foot deep pool was enclosed by close-cut stone walls, which too were carved into the images of people, and it was this pool which the local people dipped their buckets into for their daily water. This alone would have made it an interesting landmark, but there was more. Shooting off from the pool in three directions, like three spokes of a wheel, were stone horse troughs. Water flowed into these troughs when there was an excess in the pool and they were six inches lower than the pool itself, so there was no backflow. From each of these horse troughs, a series of gutters spread out like the branches of a tree, carrying the small amount of overflow away. What need of the builders of this system was fulfilled by these gutters, one may only guess, but the locals today use them to bring water to their gardens.

As Hysteria and Ellwood’s horse drank from the troughs, he and I talked over our options.

“I know you don’t want to leave for any length of time,” said Ellwood, “but you should at least leave for a few days.”

“I don’t see how leaving for a few days will help pie.”

“What?”

“Pie. I smell pie.”

“Oh no,” said he.

“Oh yes,” I replied.

I scanned the little square until I could see that which I could smell, which is to say a pie. A chubby little red-head with a checkered apron and a brown bonnet stood in an open doorway holding a pie.

“Eaglethorpe.”

“Hmm?”

“Eaglethorpe!”

“What?”

“As I have no desire to interfere with the love of your life…”

“I’ve never even seen her before,” said I.

“I meant the pie,” Ellwood continued. “As I have no desire to interfere, I’ll be leaving you now.”

“Where are you going?”

“I have business in Auksavl, but I’ll be back to Antriador in five days.”

“That will be the twelfth night.”

“Twelfth night of what?”

“It will be the twelfth night of this business with the sorceress.”

“Is that significant?”

“Not really.”

“You are so odd, Eaglethorpe.”