ã€ŠTurn Me Back!ã€‹


 Prologue

    The puppet show was well attended, which wasn¡¯t necessarily a good thing.

    It was early morning when the bright wagons were first spotted, stringing their way through the forest glades. Word spread quickly through the region and the first onlookers arrived later that afternoon. By nightfall, people had thronged from villages far and near to see the show. While puppets were traditionally regarded as children¡¯s entertainment, folk in this forlorn and forsaken hinterland were so starved for entertainment that even a troupe of dancing cockroaches would have been well-attended.

    And to compare Waldani¡¯s Puppets to a troupe of dancing cockroaches was to do them a grave disservice. The dolls were beautiful; the scripts were well-scrivened, and what the puppeteers might have lacked in dedication, they more than made up for in drunkenness. They were jolly and joking. More than one running gag had been born at the bottom of a gin-bottle. Waldani graciously allowed their boozing (even going so far as to keep the gin stocks topped up) so long as the performances did not suffer. In any case, as has been mentioned, the audience had so little with which to compare the show that they were pitifully easy to impress.

    Upon their arrival, visitors found an entire section of forest cordoned off. Before they could reach the chosen glade that housed the low, curtained stage, they were first forced to queue through a bottleneck where they lined up for the privilege of handing over their hard-scrimped coins as entrance fees.

    And indeed, it was a privilege, because there at the gate was the most beautiful little girl that any of the pig-rearing peasants had seen in their lives. ¡®Angelic¡¯ didn¡¯t do justice to the little blonde-haired stunner. ¡®Cherubic¡¯ failed to capture the beatific grace of her smile. Many of the show¡¯s visitors were so lacking in the vocabulary department that they were forced to resort to referring to her as ¡®purdy¡¯, and consequently suffered a few days under the nagging suspicion they had committed a mild blasphemy.

    Yes, the little girl¡ªpresumed by all to be Waldani¡¯s daughter¡ªwas arguably one of the most important members of the troupe, being, as she was, solely responsible for the fact that not a single visitor escaped without paying. How could the thought cross their mind once they had been beguiled with those innocent blue eyes? Indeed, some visitors even queued twice for the privilege of pressing their money into her small palm and hearing her murmur (like a distant echo from heaven), ¡°Thank you. Please take any seat.¡±

    The only discordant note in the whole, glorious process of paying and enjoying your few precious seconds basking in the glow of the young goddess¡¯s smile, was the overly long, hideously sharp knife that lay in plain sight on the table next to her. A couple of well-meaning fathers even attempted to pick it up, reasoning that it had surely been left there as an oversight. Waldani would certainly thank them for moving it away, thus safeguarding the well-being of his precious daughter. But no sooner had they reached for the knife, they were arrested by an abrupt, ¡°Leave that there!¡± from the girl herself. She was always quick to remedy the lapse with an extra smile for the well-meaning fools in question. Nevertheless, the knife stayed where it lay, glinting evilly.

    Performances were well-received in practically all the stops along Waldani¡¯s tour. For what bumpkin wouldn¡¯t enjoy a grand tale of debauchery and wife-beating at the end of a long day toiling in the fields? Folk generally left the show feeling wondrously cheered, repeating the best bits to one-another, reliving the emotional climaxes in their minds as they wended their ways home to their hovels. Performances were well-received in all places, except one.

    No one can really say what the difference was when it came to this particular show in this particular fiefdom. It was a rough part of the realm, to be sure, but no rougher than others they had traversed without incident. Perhaps the puppeteers hadn¡¯t quite drunk their fill before the start. Perhaps the wagons themselves were looking a tad dull and bespattered at the end of their rolling journey through this muddy spring season. Waldani had intended this show to be one of the last before the company took to the towns to do their usual festival run. As it happened, it was the last of all.This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

    It started like any other night. Visitors arrived in droves, willingly surrendering their hard-earned funds to the miniature beauty at the entrance. Folk gathered in the glade before the curtain, chattering and humming excitedly. When the show started, they enjoyed the sketches and laughed along with the ridiculous songs.

    Then someone threw a punch. The story goes that a man heard a comment made by his neighbour and took offence. But like any brawl, it didn¡¯t take long for the original reason to be buried under a pile of mindless, snarling, punching men and women. Yes, even the women. It was that sort of town.

    It was also the sort of town where a certain proportion of the population weren¡¯t above using a disturbance to their advantage, sneaking off to see what could be liberated into their own pockets. As the battle of fists raged in the glade, a shadowy group melted away from the ruckus, creeping back along the path to where they¡¯d last seen the cash-box, with all its delicious, rattling booty.

    But if these ne¡¯re-do-wells had expected to find the entrance kiosk empty, they were startled to see the same little blonde girl sitting there. The same little blonde girl with one tiny difference. The knife that had been lying on the table was now held firmly in her small grasp.

    There was a shocking incongruousness in seeing such a lovely little child grasping a sharp blade. If the rascals had been inclined towards philosophy, they might have stopped to ponder exactly what was in the nature of the sight that gave them pause.

    But they weren¡¯t so inclined, so they didn¡¯t stop and they didn¡¯t pause. They converged on the girl. Even with that knife, she¡¯d surely be easy prey. There was no way in hell she knew how to use it or had the strength to stop a determined man four times her size.

    The screaming was what stopped the brawl. Those who ran towards the sound returned to say they¡¯d found Waldani¡¯s daughter covered in blood. An uproar ensued. The sheriff was called. Luckily he happened to be nearby, nursing a rapidly swelling eye. It had been caught by someone¡¯s elbow as he¡¯d been making his way out of the fracas. He hadn¡¯t been brawling, he was quick to assure anyone who¡¯d listen. Unfortunately, nobody believed him. It was that sort of town.

    The sheriff grabbed his trusty chair leg (standard issue to all lawmen) from where it lay next to a pile of unconscious ex-altercaters. He holstered it, hitched up his belt and then hauled his deputy out of a mildly smouldering discussion with two other I-didn¡¯t-brawlers. They hurried along the path to the scene of the reported crime, ready to question the suspects.

    Except, when they arrived, there weren¡¯t any suspects to question. Only a pile of bodies and a remarkably composed-looking little girl covered in a remarkable amount of blood.

    ¡°Ahh, here he is,¡± boomed Waldani, who was crouched next to the little girl, proffering a handkerchief. ¡°Now Willa, tell the sheriff what happened.¡±

    ¡°A gang of idiots came back here, thinking they¡¯d swipe your gold,¡± the girl stated, matter-of-factly. ¡°I stopped them,¡± She wriggled away from Waldani¡¯s handkerchief as he attempted to wipe some of the blood from her face. ¡°Leave that,¡± she snapped. ¡°None of it¡¯s mine anyway.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m so sorry, I think I misheard.¡± The sheriff wondered if he¡¯d been hit too hard in the head. ¡°Did you say you stopped them?¡±

    ¡°Yes, I¡­¡± the girl glanced up at him and then sighed, continuing in a sing-song voice. ¡°I told them to go away and they didn¡¯t but then they started fighting and somehow they all killed one-another.¡±

    ¡°Ahhh.¡± The sheriff relaxed. That made a lot more sense.

    ¡°And you just kept out of the way, didn¡¯t you, my sweet?¡± Waldani nudged her.

    ¡°Yes,¡± said the girl in a bored manner.

    ¡°Yes, what?¡±

    She rolled her eyes. ¡°Yes, Daddy.¡±

    The Sheriff and his deputy glanced at one another and smiled. She really was too adorable. Thank goodness she hadn¡¯t been hurt in the fray. They¡¯d have to ask the puppet show to leave town, but Waldani would be keen to be on his way after this ruckus. As for the heap of dead men, they were layabouts and trouble-makers, the lot of them. The village would be a good deal quieter after this. A fine night¡¯s work!

    Waldani picked up his precious cash box and held out a hand to his daughter. ¡°Come, Willa.¡± Together, they led the way back to the glade where the wagons were parked.

    As soon as they were out of sight, the little girl snatched her hand away and stalked off by herself into the darkness.

 Episode 1 - The Curse of Perfect Curls

    Well, one thing¡¯s certain. That¡¯s the last time I¡¯m working for a bloody puppet show!

    Branches tear at my clothes as I stomp through the trees but I ignore them. My outfit is ruined anyway. The bloodstains from those dying idiots will never wash out. Sod it. Another dress gone to waste.

    You¡¯d think kids¡¯ clothes would be cheaper, being smaller and logically requiring less material to make. But no. They¡¯re bloody expensive. Especially the kind of sickeningly adorable dresses that Waldani required me to wear for this gig. The bastard even wrote it into my contract, along with the clause stating that damage to said dresses was my own responsibility. If it wasn¡¯t for that, you can be damn sure I¡¯d be claiming back every penny it¡¯s costing me getting all gore-soaked while protecting his miserable cashbox.

    After the drunken brawl, Waldani decides to skip the last few planned stops, instead driving the convoy of wagons straight back to Druinberg. He needs replacements for the members of his crew who¡¯d broken limbs in the fight, not to mention new security staff. I made it clear after the brawl that as far as I was concerned, my contract was fulfilled and I was finished with his whole band of idiots. I said it all in a perfectly pleasant tone of voice while checking the authenticity of my smile in the shiny surface of the knife I was holding. He didn¡¯t argue with me.

    As soon as we roll up to Druinberg¡¯s market square, I sling my bundle of belongings over my shoulder, collect my meagre pay from a glowering Waldani and head off, weaving my petite figure through the crowd.

    Heads turn to watch my progress. Men, women and children stop what they¡¯re doing and gaze, open-mouthed, as I pass. Several women try to stop me, asking where my parents are, but I evade them. My parents are dead and there¡¯s no need to go into it.

    When I reach the familiar green-painted door, I¡¯m forced to bang on it with my infuriatingly tiny fist because the bell is too high for me to reach. ¡°Come in,¡± calls a voice. But I don¡¯t, because I can¡¯t reach the latch either. Fuming silently, I thump a few more times. And again. Until finally, the door swings open and a woman with mud-brown hair looks out. She doesn¡¯t see anyone and starts to close the door, until I clear my throat and her gaze drops a couple of feet. ¡°Oh, it¡¯s you.¡± She chuckles. ¡°Still haven¡¯t shaken it off then.¡±

    ¡°Look, I know I was rude, but this curse is ridiculous. You¡¯ve had your fun. How about you turn me back?¡±

    She mockingly cocks a hand behind her ear. ¡°I hear what you say, little girl, and it doesn¡¯t sound like an apology.¡±

    I stamp my foot. ¡°I¡¯m not a little girl!¡±

    She doubles over, hooting with laughter. ¡°Oh goodness,¡± she gasps, wiping tears from her eyes. ¡°It was worth the hassle of cursing you just for that. Has anyone ever told you, you¡¯re adorable when you¡¯re angry?¡±

    I make an effort to contain myself and attempt to recollect the mature arguments I rehearsed while on the road. ¡°Look, ma¡¯am, I¡¯m twenty-three years old and a master mercenary fighter. But I can¡¯t get anyone to take me seriously because you¡¯ve made me look like a bloody six-year-old!¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± she says. ¡°Isn¡¯t it hilarious!¡±

    Gnashing my teeth, I try again. ¡°My profession is vitally important to the safety of the realm. People could die if you don¡¯t turn me back.¡±

    She shakes her head, smiling. ¡°Sorry, not good enough.¡±

    I fold my arms in exasperation. ¡°You¡¯re ruining my sex life!¡±

    She stops smiling and bares her teeth, looking all at once like the witch she is. ¡°That was the entire point of the exercise, you ignorant, selfish little creature. Bad enough that you insulted me in my own home, you also made it clear that you care for nothing but yourself. Well, this time you offended the wrong person. You cannot reasonably expect your punishment to be a bed of roses.¡±

    ¡°But how long are you planning to leave me like this?¡± I ask piteously. ¡°I¡¯m wasting the best years of my life here!¡±Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.

    ¡°You¡¯ll stay looking like that until I¡¯m convinced you¡¯re sorry and that you¡¯ve mended your ways. Now scram, kid. I¡¯ve got better things to do.¡± She disappears inside and slams the door.

    I think about knocking on the door again, but decide it¡¯s a waste of time and knuckles. I¡¯m halfway down the path when the door opens again.

    ¡°I just wanted to say,¡± she calls after me. ¡°I love that dress. It really brings out your dimples!¡±

    I flip her off and hear her cackling as the door slams again. Witch.

    As I trudge off, I¡¯m struck by a wave of helplessness. I really thought if I just gave that woman enough time to cool off, she¡¯d come to her senses, realise how she was devastating my life and have the decency to turn me back. Apparently not. She didn¡¯t seem repentant. Quite the opposite, in fact.

    No-one would imagine being turned into a child could be such a horrible punishment. After all, I could have ended up as a frog or a newt or something worse. Plus, there are whole industries that revolve around people being desperate to recapture their youth.

    But this isn¡¯t just about being wrinkle-free and rosy-cheeked. I¡¯ve been saddled with a tiny frame, a tiny bladder, milk teeth that wobble ominously, the whole caboodle. Once you start walking around as a child when you¡¯re used to everyone treating you like an adult, you realise it¡¯s actually a pretty vile punishment. And let me tell you, it¡¯s disastrous in my line of work when you turn up for a job looking like I currently do. Doesn¡¯t matter how skilled and famous I insist I am, all they see are the curls. And people just find it too weird hiring a child to protect them.

    In all honesty, I don¡¯t blame them. I¡¯d have trouble taking my current body seriously too. No matter how I try, I can¡¯t seem to tone down the cuteness. My complexion is flawless and glowing. My dimpled cheeks are irredeemably rosy. My hair falls into perfect ringlets every time I shake my head. It¡¯s a disaster.

    But I can¡¯t hang around forever, waiting for that wretched witch to discover a conscience! The world is wide and there is too much life to live. I need to come up with another plan to make it happen.

    And then the answer hits me. Gold! Even the most steadfast of wicked-doers would surely be persuaded of the error of her ways when plied with a great clinking pile of metallic sunshine. I need to collect an enormous pile of gold and then use it to bribe that witch to undo her curse.

    The next question is: where am I going to get a huge pile of gold from? The gig with Waldani¡¯s group was a horrible deal and left me with precious little money. In any case, I might need to spend what I have on equipment for my next job. I¡¯ll have to seek out something really lucrative for it to be worth my time.

    While I¡¯m thinking all this, my feet have carried me through Druinberg¡¯s cobbled streets to where the city¡¯s famous market is located. I go straight to the section where people can find mercenaries for hire.

    In case you¡¯ve never seen a mercenary market, it¡¯s a bit like a cattle market, except with swords. I wander up and down the row, looking at everything. Then wander up and down the same row a second time, cursing my luck. It¡¯s a slow day from the looks of things. Near the water pump are a couple of farmers who probably want protection while herding a flock of stinking animals through some remote mountain region. Yawn. A bookish guy with glasses is standing next to a pile of heavy-looking baggage. Probably wants someone to carry all that while protecting him on a journey. Well it¡¯s not gonna be me! There are the usual mounted groups looking for new members, but the mere fact that I¡¯m currently too small to sit on a horse automatically excludes me from those. I start a conversation with one promising merchant, but get weirded out by the creepy looks he keeps giving me, and eventually excuse myself.

    When evening comes, I¡¯m still no closer to finding my next gig. It¡¯s getting too late to look for a place to stay. Besides, I¡¯ve learned to stay away from inns because it gets so bloody boring explaining to innkeepers (and innkeepers¡¯ wives) that no, my parents aren¡¯t staying with me, and yes, I¡¯m fine by myself.

    So I take a stroll down memory lane and sneak into one of the horse stables. Back when I was younger and even more skint I used to do this all the time. The hayloft is a snug place to sleep if you can stand a bit of itching. In my current circumstances, I have little choice.

    I creep past the dozing horses and shin up the ladder into the loft, where I snuggle into the sweet-smelling fresh hay. It¡¯s less itchy than usual. I must have chosen one of the better stables. Go me.

    I¡¯ve hardly closed my eyes when there¡¯s a rustling in the straw by the ladder. I shoot up, grabbing a knife and hiss out a challenge. ¡°Who¡¯s there?¡±

    A voice comes through the darkness. ¡°Whoa, girl, don¡¯t get startled now. It¡¯s Thaddeus.¡±

    Who the bloody hell is Thaddeus?

    ¡°I work in the stables downstairs,¡± adds the voice, helpfully.

    ¡°Well, what do you want, Thaddeus?¡± I growl. ¡°Are you here to kick me out? Because if so, I-¡±

    ¡°No, no, miss, nothing like that. You¡¯s welcome to sleep here. Just thought you mights be hungry. Brought you an apple. They¡¯s for the horses but the master won¡¯t be missing one.¡±

    ¡°An apple?¡± I repeat.

    There¡¯s a pause. ¡°You look like you¡¯s down on your luck, miss. I¡¯m gonna leave it here. Easy now.¡±

    His voice retreats down the ladder. It strikes me that he was using the same gentle tone I heard him using to calm the horses. I roll my eyes, but nevertheless fumble forward until I find the apple he¡¯s left on the floor. It¡¯s crunchy and delicious. He must have searched through the whole pile to find me the best one.

    Great. Now I¡¯m so pathetic even stable hands are taking pity on me.

 Episode 2 - In Search of Riches

    I wake with a raging hunger and renewed resolve. Today I will squeeze a high-paying job of work out of this blasted place, if I have to kill every other mercenary in the market to do it!

    As I scramble out of my hay-nest, the first thing I notice is two apples sitting by the ladder. Thaddeus again. Bless him. As I scoff them down, the world begins to seem better and I reflect that perhaps it would be possible for me to find a job without killing anyone.

    On the other hand, I do so enjoy putting my knives to good use, and it would make me feel better to clear the world of some idiots.

    On the other hand, the blood makes such a mess and we¡¯re in the city so there isn¡¯t any convenient bracken to hide the bodies under. Also, there¡¯s the possibility I might accidentally kill my potential future employer. That would be awkward.

    Fine! No mass murder today. But I need to make sure that people take me seriously. Perhaps I could do something about my ridiculous hair? My mouth still full of apple, I try wrapping my blonde locks into a bun, but the hair is so fine and silky that it refuses to stay put. Pigtails would be even more of a disaster. Guess I¡¯ll go as I am then.

    At the market, I¡¯m disheartened to find the mercenary aisle looking much the same as yesterday. Same creepy merchant, same groups of mounted warriors. It might be time to lower my standards. I¡¯m staring at a slightly smaller horse, wondering if I could rig some kind of stilt contraption so I would be able to reach the stirrups, when I realise someone is calling me.

    ¡°You! Little-girl-person.¡±

    I turn around and find it¡¯s the bookish guy. Still wearing those thick glasses. Still standing next to the pile of heavy-looking luggage. He beckons me over. ¡°You are available for work, correct?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not carrying your bags,¡± I inform him as I approach. When I get close enough, it becomes apparent that his eyes are horribly out of alignment. I recoil. ¡°Blimey, did you stare at your own nose too long?¡±

    He pushes his glasses up his nose, which has the effect of emphasising the disfigurement, and looks steadily at a point to my left. ¡°I asked whether you were looking for work.¡±

    His crossed eyes are really freaking me out. ¡°It depends what it is. I¡¯m not carrying your-¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t be an imbecile,¡± he interrupts. ¡°It would hardly be efficient to expect a person of your stature to carry anything.¡±

    ¡°You know. I¡¯m not actually-¡±

    ¡°Yes, yes. I can see the curse, and it is immaterial. In fact, it will certainly be an advantage.¡±

    ¡°Hang on, did you say you can see my curse?¡± Hope rises in my chest. ¡°Are you a wizard? Would you be able to break it?¡±

    ¡°Yes, I am a wizard and no. At least, not for any price you could afford,¡± he says dismissively. ¡°Now I am seeking a person to accompany me to Naylam Forest to act as bait for a dragon. Are you willing?¡±

    ¡°Bait?¡±

    ¡°Yes. Therein lies the advantage of your current form. Little girls. Very attractive to dragons.¡±

    I eye him suspiciously. ¡°Is this an actual dragon or are you using the word ¡®dragon¡¯ as a slang term for some kind of child molester?¡±

    He blinks, staring at a place a few yards behind me. ¡°The first one. An actual dragon. I intend to kill it and collect the reward.¡±

    ¡°What reward?¡±

    ¡°Offered by the Kingdom of Guln. Fairly handsome.¡±

    I make a show of looking around. ¡°And where is your army for this supposed dragon-killing?¡±

    He scoffs. ¡°For what purpose would I need an army? Manpower is entirely unnecessary when one has magic to draw on. Just as I do not require anyone to carry my luggage.¡± One eye squints at the pile of bags and, to my amazement, they float majestically into the air to hover next to him.

    ¡°Ooh, can you do that with people as well?¡± I ask. ¡°It¡¯s just that my legs are short and if you¡¯re going to ride a horse, then I don¡¯t-¡±

    ¡°I have arranged for a wagon.¡±

    Spoilsport.

    We haggle over the price of my baiting services. I add another zero to my normal price range. If I¡¯m going to bribe a witch, I have to do this properly. I also insist on a few assurances relating to my safety being written into our agreement. I¡¯m still not entirely convinced of the existence of this dragon, but it¡¯s best to be on the safe side where huge fire-breathing reptiles are concerned. I also demand a clause about being paid whether we find the dragon or not. I might look like I was born not so many yesterdays ago, but I¡¯ve been around long enough to know how to avoid common contractual pitfalls.

    After that, there isn¡¯t much left to do. I don¡¯t need to buy any special equipment for the job. The wizard (Fell, as he told me to call him) says my little-girl dresses from the Waldani job are perfect for luring dragons. So, in a celebratory mood after my job-hunting success, I spend my remaining dough on a beautiful new knife. 8 inches. Very sharp.You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

    We start out the same day, Fell being keen to get to the dragon before anyone else has a chance to gather an army and beat him to the reward.

    ¡°How big did you say this reward was again?¡± I ask. I¡¯m perched next to him on the seat of the wagon. Behind us is stacked his luggage (apparently he didn¡¯t fancy making it float all the way there), my much smaller pack of belongings, and our food supplies.

    ¡°I didn¡¯t say. I merely indicated its general size using the words ¡®fairly handsome¡¯.¡±

    ¡°And are you going to share it with me if we succeed?¡±

    ¡°No.¡±

    ¡°Have your eyes always been so weird?¡±

    He sighs and then holds one hand over the reins, which proceed to float out of his grasp and levitate a few centimetres in the air. The horses continue pulling the wagon, not noticing any difference. Turning to me, Fell points at his crossed eyes. ¡°This aspect of my vision, which you no doubt consider to be a malformation of eye muscles, is actually a quality imparted by the glasses I wear. What appears to be a disability is in fact part vision-enhancing spell and part disguise.¡±

    ¡°Disguise for what?¡±

    In one smooth movement, he takes off his glasses and leans forward, fixing me with the full blast of his gaze. I gasp in horror. His eyes ¡ª both in perfect alignment without the distorting effect of the glasses ¡ª are an eerie shade of greenish-yellow. What¡¯s more, they¡¯re glowing! He has glowing eyes! ¡°Okay, I get it,¡± I squeak.

    He replaces the glasses and takes hold of the reins again. We drive on in silence for a while. I blink furiously to get rid of the after-image his eyes have burned onto my retinas. Then a question occurs to me. ¡°What sort of vision enhancing?¡±

    ¡°It would be pointless for me to attempt an explanation without you having studied magic and being able to grasp the necessary principles of enhanced light refraction.¡±

    ¡°Is that how you could see my curse?¡±

    ¡°Partly.¡±

    ¡°What does it look like?¡±

    He turns to me in exasperation. ¡°Like a loquacious and irritating woman squashed into the form of an even more irritating child. And that is the last question I will answer for the remainder of today¡¯s journey!¡±

    Luckily for my boredom¡¯s sake, the remainder of today¡¯s journey doesn¡¯t last much longer because we arrive at a suitable stopping place. Due to the flat terrain and access to clean water, this large forest clearing is a popular camping site among folk journeying in and out of Druinberg. A few wagons are already lined up in companionable rows and several campfires burn cheerily away with folk gathered chatting and singing around them. Glancing over it all, I shift uneasily as Fell drives our wagon up to an empty spot a short distance away from the other campers. This proximity to others makes the place both safer and more dangerous. Safer from wild animals and bandits. More dangerous when it came to harassment and petty thievery from other travellers. Fell jumps down to unharness the horses. ¡°Do you want me to pretend to be your daughter?¡± I call after him.

    ¡°Why would you do that?¡±

    ¡°How are you going to explain travelling with me otherwise?¡±

    He looks up from a bridle he¡¯s inspecting and glares at a nearby branch. ¡°I am not in the habit of explaining myself to strangers.¡±

    ¡°Oh. Is that why you get annoyed when I ask you lots of questions?¡±

    He stalks off around the wagon without answering.

    Over the next couple of hours, I¡¯m kept busy digging a fire pit and running into the nearby woods to collect armfuls of wood. Fell has decided to cook the chicken carcass he purchased in Druinburg and instructs me to make a big fire. I ask him why he can¡¯t just magic it cooked, but he doesn¡¯t deem that worthy of a response. Since I have nothing better to do, I decide to humour his request, even though firewood-carrying wasn¡¯t strictly in my job description.

    I¡¯ve made a fairly large pile of wood and am collecting one of my last few armfuls from the copse of trees next to the stream when two men step out from behind a bush. ¡°Hello, little one.¡± They have rather horrible smiles. Not for the first time, I curse the lack of knife pockets in my little-girl clothes.

    ¡°Hello.¡± I bare my teeth at them in what I hope is a predatory grin but suspect merely comes across as charming.

    ¡°You¡¯re that magician¡¯s daughter ain¡¯t you. He¡¯d probably pay a lot to get you back.¡±

    I roll my eyes. One of the most surprising things I¡¯ve learned since being trapped in this body is the amount of faith people have in supposed familial affection. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t count on it,¡± I say, not expecting to be taken seriously. I drop the armload of wood on the floor and grab one of the pointier sticks, hefting it experimentally. Not my weapon of choice but sometimes a girl has to make do.

    There¡¯s a noise from behind me and I swing round, stabbing the stick right on target into the balls of the guy trying to creep up on me. While he doubles over in agony, I whirl and dart towards the other two men, ready to jab them too. Wouldn¡¯t want anyone to feel left out.

    I get one of them but the other one leaps backwards out of reach. I smile again, this time in a deliberately cute way, hoping to lure him closer. Indecision flitters over his face.

    Then he bursts into flames.

    My mouth drops open and I gape at the fire, which burns furiously, consuming the man. After a few seconds, there¡¯s nothing left but a fine mist of ash floating away on the wind. Before I can react, the other two men go through the same thing. Flames rage and roar, then nothing but dust. Within the space of a minute, I¡¯ve gone from being accosted by a group of men with dubious intentions to standing alone next to a pile of sticks and three heaps of ash.

    I look carefully at the stick in my hand. Could it have¡­? No, come on, get a grip, Willa. It¡¯s just a stick. Grabbing the rest of the firewood, I hustle back to the camp.

    Fell is sitting by the fire, staring into empty space. A pan lid hovers in the air next to him, gently wafting the flames. I drop the load I¡¯m carrying next to the rest of the wood and put my hands on my hips. ¡°Don¡¯t suppose you know anything about three men who just spontaneously combusted over there in the woods?¡±

    After a few seconds, his gaze focuses on a spot to my left and he scowls. ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°Men. Three of them. Now ash.¡±

    His eyebrows draw down even further. ¡°What sort of men?¡±

    ¡°Apparently the flammable sort.¡±

    There¡¯s a pause, then understanding floods his face. ¡°They were attacking you, I suppose?¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s that got to do with it?¡±

    He looks back towards a spot where the fire isn¡¯t. ¡°I placed a few protective spells on you while we were travelling. Fairly powerful. Probably one of those.¡±

    ¡°Probably?¡±

    He flaps a hand vaguely. ¡°Can¡¯t remember exactly which spells.¡±

    I stare at him.

    ¡°Anyway, you¡¯re unharmed,¡± he continues. Then lapses back into silence.

    I can¡¯t decide whether he meant the last part as a question or a statement so I ignore it. Sinking onto a stone, I stare into the crackling fire. The flaming logs look eerily similar to the men¡¯s bones, which I saw glowing plainly through their flesh as the blaze consumed them.

    ¡°Now I understand why you weren¡¯t keen on cooking by magic,¡± I mutter.

    Fell¡¯s assured manner about taking a dragon on by himself suddenly makes more sense. And he was putting spells on me while we were travelling? I had no clue! Maybe I¡¯d better tone down the questioning. Imagine if his concentration had slipped¡­

 Episode 3 - To Bait a Dragon

    Journeying with Fell isn¡¯t bad. I¡¯ve had worse travelling companions.

    I¡¯ve had more interesting ones too. ¡®Chatty¡¯ isn¡¯t the word I¡¯d carve into his gravestone. But if I thought he was reticent on our first day together, it¡¯s nothing compared to the contemplative silence he falls into as we get further into the forest. After two days with only his grunts for company, I embark on a project of re-stowing the baggage in the wagon. With enough ingenuity, I succeed in creating a few feet of space where I can practise fighting drills as we go along. It¡¯s not massive, but I don¡¯t need much room. Oh look. Another advantage to being tiny. Yay me.

    The swaying motion of the wagon poses an extra challenge to keeping my balance. I train until I master the basic drills without teetering. Then I move on to advanced drills. Then I draw a target onto a sack of horse feed and practise throwing knives into it. Then I hold a wad of clothing over my face and howl unrestrainedly into it until my throat is hoarse. I am so. Goddamn. Bored! Even trailing through the mud with Waldani¡¯s group of drunk puppeteers was more fun than this. At least it was entertaining watching them loll around, waving their gin bottles, falling off their horses. Sitting on a wagon seat next to a silent wizard through endless, unchanging forest is not why I became a mercenary fighter.

    Suddenly I notice the wagon has stopped moving. Did Fell hear me howling? ¡°It¡¯s fine,¡± I call. ¡°I was just-¡±

    ¡°Ssssh!¡±

    I clamber forward to see what¡¯s going on. When I arrive on the wagon seat, the reason for our abrupt stop becomes obvious.

    We¡¯ve been driving through unrelenting forest scenery for days, but here in front of the wagon is a point where the trees simply end. Beyond that is a barren, burned landscape as far as the eye can see. It looks like someone turned one of Fell¡¯s flame spells loose on everything in sight. Charred rocks litter the ground. Smoke and ash hangs like a fog in the air, turning the sun a weird murky colour.

    ¡°What happened here?¡± I breathe.

    ¡°Dragon,¡± declares Fell with a satisfied note in his voice.

    ¡°Wait, the creature who did this is the one I¡¯m supposed to be acting as bait for? Absolutely not! Turn the wagon around.¡±

    ¡°Contract,¡± Fell reminds me.

    I glare at him. ¡°Do sentences of more than one word cause you to leak magical power?¡±

    He ignores me and gestures out over the barren landscape. ¡°I intend to perform scouting charms to ascertain the exact position of the beast. We¡¯ll camp here for now.¡±

    I put on a face of mock surprise. ¡°Dear me, Fell. You¡¯d better not let the wizard¡¯s guild hear you wasting all those words.¡±

    As punishment for my cheek, I get lumped with the bulk of the camp chores. Fell chooses a spot among the trees a short way from where the burned area begins. I ask whether it¡¯s sensible to camp among all of this flammable stuff, but he kindly explains that a direct blast from a dragon would incinerate everything in its path instantly, regardless of surrounding materials.

    For once I wish he¡¯d just kept quiet because now my mind is jumping back to those burning men. Maybe Fell and the dragon have more in common than they realise.

    Meanwhile Fell stands at the edge of the charred area and mutters stuff while waving his hands around. Glad I¡¯m not a wizard if it requires you to do such dorky stuff. My profession is far more kick-ass. At least it was¡­The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

    I wonder about the wisdom of lighting a campfire, then realise no-one is likely to notice a bit more smoke in this scorched environment and build myself a comfortably massive blaze. I¡¯m toasting my feet next to it when Fell finishes his arm-waving and comes to sit next to me. He doesn¡¯t deign to share the results of his scouting with me. Privately I decide it means he hasn¡¯t found the dragon. Maybe there isn¡¯t a dragon. It could have flown away or died or whatever. Well that¡¯s just fine with me.

    What¡¯s the point of a dragon, anyway? I mean, what purpose does any creature have being so goddamn deadly? Incinerating everything instantly? Good luck finding something to eat! I snort and then have a coughing fit. This bloody smoke is irritating my sensitive little lungs. It would serve Fell right if my coughing keeps him awake all night.

    I have a restless night and struggle my way out of a recurring nightmare to find Fell pacing back and forth in front of the smouldering fire. After a bleary breakfast, he spends an hour or so taking out his aggression on a tree. First, he fires spell after spell at the tree¡¯s base until it falls with an almighty crash. Then he painstakingly shoots off each branch and twig until only the smooth trunk remains.

    ¡°Is that for burning?¡± I ask. That green wood will smoke like the devil. My throat recoils just looking at it.

    ¡°In a way.¡±

    I scowl at him. ¡°What sort of a way?¡±

    He flicks a final spell at the log he¡¯s created, making it levitate, then he walks over to me. The log follows, bobbing along through the air a few feet behind him like an obedient dog.

    ¡°I intend to plant this timber in the ground close to the dragon¡¯s current location. Then I will tie you to it and you will lure the dragon as we agreed.¡±

    Whaaaat! ¡°Wait a minute, you didn¡¯t say anything about tying me to a log!¡±

    He adjusts his glasses impatiently. ¡°It is the traditional method of making an offering. Dragons are sticklers for tradition.¡±

    ¡°Never mind tradition, what about your assurances that I wouldn¡¯t get hurt?! You just said that this log...¡± I aim a kick at the floating tree but it bobs out of reach, ¡°¡­was for burning!¡±

    ¡°I assure you, I have layered enough spells over you to safeguard your survival. Even if the wood burns, you will be unharmed.¡±

    ¡°How can I know for sure? It¡¯s not like I can exactly complain if it turns out you¡¯re lying!¡±

    He falls silent, staring at a point next to the log. He stays like that for so long that I wonder whether he¡¯s fallen into a trance. I¡¯m just gearing up to kick him in the shin when he snaps back to the present. ¡°What was your question again?¡± he asks.

    When I repeat the question through clenched teeth, he shakes his head.

    ¡°You cannot know for sure,¡± he says. ¡°You will have to trust in my word and in what you have seen of my skills so far.¡±

    ¡°And if I don¡¯t trust your word and your skills?¡±

    ¡°If you refuse to act as bait then you will be in breach of the contract we agreed on. I am aware of your pitiful financial state. There would be little profit to me in pursuing a court case to demand a reparatory fee from you. You would, in effect, get off scot free. You would, however, also remain unpaid and be many days¡¯ journey from the nearest town where you might find gainful employment.¡± He shrugs. ¡°I am unable to ascertain the exact effect of such a situation on your morale, but I suspect it would be a dampening one.¡±

    I glare at him. It would suck to be stranded this far away from civilisation. Do I really want to trudge all the way back to Druinberg on these tiny legs? Plus, the dragon must have scared off all the game in the vicinity so it¡¯d be a heck of a job trying to hunt for food.More importantly, I desperately need the money from this job so I can escape this miserable miniature existence!

    ¡°Okay, fine!¡± I snarl. ¡°But those protection spells better cover my dress too.¡±

    We walk a mile or so out into the barren wasteland and then Fell does a spell to make the trunk bury itself in the ground. He wraps a bit of rope around it and bids me to stand where he can tie me. ¡°I¡¯ll only be a few metres away,¡± he says in a low voice, while fastening the rope around my middle. ¡°But invisible.¡±

    ¡°Am I supposed to shout or yell for the dragon or something?¡±

    ¡°I suggest singing. That¡¯s the traditional method of summoning the beast.¡±

    I roll my eyes. No way in hell am I singing. I might look like a cute little girl wearing a frilly dress and currently be tied to a dead tree in the middle of dragon territory, but I have some dignity left.

    Three hours of boredom later, I start croaking out Three Blind Mice.

    I¡¯ve made it to the part with the tail mutilation when there¡¯s a WHOMPHHHH and I¡¯m blasted with a gale of hot air.

 Episode 4 - The Advantages of Inappropriacy

    My eyes fill with ash until I can¡¯t see a thing. Luckily, the choking fit that follows causes them to water prodigiously and clear themselves. My nose is ¡®watering¡¯ too and since I can¡¯t move my arms to wipe my face, I have to stand there covered in tears and mucus. Damn fine piece of dragon bait right here!

    When I¡¯ve coughed enough to satisfy my irate lungs, I open my eyes and do a double take when I see an enormous sprawling dragon immediately in front of me. Actually, when I say ¡®double take¡¯, what happens is that every instinct in my body tells me to throw myself backwards, away from the humongous, shimmering beast in front of me. But since there¡¯s currently a dead tree behind me, all I achieve is a bruise on the back of my head.

    The beast ignores me at first, focusing on recovering its poise after its landing. It shakes dust off each limb then gathers them tidily under its body. After a quick flap, its wings fold themselves away on its back. Now that it¡¯s stationary, the dragon doesn¡¯t seem as big as I thought, yet is somehow still more impressive than I¡¯d supposed it would be. Its scales glimmer in gorgeous swirls of green, grey and lilac. The wings look like they could power a fleet of ships. There¡¯s enough heat emanating off it to warm a small country and its front legs end in agile claws that it uses to brush excess dust off its body.

    Having achieved its desired grooming, the dragon turns its ridged head and begins inspecting me with golden, whorl-like eyes. It stares intently and there¡¯s a strange expression on its face. I was worried that it would be salivating or something like that, but instead, it looks¡­ Well, if I had to define the expression, I¡¯d say it looks displeased.

    A wave of resentment flows over me. ¡°What¡¯s wrong? Not cute enough for ya?!¡± I yell hoarsely. Then immediately regret it. Dumb, Willa! Why antagonise the walking flamethrower?

    The dragon¡¯s look of displeasure increases and it makes a rumbling noise, almost as if saying, ¡°Hmmmm.¡±

    What the hell is Fell doing? He said he¡¯d be a few metres away, ready to blast the dragon when it arrived. I¡¯ve bloody well done my part. Hurry up with the blasting!

    The dragon opens its mouth and it¡¯s as if someone¡¯s opened an oven door. A wave of heat rushes over me. In a voice that sounds like a mixture of a growl and a creak, the dragon speaks. ¡°You are not a princess, are you?¡±

    I stare at it for a few seconds, marvelling over the fact that it can talk. I wasn¡¯t expecting that. I mean, I suppose it makes sense with such a large and obviously intelligent creature, and I¡¯ve heard that dragons can even do magic as well, but still, it¡¯s kind of a shock to hear actual words come out of the mouth of a reptile.

    The dragon makes a harsh noise that sounds like it¡¯s clearing its throat. ¡°I said, you aren¡¯t a princess. True or false?¡±

    ¡°False!¡± I gabble. ¡°I mean it¡¯s true that I¡¯m not a princess. I¡¯m a false princess!¡± The dragon¡¯s expression changes from displeasure to disgust. ¡°Is that¡­ a problem?¡± I ask.

    It huffs a little and another wave of scorching wind rushes past me. ¡°A princess would have been a more fitting offering. And I would have expected you to be properly attired and coiffured.¡±

    ¡°Coiffured?¡± I splutter. I¡¯ll accept that my hair-do isn¡¯t particularly good. My curls must have shrivelled to frizz in all this baking heat. But¡­ ¡°What¡¯s wrong with my dress?¡±

    The dragon shakes its head. ¡°It seems no-one recalls the old ways. In my mother¡¯s day, no-one would have dreamed of offering a sacrifice without first being assured of her royal heritage and endeavouring to clothe her entirely in white satin.¡±

    ¡°Because that¡¯s a sensible choice for an ash-covered landscape,¡± I mutter.

    The dragon looks sharply at me. ¡°Also,¡± it continues, ¡°the bonds should have been knotted with double-cleft sheet bends. Those look to be simple bowlines. This is all highly irregular.¡± It sighs again. ¡°Nevertheless, I shall endeavour to do my part.¡± With a long-suffering shake of its head, it rears onto its hind legs, stretching to its full, impressively giant height and opens its mouth, unleashing another blast of warm air.

    Holy hell, is this the eating part?

    The dragon closes its mouth and drops onto all fours again. But now it¡¯s clutching something in its front claws.

    Huh?

    The dragon places the object carefully onto the ashy ground. It¡¯s a table. A full-sized (well, make that human-sized) dining table made of polished mahogany. Next to the dragon it looks tiny, but for people of my size (my real size), it would seat 6-8 people. And the dragon hasn¡¯t finished there. It shakes a claw in the air briskly until a scrap of fabric appears, which it proceeds to spread over the table. A tablecloth.

    A tea service, complete with a tiered cake stand, appears on the tablecloth. The rope that¡¯s holding me falls to the ground at my feet.

    ¡°Please,¡± says the dragon, nodding towards the table. A richly varnished, plushly upholstered dining chair has appeared next to it. ¡°Sit and allow me to serve you a cup of tea. Or would you perhaps prefer fruit juice?¡±

    It seems that the dragon is offering me refreshments. ¡°This is unexpected,¡± I declare, in what might be the understatement of my career.

    The dragon sniffs. ¡°I suppose you imagined I would eat you on sight. You must learn not to judge by appearances, dear. It is very ill-advised and not at all polite.¡±

    That remark strikes me as a bit rich coming from someone who was just complaining about my clothes, but I keep my mouth shut.

    ¡°Tea or juice?¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t suppose you¡¯ve got a half of whiskey,¡± I mutter as I approach the table. Everything on it looks strange. The cups are too small for their handles, the teapot is oddly shaped, everything is out of proportion. As if it¡¯s all been made by someone entirely the wrong size who was trying to imagine what people of my stature might use.

    ¡°May I pour for you?¡± asks the dragon.

    ¡°Yes please,¡± I say, reassured by how normal my voice sounds. Sitting at a table while a dragon pours you a drink is surreal to say the least. I cast a look over my shoulder. Where the blazes is Fell, anyway? He should have made a move by now.Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.

    ¡°And when were you last attacked?¡± The dragon¡¯s tone is one of polite interest, as if it¡¯s simply making teatime conversation.

    ¡°Attacked?¡±

    It gestures towards me with the teapot pinched between two claws. ¡°Your protection spells. I see that one of them has been activated.¡± It pours a stream of liquid into a cup, its brow furrowed in concentration.

    I frown. ¡°You can see magic too?¡± My next thought is whether it can see my true body? A shiver of excitement runs through me. Could the dragon help break the curse?

    ¡°I am able to see certain types of magic. As for the ¡®too¡¯, I confess I am not entirely sure to whom you are comparing me. You are undoubtedly human and therefore cannot be so gifted.¡±

    I twist around to look over my shoulder again.

    ¡°Also,¡± continues the dragon. ¡°It strikes me that the spells appear to have been rather sloppily placed and several are tuned to a person much older than you appear to be. I confess that human ages have a tendency to escape me, but¡­¡±

    A crash comes from somewhere to my left. We both glance that way and observe Fell picking himself up from the ground.

    ¡°Willa,¡± he gasps. ¡°Sorry¡­ delay. Dragon shifted!¡± he staggers a few steps towards us and then leans over, wheezing.

    ¡°Shifted?¡±

    ¡°He means to say that my arrival here resulted in him being displaced to a location several leagues hence,¡± explains the dragon. ¡°I regret the necessity for such unannounced supplanting, but it is my experience that having wizards present tends to rather lower the tone of my introductory overtures with a new sacrifice.¡±

    ¡°You mean he¡¯d have ruined our tea party?¡± I summarise.

    ¡°Exactly.¡± A glint appears in the dragon¡¯s eye. Then its expression reverts to displeasure as it turns back towards Fell. ¡°I did not anticipate such a swift return on your part.¡±

    By this point, Fell has mostly recovered his breath. He glares at the dragon¡¯s shoulder. ¡°If you had observed the scene minutely, you would have noticed that I had set a place marker and attached it to my severance node, thus enabling me to pinpoint an exact spot for my atgrie?an¨¡s spell.¡±

    The dragon clasps its claws together. ¡°Ingenious! You are entirely correct in that I failed to notice your marker. I have, however, noticed your handiwork on this girl. Do you realise you¡¯ve set the vecum indicators at entirely inappropriate elevations?¡±

    Fell takes off his glasses and catches the dragon in his freaky glowing gaze. ¡°Then I surmise that you have missed an important fact relating to this particular girl.¡± He holds out the glasses. ¡°Here.¡±

    The dragon pinches the spectacles delicately between two claws and breathes on them. They immediately shoot up in size so they¡¯re big enough for a dragon to look through. It angles them my way and gazes at me through the lenses. ¡°Oh dear,¡± it tuts. ¡°Dear me. Yes, I see what you mean. And may I say that this was an entirely inappropriate offering.¡±

    ¡°But still better than some you¡¯ve received, I¡¯ll wager,¡± replies Fell. ¡°There were rumours of a village that attempted something with sheep.¡±

    The dragon shudders. ¡°Do not remind me. I deplore the entire incident.¡±

    ¡°Besides, Willa here was merely a ploy to lure you out. I never meant her as a serious offering. The point was rather to effect your demise.¡±

    ¡°Really?¡± The dragon settles itself back on its haunches and folds its claws. ¡°Do tell me, how were you planning to go about it?¡±

    Another chair appears next to mine at the table and Fell seats himself in it, smoothing creases out of his robe. He accepts his glasses, which have shrunk back to their original size, and settles them back on his nose. ¡°I prepared two different versions of a slepkavo?ana enchantment,¡± he says, ¡°but I wasn¡¯t foolish enough to think they would suffice, so I had several back-up spr¨¡dziens.¡±

    The dragon shakes its head. ¡°Very dated, those spells. Haven¡¯t heard of a successful attempt since the reign of Garolla. And we all remember how that turned out for him.¡±

    ¡°Indeed,¡± replies Fell. ¡°But that was merely my opening gambit. Plus, I may boast that I had made some interesting variations on the sagroz¨©t factors that I dare to propose would have made all the difference.¡±

    ¡°But what did you intend to do about my atraida?¡± asks the dragon. ¡°I cannot believe you would have overlooked it as a consideration.¡±

    ¡°Now that¡¯s where it gets interesting.¡± says Fell animatedly. ¡°You see¡­¡±

    They blather on about magic for hours. I¡¯ve drunk all the tea and eaten all the cakes (they tasted as weird as they looked) and got bored with sitting, so I go back to the camp and potter about, polishing my knives, organising my belongings, killing a few trees with my throwing knives.

    When night comes, I wander over to check on them, but they¡¯re still jabbering away, waving their arms about like nutters. A few lamps hang in the air, adding illumination to the glow from the dragon¡¯s eyes.

    Shrugging, I go back to the camp and curl up in my bedroll. Turns out Fell is actually quite chatty when he has another magic nerd to talk to. A small part of me is wondering whether their talk will eventually turn into fighting, but mostly I don¡¯t care. I¡¯ve done my part and now I¡¯m going to sleep.

    I wake up early the next morning and trudge over to have a look at the scene of discussion, then scoff in disgust at what I find. This is ridiculous! The dragon is curled up, asleep. Next to it is the table, still bearing the ash-smudged tablecloth and tea party remnants. Next to that is a four-poster bed. Just sitting there in the middle of nowhere. The curtains are drawn. I imagine Fell is sleeping inside. The dragon is obviously hospitably minded and must have conjured the bed for Fell to sleep in when he got tired. I wonder if it made him a toilet¡­?

    Anyway, they¡¯re either going to wake up and talk some more, or else wake up and fight. Neither is a particularly pleasant prospect, and I don¡¯t plan on sticking around to find out which one it is. Even if there¡¯s a small chance the dragon could help me lift the curse, it isn¡¯t worth the age of lecturing I¡¯d have to sit through to get the chance to ask it. Stomping back to the camp, I pack up my things and sling the load over my shoulder. I¡¯ll find some way to send Fell the bill later.

    I¡¯ve got a couple of miles down the road when Fell catches me. And when I say ¡®catches¡¯, I mean he appears with no warning in the middle of the road in front of me.

    ¡°Willa,¡± he says.

    ¡°Fell.¡± I match his brusque tone.

    ¡°You left without bidding farewell.¡±

    ¡°It seemed like my role in our contract was finished,¡± I say stiffly. ¡°And you appeared to be otherwise occupied.¡±

    ¡°I was,¡± he gushes with more enthusiasm than I suspected him capable of. ¡°Spindral has some truly ingenious ideas. She¡¯s opened my eyes to unique perspectives on several aspects of magical theory. We¡¯re discussing an alliance for the sake of mutual benefit.¡±

    There¡¯s a pause. ¡°So you¡¯re not going to collect the reward for killing her?¡± I ask, half in disbelief.

    He blinks at me. ¡°What? Gracious, no. Why would I wish to kill my alliance partner?¡±

    I roll my eyes. ¡°Never mind.¡± Apparently the prospect of collecting a huge reward becomes meaningless in the event of having discovered a suitable conversation partner. His loss. I wish them the joy of each other. ¡°So when it comes to my pay¡­?¡± I trail off meaningfully. He¡¯d better not have been relying on that reward money to reimburse me.

    ¡°Yes, yes.¡± He produces a bulging pouch from an inner pocket and hands it over. ¡°You may take the wagon for the drive back, as an extra reward,¡± he adds. ¡°Just leave it at the Hartven Inn in Druinberg. They¡¯ll know to keep it for me.¡± With a disturbingly cheery smile and a wave, he disappears.

    ¡°Great, thanks,¡± I say to thin air, already scrabbling at the pouch¡¯s cords. I pour the contents into my hands. Gold coins overflow from my palms onto the dusty forest road. Blimey, this is far more than the minimum sum we agreed on in our contract. Finding his new, magical bosom-buddy must have put Fell in a good mood. Or else I was just such a great dragon-bait that I deserved every penny. Yeah, let¡¯s go with that version. And I¡¯ve even got transport back to Druinberg. Brilliant job, Willa!

    It isn¡¯t until I¡¯ve slogged back to the camp and hitched the horses up to the wagon, that I realise the double-edged nature of my ¡®extra reward¡¯. I might have a means of transport, but I also have to sit alone on the wagon seat for days on end, AND do all the camp chores and care for the horses by myself.

    Three days into the journey, I add ¡®wizards¡¯ to my mental list of blacklisted employers. Right after ¡®puppeteers¡¯.

 Episode 5 - A Generosity of Coins

    The trip back to Druinberg is the most endlessly boring thing I¡¯ve ever experienced in my fairly vast experience of being bored.

    I keep trying to make the horses go faster but they are stubborn bastards and obey only when it suits them. At one point I explode with fury and stand on the wagon seat waving my arms and screaming insults at them. Both horses cast scornful looks over their shoulders and carry on walking at the same sedate pace.

    After several million, billion years, we finally reach the area around Druinberg and things start to look up. Either the horses recognise their surroundings or simply decide they¡¯re in the mood for a gallop. ¡°Why couldn¡¯t you have gone this fast the whole way back?¡± I grumble, lying flat on the wagon seat and hanging on for dear life. With my face pressed against the wood, I have a superb view of the reins, which are dragging gaily through the mud as we go.

    With these circumstances in mind, one can hardly blame the townspeople of Druinberg for their reaction to what looked like a runaway cart bearing a terrified child. People shriek and yell in surprise, diving out of the way and snatching their animals and wares to safety as we careen at a breakneck pace down the main street. The horses run straight through the town, giving no mind to who they trample along the way. They¡¯ve decided they like this galloping thing and now they don¡¯t want to stop. The wagon swings and jolts along behind them. It must be getting battered to splinters on the cobblestones. Thank goodness it¡¯s not mine.

    Once past the main market area, the horses show a sudden interest in a random side street. They veer, making a high-speed turn that has the wagon rising up onto two wheels. I cling on for dear life to avoid sliding down into the muck. Where are those bloody horses going? I suspect they haven¡¯t a clue.

    Shouts and hoofbeats come from behind. Two mounted men draw level with us, riding hard to keep pace with my manic steeds. They grab the horses¡¯ bridles, forcing them to slow and eventually halt. Everything grows quiet, apart from the panting of horses and an ominous creaking from the wagon as its boards settle back into place after their ordeal.

    ¡°Thank goodness for that,¡± I mutter, lifting my sore head from the seat where I¡¯ve surely left an imprint of my face. Even my armpits feel bruised.

    My heroic rescuers are puffed up with pride over having stopped the runaway wagon and don¡¯t seem inclined to leave. It takes a hell of a lot of talking and finally some tears to get rid of them. Just my luck to be saved by the chivalric, honourable kind of men who are constitutionally incapable of just pissing off and leaving an unaccompanied child to her own damn business. By a stroke of luck, we¡¯ve ended up a few yards from the inn where Fell wanted me to leave his wagon. In the end I have to go there and bribe one of the serving maids who comes out and explains how I¡¯m ¡®expected¡¯ here and that my parents ¡®will be along any minute¡¯. The two heroes still wear doubtful expressions until she holds out the coins I¡¯ve given her to pass on to them. Then they hustle right along. Just goes to show, there¡¯s no such thing as selfless gallantry.

    No selfless gallantry from greedy serving maids either. She recognised a good blackmailing opportunity when she saw one. Suddenly my pile of money is a good few coins smaller. If this causes the witch to reject my plea I¡¯m going to hunt down all three of those greedy bastards and force-feed them their own bribes.

    Since I¡¯ve now got a serving maid on retainer, I tell her to prepare a room for me. But long before it¡¯s ready, I¡¯m hurrying out of the inn and into the streets of Druinberg. I have an important errand to run¡­

    This time when I bang on the witch¡¯s door, she doesn¡¯t even bother opening it. I hear her muffled voice from inside. ¡°This establishment only serves people who are tall enough to reach the bell.¡± I pound with my fist and yell a few curses through the door but the only response I get is the familiar sound of her cackling.

    I stalk off in a fuming rage and return a few moments later with the beggar-man from the street corner. He rings the bell for me and then gleefully seizes the coin I hold out and skips away with a decidedly uncrippled demeanour.

    The witch opens the door and I immediately march past her into the cottage. ¡°I¡¯ve come to negotiate the fee for turning me back.¡± I announce.

    She closes the door slowly. ¡°Oh, have you.¡±

    ¡°Yes. I¡¯ve plenty of gold. Name your price.¡±

    ¡°Alright.¡± She strolls across the room and picks up the cat from the cushion in front of the fire, stroking it thoughtfully. ¡°Several instances of unselfish generosity, a handful of honourable self-sacrifice, a decent amount of patient nurturing and a rescued love affair.¡±

    I gape at her. ¡°Sacrifice? A love affair?¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡± She holds the cat up to her face and snuggles it. ¡°I do so enjoy a happy ending.¡±

    ¡°But¡­¡± I drop my eyes to the heavy pouch hanging at my waist. ¡°No. I asked how much money you want?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t deal in that currency anymore,¡± she snaps.

    Her words ignite a blaze of righteous anger inside me. Did I just spend weeks riding through endless forest and chasing after dragons for nothing? I dig my hand into the pouch, pulling out a fistful of coins. ¡°Look! Ungrateful hag! These are for you! I travelled and worked and slaved and was nearly eaten by a dragon so I could earn these coins to pay you.¡±

    ¡°Lovely,¡± she says brightly. ¡°Well, don¡¯t lose them on my floor. You can use them to fund your generous and unselfish deeds.¡±The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

    ¡°But¡­!¡± I say again, opening and shutting my mouth like a helpless fish. ¡°Look this is ridiculous. At least paying with money makes sense. But these¡­ deeds or whatever. How will you even know? How can I prove if I¡¯ve done selfish things or not?¡±

    She fixes me with a glare. ¡°I¡¯ll know. I can read it on you.¡±

    I glare back with as much rancour as I can muster. ¡°If that¡¯s true, then you¡¯ll be able to see that I just kindly donated some gold to help a poor serving maid at an inn because she was down on her luck and everything.¡±

    She shakes her head, grinning. ¡°Nice try but no good. Come back when you¡¯ve got something truthful to tell me. Goodbye!¡±

    Before I know it, I¡¯m outside the cottage again. The door slams shut behind me. I kick it, then give into a kind of frenzy that seizes me for a few seconds, kicking and pounding with my fists, wailing and raging at the unfairness.

    That WITCH!

    I stumble back in the direction of the inn, my detestable curls bouncing cheerfully with each step. Generous and unselfish deeds? I¡¯ve never heard such baloney and poppycock! What gives that woman the power to judge people¡¯s morality? Oh, that¡¯s right, I think to myself gloomily, because she can curse them whenever she feels like it. What a complete and utter¡­. The thought dies as I¡¯m struck by the notion that she might be able to hear what I¡¯m thinking. Then I¡¯m filled with rage. This is my life! Who is she to dictate what I should be able to do or think?

    The strength of my bitterness sustains me until I reach the Hartven Inn¡¯s familiar frontage. The tap room must be crowded. A lively hubbub spills out into the street.

    The sensible thing would be to go straight up to my room, draw the witch¡¯s face on the wall and practice throwing knives at it until I¡¯ve calmed down.

    What I actually do is enter the main bar and climb onto one of the high stools in front of the counter. My tiny fists are itching for a fight. Let one of those bastards just try asking me what a girl like me is doing in a place like this!

    Unfortunately, showing up with my current angelic face is like the equivalent of casting a feel-good charm on everyone. People keep stopping to coo over me, patting me on the head and asking inane questions without listening to a word I say in response. Even my irate shriek: ¡°Leave me alone, cretins!¡± receives indulgent chuckles in response.

    The serving maid I bribed refuses to bring me a beer so I¡¯m stuck with a cup of apple juice. If I can¡¯t break this curse soon, I¡¯m going to have to hire a bloody actor to follow me around pretending to be my parent and doing all the things that require height and a deep voice to get done.

    I¡¯m jabbing one of my knives into the bar, pondering methods of torture when a girl seats herself on the stool next to me. She orders a beer and then we both sit in silence, watching each other out of the corners of our eyes. She must be about nineteen or so, dressed in fighter¡¯s garb with a range of weapons, including a couple of really good knives, strapped to her body. Her dark hair is pulled into a rough ponytail bound with a cord.

    She intrigues me. In large part, because she doesn¡¯t show any signs of wanting to stroke my face. I figure she¡¯s a mercenary. She reminds me of myself. Or rather, how I used to be. How I envy her for her adult body and her freedom. She doesn¡¯t realise how LUCKY she is being able to sit here, quaffing beer and making eyes at the handsome blacksmith¡¯s apprentice without having to worry about whether or not she¡¯ll be able to reach the door handle on the way out.

    Tears of frustration fill my eyes. I blink rapidly and shove my own knife back into my sleeve. This would be a terrible location to start crying. Even all my wasted curse money might not stretch to bribing all the potential heroes in my vicinity. Time to beat a hasty retreat. I kneel on my bar stool to begin the tricky process of descending to the ground.

    Suddenly a hand grips my arm. It¡¯s the mercenary girl. ¡°Don¡¯t leave on my account,¡± she says. Her voice is low and throaty. Her face is serious but there¡¯s a glint of humour in her eyes.

    ¡°I wasn¡¯t,¡± I snap. Even though I kind of was. Then I cringe over how ridiculous my child¡¯s voice sounded and have to spend a few more seconds blinking furiously.

    The girl is looking at me speculatively. ¡°You¡¯re not quite what you seem, are you?¡±

    The question puts her a couple of notches up in my estimation. ¡°What makes you say that?¡± I ask, guardedly. Best to be cautious. She might be looking for someone to act as dragon bait. I slide the knife out of my sleeve again.

    She shrugs. ¡°I notice things. A kid your age isn¡¯t usually able to sit still on a chair that long. And you¡¯re mighty accurate with that knife of yours.¡± I follow her amused gaze to the spot where I¡¯d been jabbing the bar. I¡¯ve unconsciously hacked a pentacle into the wood. With a dead witch inside. Stupid witches. ¡°Don¡¯t suppose you¡¯re in the market for a job?¡± the girl asks.

    I eye her sidelong. ¡°And if I was?¡±

    She grins. ¡°You¡¯re a suspicious one. A girl after my own heart.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m probably older than you are,¡± I mutter. She looks at me sharply, but if she heard my remark she lets it pass without comment.

    ¡°I¡¯m recruiting for a convoy of guards to escort a royal couple to their wedding. Sound like something you¡¯d be up for?¡±

    ¡°Maybe,¡± I say.

    Usually there¡¯d be no maybe about it. Any mercenary would jump at the word ¡°royal¡±. Royal means money. Money means¡­ Well let¡¯s face it, in my current state, everything I earn will get wasted on bribing people to do things I¡¯d never dream of paying for normally. Things aren¡¯t normal and they haven¡¯t been for a while. In truth I¡¯m wondering what the point of anything is anymore. Royal means money¡­ I already have a heavy pouch bursting with money. So far it hasn¡¯t helped me get my body back.

    The girl is still talking about the job. ¡°If you¡¯ve done protection gigs before, this will be an easy one,¡± she says. ¡°But you have to decide fast because we¡¯re leaving in two days. There¡¯s been a flu epidemic up at the palace and many of the guards won¡¯t be fit in time, so we¡¯re desperate for more fighters¡­¡± Her tone turns wheedling. ¡°¡­if you feel you could help us out¡­?¡±

    I stare at the girl. ¡°Help you?¡± It¡¯s as if she¡¯s said a magic word. Helping people! That¡¯s what the witch said I had to do. Never mind whether I¡¯m getting paid or not. A royal journey is bound to be full of hapless nobles getting themselves into dire straits, needing a selfless and generous heroine to help them out. This could be the single best thing I can do for myself. Go on this job and find ways to help people!

    ¡°I¡¯ll be going over protocols with a few mercs at the South Gate tomorrow at dawn. Come join us if you¡¯re interested.¡± The girl flashes me a wolf¡¯s grin full of white teeth, daring me to pretend I¡¯m a normal little girl with no idea what she¡¯s talking about.

    I like her.

    I give her my sweetest, most innocent little-girl smile. ¡°I¡¯ll think about whether I¡¯m interested in working for you. Thank you for the information, ma¡¯am.¡± With that, I jump down from the stool and thread my way through the crowded bar. I hear her chuckle but when I turn back, she¡¯s already signalling to the innkeeper for another beer.

    This is incredible. The answer to my quandary presented itself without me having to lift a finger or chase it up. And that girl came to offer me a fighting job. I must really give out a super badass vibe.

    As I¡¯m going up the stairs, I notice a portrait of a little blonde angel hanging on the wall. Must be a religious thing. No-one can really look THAT innocent. But it¡¯s weird that they hung it so low.

    Then I realise¡­ it¡¯s a mirror.

 Episode 6 - The Clothes Make the Deed

    The next morning I drag myself out from under the warm blankets with a groan. I have to go and meet that stupid girl about the stupid royal protection job. Why does the meeting have to be at dawn? Why are things always at dawn? What would be so bad about meeting a few hours after sunrise? After breakfast. Or why not after lunch for that matter? It would be a hell of a lot easier to face the thought of a day of monotonous travel or gruesome killing with a couple of meals under your belt. Maybe I¡¯m in the wrong industry. I ought to choose another profession where things don¡¯t start until later in the day. Oh, that¡¯s right; there aren¡¯t any! Life¡¯s a bitch.

    I forgot to add time to compensate for my tiny legs, so I have to run the last stretch to the south gate. The dark-haired girl from the bar is there and she greets me with a horribly cheery wave. ¡°I knew you were interested,¡± she says when I get close enough.

    ¡°I¡¯m too old to get up this early,¡± I pant in response, stomping over to join the group of recruits who¡¯ve gathered to listen to her. Most of them cast surprised looks my way. They¡¯re all male. A mix of seasoned mercenaries wearing leather and carrying well-worn swords in notched scabbards. Even my demurest little-girl clothes look laughably dainty among this lot. But who cares. If they tried anything with me, they¡¯d soon find out what¡¯s what. Once this stupid meeting is over, I¡¯m going to buy myself a new knife as a reward for getting my next job so fast.

    The men are all idiotically tall, so I stand at the front while we receive our instructions from the dark-haired girl. She introduces herself as Kayla. Turns out she¡¯s in charge of the entire operation. I¡¯m a fine one to talk, but I have to say she doesn¡¯t look old enough to be running such an important assignment. The couple we¡¯ll be escorting is no less than Princess Isla of Hellavan and her husband-to-be, Prince Theodore of the neighbouring Kingdom of Vantral. According to some obscure kingdom lore, they can only be married in the mountain chapel at Zair. It¡¯s an astoundingly high-profile trip. I guess strength in numbers was a key factor in the decision to combine the travelling parties. The bride and groom aren¡¯t supposed to spend time with each other before they¡¯re married, but I¡¯m sure there¡¯ll be some clever camping arrangement to keep them separate.

    Not that I care that much about the details. The fee Kayla quotes is more than handsome enough to buy my time in the coming weeks. She also mentions there could be bonuses for special bravery shown during the assignment. I scoff to myself about that. No point being ¡°specially brave¡± if you end up too dead to collect your reward. Balancing risk and profit ¡ª that¡¯s what the merc life is all about. The guys around me react excitedly when she mentions the bonus, so either they haven¡¯t been fighting for as long as their equipment suggests, or they¡¯re all numbskulls. I suspect both.

    Kayla gives us the meeting point and time of departure tomorrow (another dawn meeting ¡ª who¡¯d have thought?). There are a few things I need to buy for the trip, so I trek back to the marketplace where things are only just getting started. See? Dawn is too early for everyone.

    A barber¡¯s stall catches my eye. I pause for a moment. Should I cut my hair short? Kayla didn¡¯t mention anything about needing me for my cuteness like my last two jobs. And let¡¯s face it, these bouncing curls are just begging to be grabbed by some would-be assailant. I stand lost in indecision for a moment until the barber notices me and jokingly clicks his scissors my way. ¡°You¡¯d better be careful, little girl,¡± he calls. ¡°If you come too close, you might lose all that beautiful hair!¡±

    Okay, that decides me. There¡¯s no way I¡¯m going over there to argue with him about whether or not I really want my hair cut off. If it turns out to be too much of a nuisance on the trip, I can just hack it off myself with a knife. Speaking of knives¡­.

    The visit to my favourite weapons stall cheers me up. By now the vendor knows me and has evidently made his peace with the dubious morality of selling sharp knives to a six-year-old. I guess the fact that I¡¯ve turned up numerous times, still in possession of all my fingers, has convinced him of my trustworthiness. Since my bribe turned out to be useless and I won¡¯t need my room at the inn any longer, I¡¯m unexpectedly rich, so I splurge a large proportion of my remaining cash on a gorgeous set of throwing knives.

    I¡¯m admiring the sheen on one of them when someone taps me on the shoulder. Startled, I spin around, causing the person behind me to jump backwards out of reach of my blade.

    ¡°Whoa! Easy now. I wuzn¡¯t tryin to hurt you or nothin.¡±

    It¡¯s a boy a couple years older than me. By which I mean a couple of years older than the age I currently look. Straggly blonde hair peeps out from under his cap and his patched, darned clothes are covered in bits of straw. It¡¯s the strangest thing. I don¡¯t recognise him at all, but his voice is inescapably familiar. ¡°Who are you?¡± I demand.

    He turns pale. I guess I shouldn¡¯t have shaken the knife at him, but some things are impossible to resist. ¡°I¡­¡± he stammers, eyes nervously following the blade.

    Oh for heaven¡¯s sake. I put the knife away in its sheath and smile at him in what I hope is a reassuring way. Sadly, that doesn¡¯t help things either. He just gets a sort of dazed look on his face.

    Okay, time to resort to the foolproof kick in the shins. To my surprise, he jumps nimbly out of the way as if he¡¯d been expecting it. At my startled look, he grins showing a row of crooked teeth. ¡°Can¡¯t kick a stable hand. The horses try that trick too often.¡±

    Everything clicks into place. ¡°Stable hand. You¡¯re the kid who brought me those apples. Thaddeus?¡±

    He frowns a little at my use of the word ¡®kid¡¯, but nods, confirming my guess. ¡°That¡¯s me.¡± He gestures uncertainly towards the stand full of knives behind me. ¡°Beggin¡¯ your pardon for disturbing your¡­ business, miss. I wuz just wondering how it¡¯s going for you now. If you found someplace to sleep and all. You¡¯s welcome to come back an sleep in the stable any time. I wouldn¡¯t disturb you or nothin.¡±The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

    Bless the little chap. No doubt he now considers me a permanent resident of his stable, to be fed and cared for along with the rest of them. ¡°Thanks, I¡¯ve got a place to sleep at the moment,¡± I say. ¡°But I was grateful for those apples.¡± I run my eyes over his clothing a second time and an idea strikes me. ¡°Look, Thaddeus, let me do something for you in return.¡± I grab his hand, ignoring his protests about needing to get back to work. Tugging him over to the section of the market where the tailors and fabric merchants reside, I insist on buying him a new set of ready-made clothes. Socks, cap, underwear, the works. Stint on the generosity? Not me!

    Finally, the bemused object of my benevolence stands there clutching his squashy package, attempting to make a speech about how grateful he is, but I ignore it and seize his hand again. I¡¯m not finished with him yet. After a brief stop at a conveniently placed bush where I badger him into donning his new outfit, I drag him onwards.

    When we reach the green door, Thaddeus gives me a leg-up to reach the bell, following which we both stand there expectantly. The door flies open. I gesture proudly at my gaping companion in his new finery.

    ¡°Very good,¡± says the witch. Her hair looks mussed, as if she¡¯s been taking a nap. Maybe she had to get up at dawn for something. ¡°Keep it up.¡±

    ¡°So does that count as one of¡­?¡± My words peter out as the door slams and I¡¯m confronted with a familiar view of the green-painted boards. I mutter a few curses and give the door a couple of good kicks.

    ¡°Here, watch out. You¡¯ll spoil her paintwork,¡± Thaddeus cries.

    ¡°Oh shut up!¡± Turning on my heel, I leave him there and stomp back to the inn.

    So much for ¡®Doing Good¡¯. If being generous ends up being this much effort every time, I highly doubt whether I¡¯ll ever manage to lift the curse.

    I ought to pack my equipment for tomorrow morning but I¡¯m too disheartened. Instead, I fling myself on the bed and wallow in the infuriating unfairness of everything.

    The door is painted a sinister shade of green. It creaks slowly open before I¡¯ve even reached for the bellpull. ¡°Come in. I know why you¡¯re here,¡± calls the woman inside.

    I pause. There¡¯s no way she can know why I¡¯m here. It¡¯s probably a trick to make her seem all mystic. Shaking my head, I step through the doorway into the dim room, closing the door behind me. Bunches of dried herbs hang from the shadowy rafters. Various unrecognisable things are pickled in jars on shelves. A dark-haired figure sits by the window, working at a loom where a complicated piece of weaving is in progress.

    ¡°If you know why I¡¯m here,¡± I say, ¡°then you also know I¡¯m willing to pay for a cure.¡±

    The woman rises from her chair and crosses the room towards me. Although she must only be a couple of decades older than I am, she gives off an aura of power and wisdom that makes her seem ancient. ¡°The first thing to know is this,¡± she tells me. ¡°I demand payment not out of greed but in order that people value the service I provide.¡±

    I roll my eyes. ¡°I¡¯m sure that¡¯s what the prostitute on the corner says too. Can we get on with it? I¡¯ve got places to be.¡± My next campaign departs in the morning and I don¡¯t relish facing long days on horseback in my current itchy condition.

    She¡¯s gazing at me with a troubled expression.

    ¡°What?¡± I ask. ¡°Do I have something on my face?¡± I turn to check my reflection, but the walls of her tiny cottage are bare. ¡°Didn¡¯t you ever think of getting a mirror in here?¡± I ask, then add under my breath, ¡°Not that you¡¯d much enjoy looking in one.¡± She¡¯s an astoundingly ugly woman. Good job she¡¯s in a profession where it¡¯s sort of expected. Or possibly even necessary. Maybe you get more power the uglier you are. Kind of like a status symbol. She must be really powerful.

    The woman has wandered off, ignoring my question. She¡¯s bent over a cat that¡¯s curled on the back of an armchair, stroking it with intense concentration. When she doesn¡¯t make any reply for another few seconds, I wave a hand. ¡°Hello? Grandma? Can you give me a potion or whatever? Some of us have lives to get back to.¡±

    She straightens and glowers at me. ¡°Wilhelmina Lang, your attitude leaves something to be desired.¡±

    For a second, I¡¯m taken aback. How did she know my name? Then I shrug it off. My fame as a mercenary is spreading. Probably someone in town mentioned me. ¡°I¡¯m a paying customer,¡± I declare. ¡°My ¡®attitude¡¯ doesn¡¯t have any bearing on it. Do you cure diseases or don¡¯t you?¡±

    She looks annoyed. ¡°I do. But I am not so dependent on the income from herbalism that I must endure churlishness.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, and you¡¯re not the only herbalist in town,¡± I retort. ¡°I came here because people said you were the best, but I¡¯m starting to question whether you even have any remedies.¡±

    Her face hardens into a smile. Reflected firelight gleams in her eyes in a creepy way. ¡°Rest assured; I have a remedy for almost any complaint. But first, I have a question,¡± she says.

    I groan in impatience. ¡°And?¡±

    ¡°Have you informed your partner of your condition?¡±

    ¡°Ew, No!¡± I exclaim. ¡°I¡¯m not having anything to do with him again.¡±

    She raises her eyebrows. ¡°But you saw fit to lie with him at least once?¡±

    I shrug. I was drunk and he was handsome enough.

    The herbalist sighs. ¡°Have you thought about the fact that he may well go on to infect other women with the same disease if he fails to receive treatment?¡±

    I scoff. ¡°What do I care about other women? They can come to you if you¡¯re so great. I¡¯ll put in a good word for you at the inn.¡±

    She glares. ¡°You truly care for nothing but your own plight?¡±

    I point a finger at her. ¡°Now look. I can see you¡¯re too hideous to have a sex life so I¡¯ll spell it out for you. Sometimes you have an encounter that¡¯s less than stellar, and you just want to put it behind you. That¡¯s what this is. Do you understand? Do I need to say it all again in toddler speak?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve heard enough!¡± she snaps. Turning, she stalks across the room and opens the door of a cupboard. ¡°You wish for help? I¡¯ll help you alright.¡± Reaching into the cupboard, she pulls out a flat object, holding it carefully horizontal. ¡°I¡¯ll help you more than you expected or possibly even wished for.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s that for?¡± I ask, looking at the thing in her hand. I¡¯m starting to feel dizzy. Is the fire giving off some kind of fumes? Everything is going hazy.

    She advances on me, holding the object. ¡°You wish to be rid of the disease that afflicts you? That shall be so. But for your lack of compassion and the gaping void where your manners should reside, your body will return to the age when you should have acquired these things.¡±

    ¡°Wha¡­¡± My lips have grown numb and my arms are heavy. I can¡¯t think. She¡¯s coming closer and getting taller with each step. The floor seems to be getting nearer too. I don¡¯t understand what¡¯s happening.

    With a gloating smile, the witch holds up the object in her hands. My eyes try to focus on the image. It¡¯s shiny. Like a mirror. But that can¡¯t be right. If it were a mirror, it would show an image of me. Instead, it¡¯s a reflection of¡­

    ¡­of a little girl.

 Episode 7 - The Golden Carriage

    I jerk awake and lie there panting, covered in sweat. That stupid dream again! Ever since I was cursed, I¡¯ve been re-living that scene in the witch¡¯s cottage. It never fails to put me in a foul mood.

    The cracks of dim light filtering through the shutters are getting paler. I lie groggily staring at them. There¡¯s something rising up from the back of my mind. Didn¡¯t I have something to do today? Wasn¡¯t I supposed to¡­

    Shit.

    I¡¯m still attempting to fasten the lacing on my dress as I scurry up the hill to the castle gates. Reaching the brow of the hill, the spectacle beyond the gates comes into view and I heave a sigh of relief at the reassuring degree of chaos taking place in the wide courtyard. Although it¡¯s well past dawn, innumerable people, horses and dogs are milling around with varying levels of aimlessness. I haven¡¯t missed the royal party¡¯s departure.

    I find Kayla wrestling her way out of a wriggling clump of three-horned goats. ¡°Put them in the cart,¡± she yells at a goatskin-clad man bearing a three-horned staff.

    ¡°No need for that. They¡¯ll run alongside, easy like,¡± he drawls. ¡°They¡¯s good runners.¡±

    ¡°No! We¡¯re specifically instructed not to have loose animals.¡± She catches sight of me and shoves a hairy goat-ass aside, so she can stalk towards me. ¡°You¡¯re late!¡±

    ¡°The girl could ride one-of-em,¡± calls the goat man. ¡°They¡¯s good runners with passengers an all.¡±

    ¡°What are the goats for?¡± I ask.

    Kayla brushes hair out of her face. ¡°Archaic wedding tradition. Don¡¯t ask. Look, there¡¯s been a mix-up and we¡¯re terribly short of carriage space. You might have to-¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t say I actually have to ride one of those things,¡± I say, wrinkling my nose. Behind Kayla, the goat man is beckoning, patting the back of the nearest goat in an inviting manner. Another goat is chewing the edge of Kayla¡¯s cloak.

    ¡°No, of course not,¡± she says impatiently, jerking her cloak out of the goat¡¯s reach. ¡°But you¡¯ll have to ride with a group of courtiers. The horses are all spoken for. I don¡¯t suppose you¡¯re tall enough to ride one, anyway.¡±

    ¡°Tall enough for a goat,¡± remarks the man.

    She whirls around and shrieks at him. ¡°Will you get those bloody goats into the bloody cart!¡±

    ¡°They likes running.¡±

    ¡°Where should I go then?¡± I ask.

    ¡°God knows! Just get into one of those.¡± She gestures to where dozens of carriages are lined up, waiting for the signal to leave. ¡°And quickly,¡± she adds. ¡°We¡¯re leaving any second.¡±

    ¡°They¡¯d better not contain any wizards,¡± I mutter, stomping over to the carriages. I¡¯m not tall enough to see into any of the windows, so it¡¯s a matter of choosing at random. As I¡¯m walking past one carriage, its door opens and a chubby little girl (a real one) sticks her head out.

    ¡°Are you looking for your mummy?¡± she asks.

    ¡°Absolutely not,¡± I tell her. I¡¯m long done with that woman. I carry on walking but she calls after me. ¡°You can ride with us if you want. I have three dolls and I¡¯ll share with you.¡±

    ¡°Can I pull their heads off?¡± I call back. A gasp is followed by noisy sobbing and then the bang of the carriage door closing.

    ¡°Move out!¡± comes a cry from up at the front of the baggage train. Near me the horses prick up their ears and footmen descend from the various carriages to release the wheel brakes.

    A sense of urgency seizes me. I have to find a carriage NOW or else risk being left behind. I open a door at random and stick my head in. Full of fat old ladies. They all exclaim in delight when they see me. ¡°Absolutely not,¡± I repeat and slam the door again. In the next instant the carriage moves off, bearing the fat ladies away. The one behind it is also pulling away. Jeez, I¡¯d better get into one of these things without delay.If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

    Crossing my fingers, I run to the last carriage in the train. It¡¯s the only one that hasn¡¯t started moving yet. Reaching it, I pull the door open and dive inside, just as the entire carriage jerks into motion.

    ¡°And who might this be?¡± someone says in a bored tone.

    ¡°It appears to be a child without its mother,¡± sneers another voice.

    ¡°Too bad. It looks young enough for the mother to still be worth some fun.¡± Laughter follows.

    The carriage is full of lanky, indolent young men who¡¯ve stretched themselves over all the seats, leaving not an inch of space for my tiny behind. They¡¯ve even claimed the foot cushions for their dice and cards.

    ¡°Aren¡¯t you going to offer a lady a seat?¡± I demand of them. My stately air is spoiled when the carriage jerks over a rut and I lose my balance, toppling into the lap of the nearest one.

    ¡°Well, it seems the lady has chosen her seat,¡± guffaws one of them. ¡°Bit young for you, Londrew.¡±

    ¡°She¡¯ll grow,¡± says Londrew, pulling me further onto his lap.

    ¡°Oh abso-bloody-lutely not!¡± I repeat, elbowing him in the face and jumping down. ¡°I¡¯ve decided I¡¯d rather sit on the floor,¡± I announce. ¡°It¡¯ll be easier to play with my dolls and stuff.¡±

    ¡°Suit yourself,¡± they all yawn, failing to notice my complete lack of said dolls.

    As we leave Druinberg behind, the scenery outside changes to the horribly familiar landscape of endless trees. What did I ever do to deserve such a glut of forest journeys? To make things worse, the carriage I¡¯m in might look nice from the outside but its suspension is terrible. No matter how I try to brace myself on the floor, I keep getting jolted and rattled about. By the time we stop for lunch, I¡¯m bruised and battered and ready to kill someone. I hobble out of the carriage, hoping for a sight of the goat man. He seemed expendable.

    I end up behind Kayla in the queue for lunch rations. ¡°Hey, do you think I could ride with the servants or something?¡± I wheedle. ¡°The carriage I ended up in is too full. I had to sit on the floor.¡± My voice sounds horribly whiny, but, to be fair, I¡¯m seriously bruised here.

    ¡°Just try one of the other ones,¡± she says distractedly.

    Her lack of sympathy annoys me. ¡°How did we end up short of carriages, anyway? I thought a royal trip would be better equipped.¡±

    Kayla brushes hair out of her face and glares at me. ¡°Look, you have no idea how difficult it is to organise an entire expedition! If you wanted a better seat, you should have bloody well turned up on time!¡± Grabbing her bowl of food, she stalks off. Sheesh.

    Then I feel bad. That was bitchy of me. I¡¯m grateful to Kayla for giving me a job. And I was late. And if that¡¯s true about her organising this whole thing by herself, then she¡¯s doing an incredible job. Maybe I should-

    A female voice interrupts my thoughts. ¡°What a dear little girl. Did I hear you say you need a carriage seat?¡±

    I spin around and get all starry-eyed in wonder.

    It¡¯s the princess!

    Normally I wouldn¡¯t care too much about being in the presence of impressive people, but there must be some little-girl hormone or something that overrides my adult reactions. Where the normal me would have smiled and thanked Princess Isla for her kind offer, my little-girl body refuses to do anything other than stare at her, open-mouthed, while my face turns a luminous red.

    The princess is accompanied by a gaggle of ladies-in-waiting, all of whom are nudging each other and whispering. ¡°Your Highness, please reconsider. We¡¯re cramped as it is,¡± a stone-faced matron holding a tray of food hisses into the princess¡¯s ear.

    ¡°It¡¯s true, Highness,¡± says another lady on her other side. ¡°Where on earth would she sit?¡±

    ¡°But just look at her.¡± The princess gestures to me. ¡°She won¡¯t take up much room.¡±

    It pains me to surrender my dignity like this, but there¡¯s no way I¡¯m going back to that horrible nightmare of the young men¡¯s carriage. Besides, this is the princess! If I ride with her, there¡¯s an excellent chance I¡¯ll find an opportunity to help her in some way. And helping a princess is surely better and worth more than helping a normal, ordinary commoner. I put on a serious face. ¡°Excuse me, your highness. I¡¯d very much like to ride with you. But would you have room for my dolls as well? I wouldn¡¯t like for any of them to be left behind.¡±

    The princess laughs. It¡¯s a beautiful laugh that reminds me of the tinkling of a chandelier. ¡°Oh, you¡¯re just adorable,¡± she gushes. ¡°That settles the matter. We¡¯ll find room for you and your dolls. Go and get them and then meet us by the big gold carriage over there.¡± Ignoring the fluttering and exclamations of her retinue, she bends to my height and then points towards the royal conveyance. She needn¡¯t have bothered. It would have been obvious to a blind man that the huge gilded contraption was made to transport a princess.

    I beam at her and bob a curtsey before running off. I run straight past the carriage of young men, not even pausing to flip them off. I keep going along the rows of ordinary carriages until I find the one that held the chubby girl from this morning. She and her guardians have gone for lunch; the carriage stands empty. On the floor are three china dolls with painted faces. I swipe them up and stuff them down the front of my dress.

    Slinking around the back, I break into a run as I make for the huge carriage lurking at the centre of the expedition like an enormous golden pumpkin. No-one saw me take the dolls. I believe this is what one refers to as the perfect crime.

 Episode 8 - An Accidental Messenger

    ¡°Willa,¡± Kayla¡¯s face holds a mixture of exasperation and disbelief. ¡°Did you steal those dolls from that little girl?¡±

    I shuffle my feet. ¡°How¡¯d you know it was me?¡± It¡¯s dinnertime the same day and Kayla has pulled me out of the rations queue into a quiet nook behind the cooking tent.

    She rolls her eyes. ¡°It wasn¡¯t exactly difficult. The princess is raving about you and your adorable doll family. Then there¡¯s the fact that you¡¯re the only other ¡®little girl¡¯ in the expedition. Also, Cecelia told me you threatened to pull their heads off earlier in the day.¡±

    ¡°Who¡¯s Cecelia?¡±

    ¡°THE ACTUAL LITTLE GIRL THAT YOU STOLE FROM.¡±

    ¡°Oh.¡± See, this is why I¡¯m a mercenary and not a thief. ¡°The dirty tattle-tale.¡±

    ¡°What on earth did you want them for, anyway?¡± Kayla asks. ¡°Don¡¯t tell me you actually wanted to play with them.¡±

    ¡°No, no,¡± I say hastily. ¡°I just wanted to seem cute for the princess so she¡¯d let me ride in her carriage.¡± It was a stupid, split-second decision. In that moment I would have done pretty much anything to secure my place in the golden carriage. The dolls seemed like an essential accessory.

    It turned out to be a mistake, though. Once I had them, I didn¡¯t much know what to do with them. I¡¯ve spent the whole afternoon clutching them awkwardly. God knows, I was terrible at little-girl stuff even the first time around.

    Kayla sighs. ¡°Well, on one hand, I¡¯m pleased you¡¯ve wangled your way into close contact with the princess. We¡¯re horribly short of fighters and you¡¯ll be ideally placed to protect her there. On the other hand, little Cecelia is Prince Theodore¡¯s second cousin and those dolls are family heirlooms and worth thousands each. You have to apologise and give them back!¡±

    Shit.

    ¡°And the princess had better not find out about this either,¡± she calls after me as I slope off, feet dragging. This is quite possibly the most humiliating situation I have ever brought upon myself.

    Cecelia¡¯s mother opens the carriage door when I knock. She presses her lips together and waves me inside, where Cecelia is sitting with a doleful expression, tear stains plainly visible on her plump cheeks.

    ¡°Sorry I took your dolls,¡± I mutter, holding them out to her.

    Letting out a noisy sob, she throws herself forward and snatches them out of my arms, retreating to the safety of her mother¡¯s skirt. She inspects each doll minutely for damage, stroking their faces over and over.

    The mother glares at me. ¡°Well? Are you truly sorry?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m most very, truly sorry,¡± I mumble.

    ¡°And why did you take Cecelia¡¯s things?¡±

    I sigh dramatically. ¡°Because she is a generous, selfless, kind-hearted girl who offered to share her dolls with a poor, stupid penniless waif who had none of her own.¡±

    Cecelia lifts her head. There¡¯s a slight lift to the corner of her mouth.

    I continue. ¡°Cecelia is a good, generous, benevolent, caring, philanthropic¡­¡±

    The little girl¡¯s smile becomes a real one. ¡°Mummy, what¡¯s filo¡­filan¡­?¡±

    ¡°¡­beautiful, elegant, charming, glamorous, voluptuous,¡±

    ¡°Mummy, what¡¯s volum¡­¡±

    The mother clears her throat. ¡°Alright. That was enough of an apology. Be off with you!¡± The carriage door slams behind me and I dust off my hands. Job done. If I didn¡¯t exactly show my generosity there, at least I repaired the damage. Time to return to my seat in the luxury of the royal conveyance.

    But no sooner have I plonked myself in a prime spot next to the window than the grim-faced matron takes it upon herself to comment on my lack of accessories. ¡°Willa dear, where have your dolls gone? Don¡¯t say you¡¯ve been so careless as to lose them.¡±

    ¡°I gave them away,¡± I tell her. ¡°To a poor little girl who was crying because she didn¡¯t have any.¡± I turn back to the window with a smirk while she scowls and the other ladies all exclaim over my generosity.

    Then it backfires. ¡°Come here, dear,¡± coos the stern woman, with evil glee. ¡°Let me brush your hair.¡±

    ¡°No,¡± exclaims another of the ladies. ¡°I want to brush it!¡±

    ¡°Me next!¡± squeals another.

    Horror of horrors, I end up back on the floor, passed around from one to the other while they take turns with the instrument of torture. Meanwhile, they¡¯re speculating over Prince Theodore¡¯s skill in bed. They keep using the phrase ¡°husbandly duties¡± so my precious little ears won¡¯t be burned. I put on my most innocent voice and ask a few awkward questions about what sort of ¡®duties¡¯ a husband has, and suddenly they all lose interest in brushing my hair. Don¡¯t let anyone ever tell you innocence isn¡¯t a weapon.

    When evening comes, Princess Isla exits the carriage first, then turns around and holds out her hand to help me down. ¡°I¡¯m having a little cot made up for you in my tent, Willa,¡± she tells me. ¡°You¡¯d like to sleep in my tent, wouldn¡¯t you?¡±

    ¡°Your highness, please reconsider!¡± hisses the dour spoilsport, but the princess waves her away.

    ¡°Oh yes, Princess, I would love to.¡± I exclaim. Turn down the chance to sleep between silk sheets? Absolutely not!

    It¡¯s incredible how quickly I¡¯ve become accepted as a part of Princess Isla¡¯s entourage. I don¡¯t know what¡¯s going through her head regarding where this random little girl has come from or where my parents are. Then again, she probably hasn¡¯t even given it a thought. Princesses are used to things dropping into their laps without explanation.Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.

    Inside the tent, the ladies swish around, removing Princess Isla¡¯s travelling clothes, draping her in a nightgown and otherwise getting her ready for bed. She is also subjected to the dreaded hairbrush, but she withstands the tugging with remarkable poise. ¡°You ought to try to get a message to the Prince,¡± the lady with the hairbrush is telling her. ¡°So you can be sure he is thinking only of you.¡±

    The princess sighs longingly. ¡°I only wish it were possible. It seems an age before we¡¯ll be safely married. But it¡¯s useless to dream of it. Our parties are so hopelessly separated.¡±

    ¡°One of us could carry it, Your Highness.¡±

    She shakes her head. ¡°No, no. You are all too well known as my closest confidants. It would be improper.¡±

    ¡°What about¡­¡± The lady with the hairbrush turns to look at me. ¡°Couldn¡¯t little Willa take it for you? I¡¯m sure she¡¯d love to help.¡±

    What? Oh bollocks. I was just getting comfortable in my silk sheets here.

    The princess clasps her hands. ¡°Oh, she could! Willa is small enough to slip across the barrier. And no-one could think to question the actions of a child!¡±

    ¡°Wait a minute-¡± I begin.

    ¡°Bring me my writing set,¡± demands the princess. ¡°I must pen a love note immediately.¡±

    ¡°Better not, Highness,¡± another lady shakes her head. ¡°Who knows what would happen, were it to be intercepted. It must be an oral message.¡± She nods towards me. ¡°Tell Willa what you want to say to him and she can pass it on.¡±

    ¡°But¡­¡± My eight hours of undisturbed sleep are dissolving before my eyes.

    The princess turns towards me. Tears of joy gleam in her eyes. ¡°I¡¯m so happy that we¡¯ve found a way for me to communicate with my love. Thank you, Willa! Thank you for making this possible!¡±

    Oh double bollocks. What did I say about princesses getting everything they want?

    She dances over to me and kneels by my side. ¡°Tell him¡­¡± She thinks for a moment. ¡°Tell him he is the only one in the world for me. Tell him I cannot wait another day before I am allowed to wake up by his side and eat breakfast with him each and every morning for the rest of our lives!¡±

    The ladies sigh with sentiment at this passionate outpouring.

    ¡°Will you remember that, Willa?¡± one of them asks. ¡°The princess said she cannot wait-¡±

    ¡°Yes yes,¡± I snap. ¡°I¡¯ll remember it. Where is the prince exactly?¡±

    ¡°His party is camped to the north. Go to the northern end of our own camp and you will encounter a barrier. It is a safeguard to keep the prince and princess from meeting before their marriage. You must find a way to pass it.¡±

    ¡°Be careful, Willa!¡± exclaims the princess. ¡°And please, bring me his reply swiftly!¡±

    As I leave the princess¡¯s tent, it strikes me that this task isn¡¯t so different to missions I¡¯ve completed in the past. Infiltrate the enemy encampment, steal the intelligence ¡ª or rather, in this case, pass it on. If the princess¡¯s burbling love-talk can really be classed as such. Still, at least it will count as helping someone, so not a total disaster.

    Outside, the camp is quiet. For such a large travelling party, all the processes of setting camp and doling out food at mealtimes have functioned impressively smoothly. I feel another pang of regret for criticising Kayla¡¯s leadership. She¡¯s a bloody hero. Heroine. Whatever.

    I soon find the barrier. And when I say ¡®barrier¡¯, I mean a laughably frail construction of wooden panels that have been set into a perfunctory ditch. They teeter on the brink of falling over in a good puff of wind. They¡¯re so low, I could probably vault them if I get enough of a run-up. I back up a few paces, but then a shouts ring out. ¡°Who goes there!¡± A powerful lantern beam illuminates the area and an entire squadron of guards appears from nowhere to surround me. I thought we were supposed to be short of fighters?!

    Luckily, it¡¯s easy to convince them that I was just playing. They send me away with remonstrances to go to bed and get a good night¡¯s sleep so I can grow up into a beautiful lady. I had to bite my lip not to scream about how much I¡¯d dearly love to go to bed. First I have to complete this sodding messenger task entrusted to me by a certain other beautiful lady.

    So jumping the fence won¡¯t work. There are too many guards who take their jobs too seriously. I¡¯ll have to go around it. But that could mean trekking through the forest for a few miles and losing several more hours of sleep. My silk sheets and I haven¡¯t got time for that. How can I get there quicker?

    ¡°Hello, little girl!¡±

    A horned figure looms out of the darkness. I fire off three of my throwing knives in quick succession. With my sharpest dagger ready in my hand, I run to grab a torch from a nearby tent entrance. Is the camp under attack? Should I sound the alarm?

    ¡°Watch it!¡± comes an exclamation. ¡°These is sacred goats!¡± As I get closer with the light, the figure reveals himself to be the goat man clutching his horned staff. All three of my knives are buried in his goatskin coat. Apparently they haven¡¯t gone deep enough to hurt him. I¡¯m not sure whether to be pleased that I haven¡¯t injured him or annoyed that goatskin appears to be thick enough to stop my weapons.

    ¡°We wuz exercising like,¡± says Goat Man. Sure enough, the goats are milling in a nervous clump behind him. ¡°Goats is no good cooped up in carts,¡± he tells me.

    I contemplate the hairy, three-horned creatures and an idea crawls its way to the front of my brain. ¡°Can I borrow one of those for a midnight ride?¡±

    Goat Man looks pleased and makes an expansive gesture. ¡°They¡¯s pleased to carry you. Takes your pick.¡±

    ¡°Thanks, and just one more thing¡­¡±

    ¡°Wuzzat?¡±

    I point towards his chest. ¡°Can I have my knives back?¡±

    The man didn¡¯t have any saddle or tack for the goats (I don¡¯t know why that surprised me) so I¡¯m hanging on for dear life as my new steed gallops joyfully along the barrier. Blimey, the people charged with keeping the royal couple apart have really taken a hardcore approach to their job. The barrier stretches a good way outside the camp limits. At the end of it sits a dozy soldier who starts in surprise when he sees us gallop by. Good luck keeping us out, sucker! I take the goat a little way north before galloping back on the other side of the fence.

    Once I¡¯m back in the camp, I realise the goat doesn¡¯t have anything to tie it up with. I have to trust that it won¡¯t stray while I¡¯m talking to the prince. I leave it contentedly munching the guy-ropes of someone¡¯s tent and make my way to the grandest marquee. There are guards at the entrance. I march straight up to them and announce I have an urgent message for the prince.

    ¡°What sort of message, little girl?¡± chuckles one of them.

    ¡°Is it an invitation to your teddy-bear¡¯s picnic?¡± asks the other. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, the prince will most certainly attend. He hasn¡¯t had a proper stag party yet.¡± As they¡¯re both doubled over, slapping their thighs and guffawing at their own joke, I roll my eyes and slip by them into the tent.

    The prince is sitting on his bed, staring thoughtfully into space. He looks melancholic and romantic. He and the princess are going to make the perfect couple.

    Spread around, lounging on the rich furnishings of the tent in various attitudes of stupefaction, are the languorous youths from my disastrous carriage ride. Thankfully, none of them seem to be conscious or else I¡¯d think twice about making my presence known here.

    ¡°Prince Theodore?¡± I hiss. ¡°I have a message from the princess.¡±

    He looks up sharply, surprise and hope dawning in his face. Behind me, the two guards burst in, blurting excuses. The prince waves them away. ¡°At ease, gentlemen. This girl has important business with me.¡± I stick my tongue out at their backs as they retreat outside, muttering angrily. Once they¡¯re gone, the prince leans over eagerly. ¡°What did my love say? Tell me!¡±

    ¡°She said¡­¡± I hesitate. Actually, I only have a vague memory of what the princess said.

    ¡°Yes? What?¡±

    ¡°She said she¡¯s the only one in the world who cannot wait another day to wake up and eat your breakfast.¡±

    The prince looks thoughtful. ¡°An interesting message.¡± He stands and paces back and forth across the tent. ¡°No doubt it is riddled with hints and subtext.¡±

    One of the languorous youths jerks into wakefulness. ¡°Whassat?¡±

    The prince repeats the message.

    ¡°Oh, that¡¯s rich,¡± chortles the youth. ¡°The ¡®eating¡¯ of your breakfast obviously implies-¡±

    ¡°Shh!¡± Prince Theodore casts a sidelong glance at me. ¡°Let us discuss it later.¡± He crouches next to me. ¡°Little girl, you are a most brave and stalwart messenger. Will you do me the favour of a lifetime and take a message back to her?¡±

    I sigh. ¡°I suppose so.¡±

    This ¡®helping people¡¯ business is turning out to be more trouble than I expected.

 Episode 9 - A Plot Foiled

    The princess and her ladies await the prince¡¯s message with bated breath.

    ¡°He said¡­¡± I pause, racking my brains. Blast it! This is why I¡¯m a mercenary and not a messenger.

    ¡°Yes?!¡±

    ¡°He said he¡¯d be happy to cook your lunch, the stars fall out of your eyes into his soup bowl and he hopes your lustrous hair and perfect ankles will never give him indigestion.¡± Or something along those lines.

    While the princess and her attendants are gasping and speculating over the message, I topple into my bed and steadfastly refuse to respond to their efforts to wake me to take a reply back to the prince. What do I look like, a child labourer? I fall into a blissful sleep, undisturbed by the whispering and exclamations.

    But even royal travelling parties don¡¯t escape the start-at-dawn rubbish. It¡¯s horribly early the next morning, when I¡¯m awakened from my familiar nightmare by a chorus of shrieks. I leap blearily out of bed, grabbing several knives from under my pillow, poised to strike down the princess¡¯s attacker.

    Instead I¡¯m confronted by the sight of my goatly steed from last night, standing next to my bed, chewing my silk sheets. ¡°Oh for goat¡¯s sake,¡± I growl, and collapse back onto the bed, tugging the sheets away from it. It has a stronger grip than I thought, so I end up with goat breath uncomfortably close to my face.

    ¡°Willa,¡± comes a quavering voice from the other side of the tent. I raise my head. The ladies-in-waiting are clustered in a quivering mass with the princess¡¯s rumpled head sticking up behind. ¡°Is that your¡­ goat?¡± enquires one of them.

    The goat licks my cheek lovingly.

    If the royal carriage wasn¡¯t already something to exclaim over, it¡¯s nothing compared to the spectacle it makes with our new, four-legged escort running alongside. Try as I may, I cannot persuade the stupid thing to go back with its herd. Appealing to Goat Man is useless. He merely shrugs. ¡°Goats is goats.¡±

    ¡°But can¡¯t you make it get back into the cart with the others?¡±

    ¡°No need. He likes running.¡±

    I¡¯d have stabbed the man in his hairy heart, except I would have ended up losing another knife. The three I threw at him still haven¡¯t recovered from their traumatic experience.

    Once the princess and her ladies have got over their shock at the sight of the goat, they progress from shrieking terror to doting affection. They spend the day¡¯s journey jostling each other for a window seat and squabbling over names.

    ¡°May I be so bold as to say that he looks like an Archibald.¡±

    ¡°Oh no, observe the reddish sheen in his coat. Jasper suits him much better.¡±

    ¡°William!¡± barks the stone-faced matron. ¡°Billy for short.¡±

    Come evening, Billy and I resume our messenger duties. I could complain to Kayla that carrying messages for the princess wasn¡¯t in my job description, except it all counts toward my quota of helpfulness, so that¡¯s a good thing. Also, I have to admit I¡¯m starting to enjoy myself a little.

    ¡°Your Highness,¡± I tell the prince pompously. ¡°Princess Isla says she hopes you never see a sunset without admiring the rising of her moon.¡±

    The prince¡¯s eyes grow wide. ¡°Tell her it is my heart which rises and sets with every breath she takes. I pray our years together will be blessed with the peace and plenty of fruitful prosperity.¡±

    After a short gallop back to the princess¡¯s side:

    ¡°Princess Isla,¡± I announce, ¡°the prince said his heart rises and sets in your breath and he prays your years together will be a piece of fruit.¡±

    The following evening Princess Isla is ready with her next message:

    ¡°Tell the prince I have admired him from afar for so long, I am half going mad with longing for the simple touch of his hand.¡±

    Oh that¡¯s a good one.

    ¡°Your Highness,¡± I tell the prince, ¡°Princess Isla says her far hand is madly longing for a simple touch.¡±

    He spends a while in thought. ¡°Tell her I wish only to bedeck her brow with diamonds,¡± he replies, ¡°but none would compare with the pearls of wisdom that drop from her mouth each and every time she speaks.¡±

    ¡°Princess Isla,¡± I say. ¡°The prince says he¡¯s noticed how your mouth is dripping with diamonds but he hopes to bedeck your brow with pearls.¡±This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

    The ladies gasp and fall silent. I wonder whether I¡¯ve gone too far¡­

    But no. The princess sends me back with a message, eloquent in its simplicity.

    ¡°Tell the prince¡­ I love him.¡±

    Darn. It¡¯s hard to mess that one up.

    Back in the prince¡¯s tent, I shuffle my feet a bit and blush.¡°The princess says¡­¡±I never thought I¡¯d see myself playing cupid. ¡°She says she loves you.¡±

    The prince¡¯s eyes widen in shock. His face softens and his eyes shine with tears of emotion. ¡°Tell her, I love her too,¡± he murmurs, voice shaking with passion.

    After that there are no more messages.

    Runner goats don¡¯t take kindly to inactivity. It¡¯s early the next evening and Billy has already chewed holes in several skirts, eaten someone¡¯s diary and mangled a hairbrush beyond salvation (ha!). He and I are sent outside to ¡®play¡¯. I go willingly enough. We¡¯re drawing close to our destination and the princess is spending much of the time obsessing over her wedding gown. The endless debate over each seam and sequin is doing my head in.

    For lack of anything better to do, I climb onto Billy¡¯s hairy back and let him amble around as he pleases. I¡¯ve got pretty good at riding bareback. As we wander through the forest, I practise hitting knots in trees with my throwing knives. I¡¯m just retrieving a blade from a twisted oak when a faint light in the distance catches my eye. It looks like someone has a lantern but is covering it in order not to be seen. Of course, it could also be a swarm of fireflies. Either way, Billy proceeds enthusiastically towards the light. Maybe he enjoys snacking on fireflies. Many of his decisions seem to spring from his desire to comprehensively catalogue the taste and texture of everything in the world.

    As we get closer, voices become discernible, an urgently whispered discussion. I stiffen. This sounds suspicious. Billy continues towards the sound and I send a quick prayer of thanks for his surefooted progress through the dark forest.

    ¡°¡­the problem of getting the bodies back, should anything go wrong.¡±

    ¡°Nothing will go wrong.¡± The second voice is scornfully confident. ¡°We¡¯ve studied the patterns. We know where everyone will be. It¡¯ll be child¡¯s play.¡±

    ¡°Speaking of children, we¡¯ve noticed there¡¯s one travelling with the prince¡¯s party. His little cousin. Should we¡­ I mean¡­ um.¡±

    ¡°No survivors.¡±

    The silence following those icy words causes goosebumps to spread over my skin.

    If I¡¯m not very much mistaken, this sounds like an assassination plot. I grin. Excellent, I was getting itchy for a good fight.

    But while I¡¯m grinning away to myself, I fail to notice that Billy hasn¡¯t stopped. He carries on forward until he¡¯s ambled right into the clearing where the plotters are gathered. There¡¯s a moment of stillness where they all turn to gape at us.

    Then things kick off for real. ¡°Get them!¡± shouts the leader.

    The nearest man dives to grab us. Billy swerves out of the way. I flail wildly to keep my balance, throwing a couple of knives as I do so. By sheer luck, one of them gets our attacker in the eye.

    I grab a handful of the loose skin on Billy¡¯s neck and attempt to steer him towards another would-be attacker. He ignores my urging.

    I hold on for dear life as he breaks into a gallop, lowering his head. Thwack! We hit the group¡¯s leader dead on. He shoots backwards into a tree and slides down, groaning. Puncture wounds from Billy¡¯s horns gape in his chest. Looks like he¡¯ll bleed out, but I throw a knife for the sake of decoration.

    Two men try to come at us from either side. I shriek as Billy leaps into the air, tossing his head to stab one man with his horns and walloping the other man with his behind. We all end up on the floor. The wind is knocked out of me, but I have the advantage of not having just been punched by a goat part. Staggering to my feet, I pull out my longest blade and go around the clearing, finishing the groaning attackers off. Within seconds, the glade is empty of movement. A distant crashing in the undergrowth indicates someone got away, but I doubt they¡¯ll continue an assassination plot on their own. It¡¯s probably fine.

    ¡°Good work, Billy.¡± I stroke his ears. He snaps his head around and chews experimentally on my wrist. ¡°Ow, stop it! Come on, we have to go back to camp and report this.¡± I climb onto his back and then try various combinations of kicking him with my heels and pulling on his fur, but Billy acts as if I¡¯m not even there. He begins chomping the trousers of the nearest dead man, delicately pulling the cloth away from the corpse¡¯s leg. Cursing, singing, beating my fists on his skull, none of it works.

    At least he¡¯s not a flesh-eating goat, I concede. Knowing myself to be beaten, I slide down from his back and hurry back towards camp on foot.

    I find Kayla sitting in the command tent, conferring over a map with a group of men who are dressed in Prince Theodore¡¯s livery. I sidle up next to her and tug on her tunic. When she looks down, I jerk my head towards the woods meaningfully. ¡°Kayla, there¡¯s something you should see.¡±

    ¡°Excuse me, gentlemen,¡± she announces, rising from the table.

    One of the soldiers squints at me. I recognise him from my visits to the prince¡¯s tent. ¡°Hey, it¡¯s the messenger girl,¡± he crows. ¡°Are your teddy bears lonely?¡±

    Kayla glares at him and then follows me outside. ¡°What was that about?¡±

    ¡°Long story. But there¡¯s something more important.¡± I gabble a quick explanation about the bodies in the forest. Kayla summons a few guards, directing them to fetch shovels and then follow us into the forest. I lead the way at a brisk march. I¡¯ve just remembered I forgot to retrieve my throwing knives from the bodies. Sloppy, Willa!

    ¡°You know,¡± Kayla says as we hurry through the trees, ¡°we might be short of fighters, but you could have come back to fetch reinforcements before attacking them. You didn¡¯t have to face a gang of killers by yourself.¡±

    I didn¡¯t exactly have a choice about facing them by myself, but I¡¯m not about to let on. ¡°It seemed wisest for the safety of the prince and princess to deal with the threat immediately,¡± I say seriously.

    She smiles at me. ¡°I had the impression you were just doing this job for the money. It¡¯s nice that you care for their wellbeing too.¡±

    ¡°I do,¡± I tell her. And I¡¯m surprised to realise it¡¯s true. Somehow, somewhere along the interminable goat journeys as I carried their banal messages back and forth, I became invested in the royal pair. I¡¯m as eager as anyone to see them safely married and living the lovey-dovey life they so obviously long for.

    When we arrive at the clearing, the goat is nowhere to be seen. The bodies are all in the same positions, except for one difference. They¡¯re all naked.

    ¡°What the hell,¡± exclaims Kayla. ¡°Did you do this? Or were they genuinely having a nudist meeting?¡±

    I can¡¯t answer her because I¡¯m too busy grinding my teeth. My knives are still stuck into the bodies, but the hilts are chewed and mangled beyond recognition. They¡¯re completely ruined.

    I am going to KILL that goat.

 Episode 10 - The Chapel at Zair

    Kayla offers me recompense for the knives ¡®lost in the call of duty¡¯. We¡¯re still miles from any town or market so the money doesn¡¯t help me right now, but at least I¡¯ll be able to refit myself when I get back to Druinberg. Besides the compensation, she also promises me the bravery bonus that was mentioned during the briefing. Just goes to show: Don¡¯t scoff at a reward until you¡¯re sure you won¡¯t accidentally get dragged (on goat-back) into earning it.

    All¡¯s quiet for the rest of our journey. After several more days of forest, we reach the foothills of the Bandus Mountains and make camp. Zair is only a short distance further, but the chapel is built on an outcrop of rock at the end of several miles of unforgivingly steep and rocky path. Long ago it became a tradition for royal wedding parties to camp at the edge of the forest and journey the last stretch to the chapel on foot. Numerous details related to that final trek have gone from accidental to customary and then hardened into ritual over the years. For example, the very first time a royal couple got married in that chapel, one of the guests lost a shoe along the way. Now it¡¯s required for one poor sod to only wear one shoe and be forced to limp up the mountain. Even weirder is that male guests actually vie with each other to be the one to do it. There are loads of other stupid things like carrying flowers and chewing mint leaves. Oh, and we¡¯re also supposed to be accompanied by goats.

    Speaking of which, Billy has been noticeably absent since he ate the assassin party¡¯s wardrobe (AND RUINED MY KNIVES). I treasure the hope that it¡¯s because he¡¯s choked to death on a button and is lying dead somewhere. Being eaten by maggots. While crows peck out his eyes. And entrails.

    But it seems other people in our expedition are concerned over his disappearance. Not least because tradition stipulates a specific number of goats. To my mind, this is a triflingly banal detail. I mean, who¡¯s even going to know if we¡¯re short one goat?

    ¡°You¡¯d be surprised,¡± Kayla tells me. ¡°That tiny chapel only holds a few guests, so wedding parties have to bring scribes to document everything for the common people who don¡¯t get the chance to see it for themselves.¡±

    Writing down everything that happens at a royal wedding? Thank god that¡¯s not my job. ¡°And they¡¯ll make a big deal out of the missing goat?¡±

    Kayla frowns. ¡°Absolutely. Some fanatics even go around saying that a royal couple isn¡¯t truly married if the traditions surrounding the trek to Zair aren¡¯t followed to the letter. From a legal perspective, that¡¯s rubbish, but my predecessor warned me it leads to rioting and unrest if people suspect their monarchs are living in sin.¡±

    Come to think of it, I have a vague memory of one of Waldani¡¯s puppet shows where the king and queen were found out to have married illegally. I can¡¯t remember what the result was exactly, but I have a strong feeling that it involved a crocodile and lots of sausages.

    ¡°Willa!¡± The princess is calling me, waving madly from the entrance of her tent. ¡°Oh, Willa! Come and see! I have a surprise for you.¡±

    Kayla lets out an amused snort. I punch her in the arm before trotting off to see what the princess wants. Maybe she¡¯s found the goat. That would be cool. I can wait until after the ceremony to murder it.

    Inside the princess¡¯s tent, the princess and her ladies are hovering excitedly over a mound of white fabric and lace. ¡°Willa, look!¡± One of them holds up the mound, revealing it to be a dress.

    I stare at the thing they¡¯re holding, confused. ¡°Isn¡¯t that Princess Isla¡¯s wedding dress?¡±

    ¡°No!¡± They caper and giggle, clapping their hands. ¡°It¡¯s YOUR wedding dress!¡±

    ¡°WHAT!?¡±

    ¡°Oh Willa! I¡¯m so happy,¡± laughs the princess. ¡°We weren¡¯t sure if it would be ready in time, but here it is: an exact copy of my gown! You¡¯ll be accompanying me up the mountain as my flower girl. And when we get there, you¡¯ll be standing next to me in the chapel. Isn¡¯t it exciting?¡±

    ¡°But¡­¡± I say, dazedly. ¡°I¡¯m not even related to you.¡±

    She kneels next to me. ¡°After everything you¡¯ve done for me, Willa. I can¡¯t help but consider you family. Anyway, that¡¯s immaterial. My husband-to-be will have his little cousin Cecilia accompanying him. It is only fair that I should have a flower girl too.¡±

    This is like a terrible nightmare. I knew I¡¯d be going up the mountain. Kayla wanted me there in case anything happens. After all, we never did find the last member of the assassination plot. But I always assumed I¡¯d be trotting along in happy obscurity among the other guests. Not as a bloody flower girl in the princess¡¯s bloody entourage! ¡°And if I refuse?¡±

    The princess¡¯s eyes go wide. ¡°Please say you¡¯ll do it, Willa. I want you to be there. Plus,¡± she looks uncomfortable, ¡°the goat is still missing¡­¡±

    I scowl at her. ¡°Do you mean to tell me I¡¯m to go down in history books as a replacement for a goat?¡±This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

    She scoffs. ¡°It¡¯s a silly tradition, anyway. We¡¯re starting a new one. The prince and princess get to choose flower girls, and you¡¯re mine.¡±

    There¡¯s nothing I can say. If I refuse point blank to do it, she might get angry and ban me from the wedding party and then I¡¯ll lose the money for the protection job and any chances to help people along the way. But in order to go with them¡­ I lift my eyes to the fluffy, satin confection of a dress.

    I shift my gaze back to the princess. ¡°I¡¯ll guess I¡¯ll do it,¡± I sigh.

    ¡°Wonderful!¡± She claps her hands in delight.

    ¡°But only if the seamstress can sew me a couple of extra pockets into the dress.¡±

    She looks surprised. ¡°What for?¡±

    ¡°Um¡­ Dolls?¡±

    The next morning is still a distant promise when I¡¯m woken and bundled into the horrible dress. See, this just proves my point: If the wedding is at dawn, the wedding party has to start their journey a few hours before dawn, and that means they have to get dressed in the dark. Surely it¡¯s only a matter of time before some vain princess decides that the dawn start is an unnecessary tradition.

    I sure wish Princess Isla hadn¡¯t already used up her ¡®let¡¯s-change-tradition¡¯ quota. I can¡¯t stop yawning as I stumble up the rocky path after her. It¡¯s still mostly dark, but there¡¯s enough light for me to make out that both our white dresses have become grubby from the dusty path. Mine has a dribble of mint juice down the front and there¡¯s a horrible smell that suggests I must have dragged the hem through goat dung. Stupid traditions! If I were a princess, I¡¯d decree I was getting married at home, or else not at all. Come to think of it, if I were a princess, I¡¯d probably abdicate and run off with a band of mercenaries. This royal stuff seems like more trouble than it¡¯s worth.

    The eastern sky is getting lighter as we reach Zair. The last stretch of path twists and winds so much that it¡¯s a complete surprise when we round the last corner and realise we¡¯ve arrived. We¡¯re standing at the edge of the broad space dedicated to the ancient mountain god Zair. A wide plateau stretches before us. The small yet elegant chapel stands on the other side, occupying a narrow sliver of ground between the edge of the plateau and the sheer drop down the mountain. It¡¯s hard to say whether the great Zair would have approved of this building dedicated to modern deities, but since he was ignored out of existence long ago, he doesn¡¯t get a say in the matter.

    Generations of Hellavan royals have made similar pilgrimages to this spot in order to marry whichever of the neighbouring kingdoms¡¯ offspring was the appropriate age. When I proceed further onto the plateau, it becomes clear why so many pampered princes and princesses have been willing to soldier through the long journey from Druinberg and make the arduous trek up the mountainside. The soaring view over the surrounding hills and valleys is so majestic that the prospect of ruling the world suddenly seems not so crazy a dream. If you¡¯ve been groomed to assume the role of ruling a kingdom since birth, the feeling must be many times magnified.

    I expected the chapel door to lead off the plateau, but instead, the building is positioned with the door facing the mountainside. And when I say ¡°facing¡±, I mean the door of the chapel is flush with the bare rock face. The architects apparently weren¡¯t fazed by the inconvenient fact that no-one could enter their chapel and simply hewed a narrow passageway into the rocky surface to allow entrance. The passageway is curved so you end up entering the chapel from the direction of the mountain ¡ª almost as if you were emerging from the rock itself.

    The cramped entrance is a potential bottleneck, so it¡¯s lucky that the prince¡¯s party left even earlier than we did. He and his entourage are supposed to be already waiting inside the chapel.

    Isla and her ladies fuss over her hair and do last-minute primping while the princess¡¯s guests disappear in single file into the sinister opening in the cliff face. A few minutes later, we hear the chapel organ begin belching out the jaunty folk tune that traditionally accompanies weddings. A basket of flower petals is shoved into my hand and several pairs of hands propel me towards the hole in the rock. ¡°Smile!¡± someone tells me. ¡°Walk slowly down the aisle, scattering the petals, then wait next to the prince.¡±

    There aren¡¯t any torches or illumination in the rocky passage. ¡°Didn¡¯t anyone think to drill windows in this thing,¡± I mutter, stumbling over the uneven floor. I¡¯m fairly certain I¡¯ve scattered petals here too. They¡¯ll probably stick to the goat dung on the hem of the princess¡¯s dress and look very pretty.

    I arrive at the chapel door and take in the view. Rows and rows of heads, craning in the dim light to observe the chapel entrance. My arrival causes a stir and the sense of excitement in the room heightens.

    Then the first rays of dawn hit the window above the altar, and suddenly the reason for the chapel¡¯s weird orientation is clear. Back-lit by the rising sun, the huge, multi-coloured, kaleidoscopic swirl of stained glass is the most spectacular thing I¡¯ve ever seen. It¡¯s so amazing I feel a brief pang of regret for not choosing to spend my life studying to be a glass painter or something. How wonderful it would be to be able to say you had brought something so glorious into the world. A person like that wouldn¡¯t have managed to get herself cursed and turn her life into such a mess, that¡¯s for sure.

    ¡°Willa!¡± someone hisses behind me. I realise I¡¯m standing in the doorway like a ninny, holding up the princess¡¯s grand entrance. I scurry forward down the aisle, making a half-arsed attempt to throw petals but mostly looking around to scope out the building¡¯s layout. The chapel is impressive, but I hate to think what would happen if we were to run into trouble here. The narrow entrance is a gigantic invitation for anyone who wanted to trap us in here¡­ But I¡¯m sure Kayla was aware of it ahead of time and has enough back-up measures in place.

    At the end of the aisle, I shove the basket under a pew and walk past the smiling prince, choosing to stand in a spot against the wall where I have a good view of the entire room. I¡¯m sure nothing will go wrong, but¡­ you never know.

    The service goes smoothly. This is the first wedding I¡¯ve attended, and I have to say that, until now, I¡¯d never understood the idea of people crying. What¡¯s there to cry about? But at the end, as the couple throw themselves into each other¡¯s arms and share a fierce kiss while we sing the Kingdom¡¯s anthem, even I find myself wiping away a tear or two. It¡¯s hard to admit, but something about witnessing their joy in this place of such rare beauty makes it seem worth trekking all this way with stupid animals and ridiculous clothes and getting up so early in the-

    The chapel door flies open with a bang. ¡°Everyone against the walls!¡± commands a voice from the rocky passageway. ¡°Stay calm and you won¡¯t be hurt.¡±

    Oh bollocks. Here we go.

 Episode 11 - Sliding into Chaos

    If there was ever a phrase calculated to bring about instant panic among gathered people, stay calm and you won¡¯t be hurt is surely it. The owner of the voice has apparently never spent time in the company of the princess¡¯s ladies or he would have had more sense. Even after weeks of prior exposure, the piercing chorus of ensuing shrieks makes me wince.

    The princess throws herself into her new husband¡¯s arms and they clutch each other desperately as chaos takes hold in the tiny chapel. People leap out of their seats and mill around, some attempting to do as the voice commanded and move towards the walls, being hampered by other people who are just as determined to go in the opposite direction. Meanwhile, a trickle of rough-looking fighters streams into the chapel through the rocky entrance. They fan out brandishing clubs and knives, attempting to herd the assembled wedding guests towards the sides of the room. The assembled wedding guests refuse to be efficiently herded. Panic and mayhem reign supreme.

    I grab a knife and look to Kayla for instructions. She¡¯s signalling frantically to a group of unusually burly guests seated in the front row. They leap up and arrange themselves into a living barrier in front of the royal couple, throwing off cloaks to reveal armour and weapons. I should have known she¡¯d have bodyguards in place. With that done, she darts over to where I¡¯m standing. ¡°Give me your dress,¡± she snaps. Without stopping to question the command, I wriggle out of the awful thing and shove it at her. I¡¯m left wearing only a shift, but it doesn¡¯t matter because my knife pockets are sewn into it.

    ¡°Trapdoor behind the altar, get them out,¡± Kayla commands. She bundles the tiny dress over her own head. It doesn¡¯t go past her shoulders and ends up as a weird kind of cape. Ducking, she runs back to where the prince and princess are clinging to each other and yanks them down to the ground, giving them a shove in my direction. Then she stands up and tugs one of the guardsmen into an embrace in the spot where the royals had been standing. With the chaos in the chapel, anyone who glimpses the white material she¡¯s wearing must assume the princess is still there. Smart.

    Okay, time for me to do my part. The prince and princess are crawling frantically towards me. I usher them towards the back of the chapel and leave them crouched behind the altar stone while I search desperately for anything resembling a trapdoor.

    There! I spot a cleverly disguised ring hidden in a carved flower on the floor. Grasping the ring, I hiss at the prince: ¡°Help me with this!¡±

    But I didn¡¯t need his help at all. I¡¯d assumed the trap door was made of stone, but it turns out to be a square of wood covered with a thin layer of imitation marble and flies open immediately. Below it is a short drop and the beginnings of what is unmistakably a slide. A slide! ¡°Oh, this is going to be fun,¡± I chuckle to myself. Then I push the prince into the hole and watch him glide sideways out of view.

    ¡°What have you done?¡± shrieks the princess. ¡°Theodore!¡± she crouches, peering into the hole. I push her in as well. Then I pull the trap doordown so I can close it as I jump in myself.

    The slide is made of varnished wood and runs through a rounded tunnel that¡¯s been panelled with some sort of shiny material that I can¡¯t identify. Cleverly placed ventilation shafts cast regular patches of dim light, illuminating the tunnel and the fraying edges of the cobwebs that Prince Theodore must now be wearing. There are a few twists and turns in the slide¡¯s course, but not enough to slow my progress and I get up quite some speed. Within a few moments it becomes clear that we¡¯re sliding through the entire mountain and it¡¯s an incredibly exhilarating ride. If it weren¡¯t for the circumstances, I¡¯d say it was quite worth the trek uphill.

    Occasionally the course of the slide straightens enough for me to catch sight of the other two sliding ahead of me. And if I hadn¡¯t been able to see them, I would definitely have heard them. I don¡¯t think they¡¯ve been on many slides before.

    At the bottom is a springy patch of moss, which would have provided a nice soft landing if the prince and princess hadn¡¯t proved their ignorance of normal playground rules and completely failed to move out of the way. The three of us end up in a panting heap.The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

    ¡°That was brilliant!¡± I whoop, scrambling to my feet, accidentally elbowing them both in the face. ¡°Did you guys know that slide was there? You should totally start charging people to use it. It could replace income tax!¡±

    There¡¯s a lengthy silence as the two of them stare at me, then Isla lets out a great wail. ¡°Everything is ruined! We¡¯re going to die, we¡¯ll never get back in time for the wedding feast, and just look at my dress!¡±

    ¡°But at least you¡¯ve got your priorities straight,¡± I tell her.

    Prince Theodore¡¯s eyes are devilishly bright. ¡°Do not worry, my love, my princess! I will ensure that those scoundrels cannot touch us. You will not be harmed.¡±

    ¡°We can escape into the forest,¡± I suggest. ¡°They probably won¡¯t find us.¡±

    ¡°See?¡± he tells her. ¡°Our messenger girl knows what to do. We will prevail.¡±

    Isla stops sobbing long enough to wail, ¡°But my dress!!¡±

    The prince looks at me, obviously hoping I have a magical solution to the dress problem, but I shrug. He¡¯s on his own with that one. I was thrilled to get rid of my own dress. The thin silk shift I¡¯ve got on isn¡¯t ideal for a forest getaway, but it¡¯s better than mounds of satin and lace that will catch on every stray twig and bush. And I made sure the seamstress put in enough pockets for my knives, so at least I¡¯m armed.

    ¡°Come on then,¡± I say. I¡¯ve given them both a chance to take charge of the situation and they haven¡¯t. Guess it¡¯s up to me to save the day. ¡°We need to get away from here in case the attackers find the trapdoor.¡±

    Both of them leap up, glance fearfully at the end of the slide, and scurry away from it like it¡¯s a snake. Unaccountably, they both choose to run uphill in the direction of the chapel.

    I sigh. This is going to be harder than I thought. ¡°This way,¡± I call, as if they¡¯re naughty toddlers who¡¯ve wandered off. I walk a short way into the forest and turn back to see whether they¡¯re following. They are. ¡°Come with me,¡± I call encouragingly. ¡°Just follow Auntie Willa.¡±

    Several hours later, my feelings for Billy the goat almost seem like affection compared to the murderous thoughts I¡¯m harbouring towards the future rulers of the kingdom. They don¡¯t seem to possess the most basic survival instincts. I had to stop the princess from picking pokeweed berries (¡°but they look so delicious, and I¡¯m hungry¡±) and tell her several times to put her shoes back on.(¡°But they pinch so.¡±) Meanwhile the prince insisted he could tell directions from the sun (while standing under a thick canopy of forest leaves) and set a heading straight back towards our likely bandit-infested camp.

    I suppose I can¡¯t blame the royals for being foolish and helpless. They¡¯ve spent their lives being waited on and told what to do. In this case, it just happens to be a six-year-old girl telling them what to do, but they¡¯ll have to deal with it. This could be my chance to strike out all my instances of selfless generosity in one go, and I¡¯m not messing up because of them.

    It would be madness to risk going back to the camp before I can be certain that Kayla has dealt with the bandits and secured the area. She put me in charge of keeping these two alive. Therefore, I take them in the opposite direction, deeper into the forest. Princess Isla whined for the first couple of hours, but then lapsed into miserable silence. Prince Theodore is mostly quiet except for the occasional outburst when he thinks up some genius idea. His latest one is: ¡°We could climb trees and jump from branch to branch, making our way back to Zair unseen!¡±

    ¡°There aren¡¯t any trees along the path to Zair,¡± I tell him. ¡°Anyway, I don¡¯t think your wife is in any state to climb.¡± We both look at Isla, who is sitting on a rock, staring dismally at the patchwork of stains littering her dress.

    Give me strength!

    I badger them to get up and force us to keep moving for another hour or so until we reach an earthy ridge running alongside a stream. This is a likely place to build a shelter and camp for the night. I think we¡¯ve all had as much walking as we can take. I set the royals to gathering branches that I can use to rig a shelter, while I go in search of food. A stream means plentiful game and I¡¯m good at hunting for food when I have to. Maybe there¡¯s even a forester or someone living around here. I could try to barter with some of the princess¡¯s jewellery.

    I follow the water upstream for a mile or so without coming across a single living thing. This is strange. No game. No birdsong. No signs of life anywhere. Something is definitely off. Could the water be foul¡­?

    They could be drinking it right now! Swinging around, I sprint back towards the camp.

    When I arrive, panting, back at the place where I left the prince and princess, I find a laughably small pile of sticks. Next to it is a mound of white satin. Next to that is a single boot. Listening carefully, I can hear¡­

    Oh bloody hell!

    Clapping my hands over my ears, singing loudly, I run away, back into the forest.

 Episode 12 - Infiltration and Larceny

    You never know how fast you can run until you have something really scary to run away from. By the time I¡¯ve managed to slow down, I find myself halfway back to the camp. Although I¡¯ll admit this has less to do with my running skills and more to do with how ridiculously slowly Princess Isla was walking today. We¡¯ve made almost no progress in getting away. If the bandits sent out a determined search, they¡¯d find us easily. But there¡¯s no point in worrying about that right now. I¡¯m not going back to haul the prince and princess onwards to a better hiding place. Shudder!

    It crosses my mind that, under normal circumstances, the best course of action I could take for my personal wellbeing, and indeed my sanity, would be to ditch them altogether and simply move on with my life. I would abandon this job as a failure, chalk it up to experience and look for a better gig in another kingdom. Course, there¡¯s an excellent chance I would never be able to show my face in Druinberg again, but I¡¯d survive.

    But who am I kidding? I¡¯ll never get such a prime chance to fulfil all of my curse requirements at once. Being selfless and nurturing, rescuing a love affair and¡­ whatever the other thing was. I¡¯m pretty sure the current situation has it all covered. And when my brave and noble deeds are written into the public record of this turbulent and chaotic wedding journey, the witch will have no choice but to admit I¡¯ve satisfied all her demands and turn me back!

    Besides, the thought of abandoning those overgrown babies to their fate in the wild gives me an uncomfortable feeling. I hate to say it but I must have somehow grown the tiniest speck of conscience in my weeks spent with the royal party.

    So that¡¯s settled. I¡¯m sticking with the job of royal babysitter, for better or for worse.

    Since I¡¯m close by I decide to sneak onwards into the camp and scope out the situation. Maybe everything¡¯s fine. Maybe Kayla and her group got the better of those attackers in the chapel. Maybe they¡¯re anxiously waiting for me to bring the prince and princess back. Maybe they¡­

    A familiar multi-tonal screeching noise reaches my ears. It¡¯s coming from the camp. Maybe everything isn¡¯t fine. I break into a jog.

    It¡¯s already full dark by the time I arrive at the outskirts of the grouped tents. The moonlight shows a weird scene and I have to stop and stare to work out what I¡¯m looking at. The tents are all still there and seem mostly unharmed, but strewn between them is a mass of¡­ something. Dead bodies?

    I go a few steps closer and poke at the nearest bundle of it. Nope, just clothing. It looks like the entire contents of the tents has been dragged out and strewn across the ground. I doubt the skeleton staff we left behind here decided to have a spontaneous spring-cleaning session, so I guess this means the camp is in enemy hands. Someone is snoring in the tent nearest to me and I doubt it¡¯s the tent¡¯s original owner.

    I sneak onwards, now and then tripping over piles of objects on the floor. I¡¯m grinding my teeth, thinking of what these bandits might have done with the spare knives they found in my personal luggage, when something sparkly on the ground catches my eye. A tiara! What¡¯s that doing there? It¡¯ll get dirty lying there in the mud like that. I pick it up, glance down at the lack of free pockets in my flimsy slip and then place it on my own head for safe-keeping. A few steps further on there¡¯s a necklace. Then more necklaces. A bit to the left there are a few rings that are all too massive for my little fingers. I thread them onto a necklace.

    I creep onwards, flitting between tents, keeping one hand on the gems around my neck to stop them clacking together. In the centre of the camp I spot a rough wooden pen that¡¯s been rigged using the wooden panels from the former barricade, along with tent poles and tree branches and god knows what else. Inside are stuffed all the wedding guests and camp staff. Most of them are sitting or lying quietly, but some are groaning or sobbing. I don¡¯t recognise any of the princess¡¯s soldiers or guards among them. A shiver runs down my spine. I hope that doesn¡¯t mean they¡¯ve all been killed. As I stand watching, another chorus of shrieks comes from a group of the princess¡¯s ladies, who¡¯re being menaced by two bandit guards. The guards jab their weapons through the slats of the enclosure, narrowly avoiding stabbing anyone, and guffaw over the screams that ensue. I shake my head. Don¡¯t these men have any concern for their hearing?The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

    ¡°Got her!¡± a voice growls in my ear. Someone grabs a fistful of my hair from behind and starts dragging me along by it. I¡¯m taken completely by surprise. I didn¡¯t hear anyone sneaking up on me. Oh that¡¯s right. No-one can hear anything around here at the moment.

    ¡°Come on now little thief,¡± gloats my captor. ¡°The boss¡¯ll want a word with you.¡±

    I¡¯m dragged into Kayla¡¯s command tent. It¡¯s packed with rough-looking and worse-smelling bandits. An incredibly fat man is seated in Kayla¡¯s chair, reading a scroll by the light of a single candle. ¡°What¡¯s this?¡± he asks in a startlingly high voice.

    My captor lifts his arm, letting me dangle painfully at the end of my hair. ¡°Little girl. Found her wandering around the camp. Thieving all the booty by the looks of things.¡± He lowers me to the floor again and I stumble, then catch my balance and straighten my tiara.

    Recapturing my poise, I look down my nose at the bandit leader. ¡°Who¡¯re you?¡± I demand. ¡°What¡¯s going on in this camp?¡±

    The man looks annoyed. ¡°I¡¯m asking the questions here,¡± he shrills. ¡°Who are you?¡±

    ¡°You just copied my question,¡± I point out. ¡°At least think up your own.¡±

    He gnashes his teeth then turns to the man holding me. ¡°Why wasn¡¯t she in the pen with the others?¡±

    ¡°Dunno.¡±

    Another guard clears his throat. ¡®We heard about a little girl who was accompanying the princess on the way up the mountain. But she wasn¡¯t in the chapel when we took it over.¡±

    ¡°Just like the princess wasn¡¯t in the chapel,¡± the fat man muses in his high voice. ¡°Perhaps those two facts are connected.¡±

    ¡°Where¡¯s the princess?¡± I demand imperiously.

    ¡°Where¡¯s the¡­¡± he begins, then catches himself about to repeat my question and scowls. ¡°Who is this girl?¡±

    ¡°Alright, you caught me,¡± I say. ¡°I¡¯m the princess.¡±

    He hesitates. ¡°No you aren¡¯t.¡±

    ¡°How dare you! Just look at me!¡± I gesture haughtily at the jewellery I¡¯m wearing. ¡°Anyway, how would you know? You don¡¯t even know who I am. You¡¯re rubbish bandits. You¡¯ve ransacked this camp, but you haven¡¯t collected any of the valuables. I mean, look at all this,¡± I gesture again at my jewel-laden neck. ¡°It was just lying around in the mud. How¡¯d¡¯you expect to fund a rebellion without collecting plunder?¡±

    ¡°In the mud?¡± The bandit leader glares at his cronies. They shift uncomfortably.

    One of them starts an explanation. ¡°Yeah, see what it was¡­ we was gonna pick it all up, but then Harkan said we¡¯d better have something to collect it in it first, but the wood we had was already going towards building the pen so we couldn¡¯t construct any chests or a container, but like, we didn¡¯t-¡±

    ¡°Idiot.¡± The fat man snaps, then he looks at me. ¡°You seem like you¡¯ve at least half a brain. We¡¯re planning to capture and kill Prince Theodore, then I¡¯m going to marry Princess Isla and be king. How¡¯d you like to join our cause?¡±

    ¡°But, sir,¡± interjects a minion. ¡°She¡¯s a kid!¡±

    ¡°Oh hush,¡± squeaks the man. ¡°An attractive child like this in my retinue will help us win over the peasants.¡±

    I sniff. ¡°It¡¯s not a bad plan, but you haven¡¯t exactly convinced me of your competence.¡±

    He pounds a flabby fist on the table. ¡°How about this for competence! If you join us, we¡¯ll let you live.¡±

    I sigh dramatically. ¡°It¡¯s a kind offer, but I fear my loyalty is to the crown.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯ll let you live and keep what you¡¯re wearing,¡± he gestures to the jewels around my neck. ¡°As a recruitment fee.¡±

    I snort. ¡°I¡¯d like to see you take these away from me.¡±

    His expression turns icy. His voice screeches like claws on a blackboard. ¡°May I remind you, little girl, that you are entirely in my power. I will decide what is taken away from you.¡±

    I point at his protruding belly. ¡°Apparently no-one decided to take the pies away from you.¡±

    He heaves himself to his feet, incensed. ¡°Kill her!¡±

    The man who¡¯s holding me lifts his arm so I am once more dangling by my hair. Two other men draw weapons and close in on us. ¡°Oh no you don¡¯t,¡± I say. I draw a knife out of one of my dress pockets. It¡¯s nicely sharp but sadly only a six-inch blade. Couldn¡¯t fit any longer ones into my dress. The sacrifices a girl is forced to make for the sake of fashion.

    At the sight of my knife, the men hesitate for a second, then look at each other and smile nastily. ¡°That little blade won¡¯t save you,¡± one of them growls.

    ¡°Wanna bet?¡± I ask. Before they can move any closer, I swipe the knife over my head, slicing the wickedly sharp blade through my own hair. It gives easily and I drop to the floor, leaving my captor holding nothing but a handful of silky blonde locks. The tiara I was wearing falls. I grab it before it hits the ground, yelling ¡°See ya, fatso!¡± as I dash out of the tent.

    The guards outside are caught by surprise and fail to react in time to stop me rushing by. I weave through the camp towards the nearby forest. Once among the trees, I lengthen my stride and sprint for all I¡¯m worth, feeling that weird lightness and the unaccustomed breeze through my newly shorn hair.

 Episode 13 - A Proper Princess

    So once again I find myself running through the forest, escaping from something distasteful. This time I sprint for a good while until all sounds of pursuit have faded into the distance. I chose a different direction to the one where the prince and princess are hiding. When I¡¯m sure I¡¯ve lost the bandits, I¡¯ll circle around to find my way back to them.

    Then I hear the sound of hoofbeats. Damn it! There were horses in the camp. The bandits must have saddled up a few and are now coming after me. I start running again, but it¡¯s futile to think I can outrun horses. I need a place to hide. I stop again and look around, searching for a good spot.

    And that¡¯s when I hear more hoofbeats, this time ahead of me. My breath freezes in my lungs. Am I already surrounded?

    In the darkness ahead, the rhythmic drumming is accompanied by grunting and crashing, as if an enormous and very angry beast is forcing its way through the undergrowth. The sounds get louder and louder. I stand transfixed, unable to run or hide, peering into the darkness. The animal is only yards away now, it¡¯s nearly upon me, it¡¯s¡­

    It¡¯s Billy!

    I make out the three-pointed prong of his horns as he lowers his head and charges past me. A few moments later, screams of pain, horses neighing and a general commotion floats through the darkness. I wait a few moments until I¡¯ve properly caught my breath and then amble after Billy to see whether he needs any help finishing my pursuers off. Under the circumstances, with him rescuing me and all, perhaps I could forgive him his earlier crimes.

    I don¡¯t have to go far. The corpses of the bandits who were chasing me are uncomfortably close. A few more minutes and they¡¯d have had me. Now they¡¯re goat fodder. At least their clothes are. I walk around, listening for more pursuers as Billy delicately munches on his meal.

    ¡°What have you found there, Billy?¡± A voice comes through the trees. It¡¯s a very familiar throaty voice. A figure moves lithely through the undergrowth, revealing itself to be the very woman I¡¯d feared dead.

    ¡°Kayla!¡± I exclaim in delight. ¡°You¡¯re not dead!¡±

    She squints in my direction. ¡°Willa?¡± I move forward into a patch of moonlight so she can see me better. ¡°It is you,¡± she cries. ¡°Where is Princess Isla? Did you keep her safe?¡± As the light falls on me her mouth drops open. ¡°Never mind that. What have you done to your hair?¡±

    ¡°Oh, that.¡± I run a hand through my shorn locks. It¡¯s very short on top and long straggly bits hang down at the sides. Imagining how it must look, I cringe inwardly and reply, ¡°It was necessary in the moment.¡± With quick sentences I summarise what¡¯s happened since the doomed wedding. Kayla stands next to Billy, absently petting his coat while she listens. ¡°What about you and the guards in the chapel?¡± I ask her.

    She shakes her head gravely. ¡°Overwhelmed. A few of us escaped, but most were captured. I believe they¡¯re keeping everyone in the camp. At least, we¡¯ve heard screaming¡­¡±

    ¡°I know what you¡¯ve heard.¡± I wince at the memory. ¡°So what¡¯s the plan now?¡± Despite my joy at finding her alive, the situation seems dauntingly tricky.

    Her brow furrows. ¡°Hard to say. I¡¯ve sent messengers to discreetly gather reinforcements and bring them back here. I¡¯m hoping with more force, we¡¯ll be able to take back the camp and rescue the hostages. But those reinforcements will take a while to arrive and every day I fear some bandit guard will get fed up with the noise and¡­ You know.¡±

    ¡°You didn¡¯t inform the palace in Druinberg about what¡¯s happened?¡±

    She shakes her head furiously. ¡°And let panic ravage the kingdom? Absolutely not! That kind of chaos could lead to riots, coup attempts, all manner of unrest. I assumed you had the royals safe?¡±

    ¡°I do,¡± I say. At least, I did¡­ Except they might now be dead from drinking at the poisoned stream. I decide not to mention that. Billy has already finished eating the clothes and is nudging me with his velvety nose. I climb onto his warm back. ¡°I can take you to them now if you like.¡±

    Kayla catches one of the horses and follows behind as Billy takes off galloping through the forest.We swing out in a broad circle to avoid going near the camp again. The soothing rhythm of a running goat is just like old times. I¡¯m so comforted to have found Kayla and to have an ally in this whole mess, that I end up falling into a doze on Billy¡¯s back, my arms flung around his hairy neck. I jerk awake as we arrive back in the spot where I left the princess. The first faint suggestion of dawn is beginning to lighten the sky in the east. All¡¯s quiet in the peaceful spot next to the ridge, with only the merry bubbling of the potentially deadly stream breaking the silence. If it was any other goat, I¡¯d be asking myself how Billy even found this place without my guidance. Except the princess¡¯s ridiculous dress is still lying there on the ground, and I know from experience that Billy has a sixth sense for detecting unattended apparel within a 100-mile radius.Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.

    ¡°So this is the place?¡± Kayla dismounts behind me as I slide down from Billy¡¯s back. ¡°Where are the prince and princess hiding?¡±

    ¡°So here¡¯s the thing,¡± I begin. ¡°Just before I left they were¡­ I mean-¡±

    ¡°Hey!¡± Kayla shrieks, butting past me to push Billy¡¯s head away from the princess¡¯s dress. ¡°Don¡¯t let him eat that!¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s probably ruined anyway,¡± I say. ¡°Or else Isla doesn¡¯t need it anymore because she¡¯s de-¡­MARRIED!¡± I correct myself. ¡°She¡¯s already married, isn¡¯t she? So what does she need the dress for?¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t understand.¡± Kayla picks up the dress, peering at it in the dim light. She attempts to dust one of the stains off it. ¡°It¡¯s traditional for Hellavan queens to keep their wedding dresses and wear them to state functions in the months following the wedding.¡± We both look at the pitifully ragged garment she¡¯s holding. ¡°I suppose some repairs would need to be made¡­¡±

    ¡°Or a copy,¡± I suggest.

    ¡°Or a copy,¡± she agrees gloomily. ¡°I hope the bandits didn¡¯t kill the seamstress.¡±

    ¡°Yoohoo!¡± comes a voice from upstream. We both turn to see Princess Isla tottering towards us in the grey dawn light. She¡¯s wearing Theodore¡¯s shirt and her mud-spattered wedding shoes. It¡¯s a leggy look.

    ¡°Princess Isla!¡± exclaims Kayla.

    ¡°You¡¯re not dead!¡± I say at the same time, drawing a sharp look from Kayla.

    A few paces away, Isla stops and covers her mouth. ¡°Willa! What happened to your hair?¡±

    I run a hand over my head, feeling again the weird lightness of my head without the curls. ¡°It¡¯s a long story,¡± I say. ¡°Look, we¡¯ve got your dress. Um, do you want to put it back on?¡± Her legs are nice, but it¡¯s very early in the morning.

    ¡°In a minute,¡± she trills. ¡°I¡¯m just going to wash first.¡± She changes direction and heads towards the stream.

    ¡°Wait!¡± I shriek. She stops in her tracks, startled. ¡°I¡¯m not sure the water is safe,¡± I explain.

    ¡°What?¡± cries Kayla.

    In slow motion, all three of us turn our heads to look where Billy is slobbering into the stream. Having sated his thirst, he gives his coat a few licks and trots over to begin gnawing the bark off a birch tree. Sensing our gaze on him, he freezes mid-gnaw and shifts his eyes towards us as if to say: What?

    ¡°What are you talking about?¡± exclaims Isla. ¡°Theodore and I have drunk from the stream several times and we¡¯re both fine.¡±

    ¡°Oh good,¡± I say weakly as she totters towards the water.

    ¡°Why did you think the stream was unsafe?¡± demands Kayla.

    I explain about the lack of wild animals I noticed yesterday and my suspicion that the stream had something to do with it.

    ¡°Oh, that¡¯s easy!¡± Isla finishes her wash and comes to claim her dress. ¡°It wasn¡¯t the stream at all.¡± We help her into the voluminous layers and for a few moments the conversation is paused as her head is swamped in swathes of fabric. Eventually we sort through them, find the bodice and get all the pieces roughly where they¡¯re supposed to be. ¡°It was the dragon,¡± she declares. ¡°Spindral explained how animals run away from the burning smell she gives off.¡±

    ¡°Dragon?¡± Kayla¡¯s eyebrows have shot up into her hairline. She casts a suspicious glance back towards the stream.

    ¡°I think I may have met this particular dragon before,¡± I say gloomily. ¡°Did she by any chance have a wizard with her?¡±

    Isla leads us a little way upstream and then along a deer track into the forest. After a few minutes, the trees thin out and then stop altogether, a very familiar charred landscape taking their place. If it wasn¡¯t for the mountains in the background I¡¯d believe myself back in the same burned-out plain I visited on my last job.

    A few metres into the charred area is Prince Theodore, wearing a waistcoat and no shirt, sitting at a familiar table where oddly shaped implements are set out for breakfast. With a glazed look on his face, the prince is nodding along to something the cross-eyed man next to him is earnestly explaining. On the other side of the table is a shimmering hump that stirs into life as the dragon lifts a claw to emphasise a point. ¡°But my dear fellow, don¡¯t you remember we discussed this exact point, and you conceded that szerencse was a very outmoded form of-¡±

    ¡°Hi! I¡¯m back!¡± calls Isla, skipping forward. ¡°I found it,¡± she holds up the edges of her ragged skirt.

    ¡°Much better,¡± exclaims the dragon. ¡°I do so prefer a princess in white. Now, my dear, please sit and enjoy breakfast with us.¡±

    ¡°And look who else I found.¡± Isla extends a hand to indicate Kayla and me.

    Fell¡¯s eyes focus on my collarbone. ¡°Willa. Your hair looks different.¡±

    ¡°Nice to see you too,¡± I tell him.

    ¡°Is that the inappropriate little girl again?¡± asks the dragon. ¡°I¡¯m willing to have her join us as an extra diner, now we¡¯ve a legitimate princess who is properly attired.¡±

    ¡°Who are these creatures?¡± Kayla hisses at me. ¡°Is it safe to sit with them?¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t worry,¡± I tell her. ¡°They look weird, but they¡¯re mostly harmless. Anyway, someone once told me that judging by appearances is very ill-advised and not at all polite.¡± A thought strikes me. ¡°Hey, maybe we could persuade them to help us.¡±

    ¡°Who¡¯s this?¡± Fell transfers his gaze to Kayla¡¯s shoulder as she gingerly takes a seat next to Princess Isla.

    ¡°This is my head of guard, right-hand gal and all around wonder-woman,¡± announces Princess Isla, patting Kayla on the arm. ¡°Without her, we would never have ended up here. Oh! I mean-¡± She stutters as Kayla¡¯s face darkens. ¡°I meant we wouldn¡¯t have ended up at the chapel. Kayla wasn¡¯t to blame for those nasty intruders.¡±

    ¡°Head of guard is it?¡± Fell looks amused. ¡°Princess¡¯s ¡®right-hand-gal¡¯?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s correct,¡± Kayla tells him stiffly. ¡°I¡¯m in charge of organising the princess¡¯s wedding. I¡¯ve heard you may be able to help us get back on track with it.¡±

    Fell¡¯s eyes twinkle in two different directions at once. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t have thought a person like you would need any help. Seeing how you¡¯re a wonder woman and all.¡±

    Kayla looks uncomfortable. She clears her throat. ¡°Yes, well. The situation is unexpected.¡±

    He nods, smiling weirdly. I look between them. What¡¯s going on between these two? Could it be¡­ are they flirting?

    ¡°I¡¯m so happy to see you, my Shmoopie-Poopsie Snuggluffagus!¡± Isla shoves her nose into Theodore¡¯s neck.

    I turn to Spindral, my only hope of sensible conversation. ¡°How are you this fine day?¡± I ask politely.

    ¡°Very well thank you,¡± she replies. ¡°It is pleasant to see you again. And may I inquire,¡± she adds, eyes whirling with interest, ¡°what sort of revenge you inflicted on your hairdresser?¡±

 Episode 14 - Air Aid

    It isn¡¯t until we¡¯ve finished breakfast that I can get my tablemates to talk about anything sensible at all. Halfway through the meal, Billy ambles up to the table. A scrap of what might have been Prince Theodore¡¯s shirt is dangling from the corner of his mouth. For some reason, the dragon is very taken with him. ¡°Just look at him nibbling the tablecloth like that!¡± she coos. ¡°Does he like lace?¡± A pile of doilies appears next to Billy on a footstool. He falls on them with obvious relish while the dragon crows and claps her paws together. If she¡¯s able to conjure fabric like that, why doesn¡¯t she just magic up clothing for her guests instead of complaining about the way they¡¯re dressed? I wonder sourly.

    At long last, the talk turns to more serious things. Kayla explains our needs with brutal simplicity. ¡°Kill the bandits, leave the camp and the hostages intact.¡±

    Fell replies with a businesslike air, ¡°Fairly straightforward. And what would be our reward for involving ourselves in this little affair?¡±

    ¡°Little affair?¡± splutters Prince Theodore. ¡°The future of the kingdom is at stake!¡±

    ¡°Isn¡¯t he darling,¡± says Spindral, dreamily conjuring another pile of lace for a very fat-looking Billy. ¡°I do so enjoy an indignant prince. You got a good one,¡± she tells Isla.

    ¡°Oh, I know,¡± the princess gushes. Then her smile fades. ¡°But I¡¯ll be glad when I can get back to looking after my guests. I feel awful for deserting them and indulging myself in a premature honeymoon like this.¡±

    ¡°Oh yes, you must get back to your guests,¡± the dragon says. ¡°Fell, I fear we must help them, if only for the sake of propriety.¡±

    ¡°What about the sake of our treasury?¡± he responds, glaring at the dragon¡¯s nose.

    ¡°We will, of course, pay you handsomely for your trouble,¡± says Kayla gruffly.

    A smile lifts the corner of Fell¡¯s mouth. ¡°What about your trouble, Wonder Woman?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ll be in trouble if you don¡¯t shut your mouth!¡± she retorts.

    Fell shakes his head and sighs. ¡°Nevertheless, we would require some payment in advance. Fairly strenuous magic required. No help for nothing, as the saying goes.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s not even a saying,¡± I grumble. One of Fell¡¯s eyes glares at a spot above my head. It reminds me of the tiara I¡¯m wearing over my ruined hair. ¡°Hey, what about this?¡± I pull it off my head and hold it up, along with one of the necklaces. ¡°We could pay with these and then Princess Isla can reimburse the original owners, if they¡¯re still alive.¡±

    ¡°Reimburse? Pah! We could pretend the bandits stole the jewellery!¡± exclaims Prince Theodore. Isla slaps him on the arm.

    ¡°Let me see those, please.¡± Spindral inspects all the pieces I¡¯m wearing and, with the authority only a dragon can command where jewels and treasure are concerned, pronounces them valuable enough to be worth helping us. ¡°Okay then.¡± Fell rises from the table, dusting crumbs off his clothing. ¡°We¡¯ll return shortly.¡± He climbs onto Spindral¡¯s neck and the next instant, they¡¯ve both disappeared into thin air.

    ¡°I thought they¡¯d take off and fly there,¡± Prince Theodore says in the voice of a small boy who was denied a treat.

    ¡°Believe me, it¡¯s not worth it for the amount of ash that flies down your throat,¡± I tell him.

    ¡°I¡¯m so relieved they¡¯re going to fix our little problem,¡± sighs Isla. ¡°Such nice people.¡±

    Theodore huffs. ¡°I hope you weren¡¯t paying too much attention to that Fell fellow. It looked like he had his eye on you.¡±

    ¡°Which eye?¡± asks Isla, innocently.

    I slap her a high five. ¡°Must have been his other eye because the one I saw was definitely fixed on Kayla.¡± We both turn to look at the blushing Kayla.The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

    ¡°Yes, what was all that about?¡± asks Isla. ¡°He made some rather peculiar comments. I can¡¯t say I understood what he was talking about.¡±

    ¡°Um¡­¡± stutters Kayla. ¡°He may have recognised¡­ That is to say, I think I may have met him before under different circumstances and he¡­ was teasing me about it.¡±

    Isla and I probe her with further questions, but she jumps to her feet and loosens her collar. ¡°Well, are we going to sit here and let them do all the work or are we going over there to help finish the bandits off?¡± She stalks off towards the trees. I exchange glances with Isla, shrug, rise from my chair and scuttle after Kayla.

    Billy tries to come with us, but he¡¯s gorged himself on so many doilies that he only manages to waddle a few trees into the forest before he falls asleep, leaning against a bush. Meanwhile, Kayla and I find her horse and she pulls me up behind her to ride double. Soon we¡¯re galloping back towards the camp. This time I¡¯m eager to see what we¡¯ll find when we get there.

    I feel a lot lighter without all that jewellery. More importantly, it feels good to know that it went towards a worthy cause. I mean, technically it wasn¡¯t my jewellery to begin with, and the worthy cause will eventually benefit me too, but still. I think I deserve to feel just the tiniest bit smug.

    ¡°You know, Willa, you¡¯ve surprised me,¡± Kayla calls over the drumming hoofbeats as the forest scenery whizzes by. ¡°When I first hired you, it seemed like you were only interested in the money.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s a pretty fair assessment,¡± I admit.

    ¡°And you were kind of rude to everyone.¡±

    My face grows red. ¡°I¡¯m sorry about that. I was stupid,¡± I mumble. Being rude hasn¡¯t got me very far. In fact, it dawns on me that being rude has caused most, if not all, of my recent problems. Maybe this could be the moment when I make a vow never to be rude again and become a new woman¡­

    Probably not.

    But it never hurts to reflect on one¡¯s weaknesses. Mine is definitely rudeness. And impatience. And a fixation with sharp knives.

    ¡°Now here you are, donating wealth to help the kingdom,¡± continues Kayla. ¡°I would never have imagined myself trusting you with the princess¡¯s life, but up there in the chapel when all hell broke loose, it seemed obvious. I knew I could rely on you.¡±

    A smile breaks out on my face. ¡°I¡¯m glad.¡± I¡¯m quiet for a moment, then I say, ¡°The princess can be annoying, but in some ways she has a hard job. I appreciate her for being the one to do it.¡± Kayla nods to show she¡¯s heard and we ride on as the sun climbs higher in the sky.

    We¡¯re still a long way from the camp when we spot the giant mushroom cloud hanging in the air. ¡°Shit,¡± says Kayla. ¡°That looks¡­¡± She doesn¡¯t bother to finish the sentence and kicks our horse, urging it to greater speed. I hang onto her for dear life as we hurtle towards the smoky mass.

    As we approach the outermost tents three wild-eyed bandits emerge out of the impenetrable fog and run, howling, past us into the forest.

    ¡°Shit,¡± says Kayla again, pulling the horse up. ¡°We should go after¡­¡± She trails off, her face lit by flames as all three men simultaneously burst into raging bonfires.

    ¡°That¡¯s Fell¡¯s handiwork,¡± I tell her.

    She looks annoyed. ¡°The wizard? What an untidy spell. If I find out he¡¯s hurt anyone from our camp, I¡¯ll be docking his fee by three necklaces.¡±

    ¡°He used that spell on me once,¡± I say absently. Now that the crackling from the burning men has died down I can hear faint sounds emerging through the smoke lingering in the camp.

    ¡°It doesn¡¯t seem to have harmed you very much,¡± Kayla says drily. ¡°Shall we proceed on foot?¡±

    We slide down from the horse¡¯s back and, by tacit agreement, draw our weapons before creeping past the outermost tents into the grey mass of ash and smoke. Hearing noises to our left, I place a hand on Kayla¡¯s arm and jerk my head to indicate we should creep that way.

    Peering around the tent, we make out two indistinct shapes, one human, one much larger. They might have been impossible to recognise, had it not been for the very familiar voices floating through the smoke.

    ¡°Too much L¨¢ngok, my dear fellow. Entirely too much L¨¢ngok.¡±

    ¡°But you must allow, if dealing with rabble, a degree of impreciseness is¡­¡±

    ¡°Come on!¡± Kayla hisses into my ear. ¡°Forget them. Show me where the prisoners are.¡±

    I lead the way and we sneak through the camp, keeping a good distance from the shadowy figures. We¡¯re a few tents away from the prisoners¡¯ enclosure when Kayla suddenly grabs me and drags me behind a nearby wagon. ¡°What¡¯s¡­?¡± I snap my mouth shut as she furiously shakes her head and jerks it in the direction we¡¯d been going.

    A child¡¯s voice floats through the mist ¡°¡­easy as anything! Just open the box and release the buggers so they¡¯ll run towards it.¡±

    ¡°But sir¡­ It¡¯s a dragon.¡±

    ¡°Yes, you dunces,¡± exclaims the voice shrilly. I suddenly realise it¡¯s not a child at all, but rather the bandit captain who tried to recruit me. ¡°That¡¯s the point of the mice! They¡¯re the natural enemy of dragons. In the meantime, the rest of us will round up the prisoners and be ready to use them as shields.¡±

    I cast a look at Kayla and raise my eyebrows.

    ¡°I don¡¯t like the sound of that,¡± she whispers. ¡°We have to get to the prisoners first!¡± We shrink further into the shadow as two bandits go stumbling past, one of them holding a box. Then we silently flit in the direction they came from.

 Episode 15 - The Right-hand Army

    The bandit captain is easy to track. We merely follow the sound of his wheezing. Unfortunately, the thick blanket of smoke distorts the sound, so I¡¯m under the impression that we¡¯re still a few metres away when I creep around the corner of a tent and crash right into the back of him. I bounce off his buoyant buttocks, rebounding into Kayla, who ends up on the floor with me on top of her.

    The bandit captain turns and glares at us, then windmills his arms furiously in a series of incomprehensible gestures. His lackeys watch with mystified expressions on their faces. Finally, his patience cracks. ¡°Snuff them, you nitwits!¡± he squeaks, pointing towards us.

    A chorale of piercing shrieks splits the air from somewhere behind him.

    ¡°Idiots!¡± yells the bandit captain, clapping his hands over his ears. ¡°This is the reason we had to stay silent!¡±

    The bandits look recalcitrant but they nevertheless draw weapons then fan out, moving purposefully towards Kayla and me. She and I scramble to our feet. I draw out my longest knives and stand ready, locking eyes with the nearest bandit. He¡¯s wielding a cutlass and is apparently partly deaf because the wailing screams don¡¯t seem to be making any impression on him. He leaps forward, swinging his weapon at an angle designed to catch me at the neck. I duck, letting the blade swish over me. He carries on the swing in a bid to hit Kayla, but she spots it coming and it glances off her sword. I drop one of the long knives I¡¯m holding, pull out a smaller one and throw it, getting the guy right in the heart. He drops, gurgling.

    Kayla¡¯s already facing off with another attacker while two more men are heading towards me. In one smooth movement, I snatch my first blade from the floor and dive forwards as if I¡¯m planning to go between them. They both bring their weapons down to stop me, meanwhile I roll through the legs of the one on the right. Before they can react, I leap to my feet and plunge my knives into their unguarded backs.

    Out of the corner of my eye, I see movement coming my way. I¡¯m forced to relinquish both knives in the dying men and fling myself sideways to avoid the next man¡¯s attack. As I recover my footing, I get a better look at him through the drifting smoke. This is the guy who captured my hair not so many hours ago! I¡¯m going to enjoy killing him.

    He¡¯s wielding a club and, with chilling speed, retrieves it from the cratered ground where he¡¯d missed me and swings in my direction once more. I leap towards him and duck under his arm, wrenching at the knife hilt in the nearest body. It¡¯s stuck and doesn¡¯t come free. Darn! I roll to my feet without it. I¡¯ve only got a couple more throwing knives up my sleeves. I¡¯ll have to make them count.

    The club-wielding man is coming at me again, holding his weapon in readiness. I can see from the glint in his eye that he remembers me too. I flick a hand exaggeratedly, making it look as if I¡¯ve thrown one of my remaining knives. His eyes flit over to follow the imaginary blade¡¯s path and that¡¯s when I actually throw the knife hidden up my other sleeve. It gets him in the gut. Serves him right for falling for a where¡¯s-the-ball trick!

    He bellows in pain and drops his club, clutching at the wound, but stays on his feet. It¡¯s clear he¡¯s far from defeated. I could throw my one remaining knife to finish him off, but then I¡¯d have no weapons left. That¡¯s usually the moment when you find out that your assailant had friends. Angry ones.

    By this time, the shrieking from the prisoners has died down to more bearable levels and is harmonised by the bass groaning of the man I¡¯ve wounded. I shuffle sideways, keeping one eye on him, and tug again at the knife in the nearest body. It¡¯s well and truly stuck in there. What sort of weird rib arrangement does this corpse have? Glancing over, I see that Kayla is manoeuvring around a body lying on the floor next to her and seems to be holding her own against the last remaining bandit.

    At least, he¡¯s the last one if you don¡¯t count the one I¡¯ve wounded. And the bandit chief.

    Where is old fatso anyway?

    ¡°Alright, freeze!¡± The shrill voice cuts through the scene, accompanied by gasping sobs. A stray breath of wind clears the haze a little, revealing the bandit leader with his pudgy arm grasped around one of the princess¡¯s ladies. His other hand is holding a short sword to her neck. ¡°Any tricks and this fine lady becomes a leaky sack.¡±The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

    ¡°Shit,¡± says Kayla for what must be the third time. I¡¯m going to have to have a word with her about her language.

    The bandit leader glares at us all and makes a big show of pressing the sword against his prisoner¡¯s neck. She wails obligingly. Sighing, I make a big show of dropping the knife I¡¯m holding. At the same time, I surreptitiously edge towards the nearest body. It¡¯s the first guy I killed. A knife hilt protrudes from between his fingers. All I have to do is grab it and throw it so it¡¯ll get the fat man in the eye. Of course, I have to wait until there¡¯s a clear shot.

    The ground begins to shake.

    How annoying. I won¡¯t be able to throw properly while there¡¯s an earthquake going on.

    The tremors get bigger and a wind picks up. The shaking gets so bad that I can¡¯t keep my footing. I drop into a crouch, holding onto the ground for support. But since the ground is shaking, it doesn¡¯t help very much. A couple of nearby tents collapse, sending puffs of ash into the air that are swiftly borne away on the growing breeze.

    In another couple of seconds, the fog of smoke has rolled entirely away, and that¡¯s when we see the stampede. A mob of hairy, horned animals. Not horses. Not bulls,

    or buffalos,

    or wildebeests.

    Goats.

    Mouths foaming, spiky heads tossing, sturdy bodies jostling, it¡¯s a river, an avalanche of goats. They come charging through the camp, snorting and bellowing, crowding and bulldozing through everything in their path.

    I survive only by shimmying up the nearest flagpole. The bandit leader is knocked flying in the very first wave of the stampede. The woman he¡¯s holding falls to the ground and seems likely to meet her end. Except at the last second a hairy arm reaches out from the mass of heaving bodies, snags the back of her dress and swings her onto the back of the nearest buck. Screeching wildly, she flings her arms around its neck and is carried away into the mess of galloping goats.

    The hairy arm pauses to straighten a set of horns attached to what I realise is a goatskin hat, perched on the head of a man wearing a mottled furred coat and carrying a three-horned staff. Goat Man!

    ¡°Hey,¡± I yell, waving my arms from the top of the pole. ¡°Up here!¡±

    ¡°And before him shall be gathered all creatures,¡± he bellows. ¡°And he will separate them one from another¡­¡±

    ¡°What?¡± My head is spinning in tempo with the galloping rush.

    ¡°¡­as a goatherd divideth his goats from the sheep.¡±

    ¡°Hey,¡± I call again, still waving madly. ¡°Can you get the goats out of here? There are prisoners¡­¡±

    Goat Man raises his free hand. At first I think it¡¯s in answer to my wave but, to my surprise, he ignores me, stretching his fingers towards the sky then lowering them until they skim the backs of the heaving goat horde dashing past him. ¡°And he shall set the goats on his right hand, but the non-goats on the left!¡± he crows.

    ¡°Can you at least calm them down or something?!¡± I shriek.

    He looks up at me and cups a hand behind his ear to show he hasn¡¯t heard.

    ¡°CALM THE GOATS DOWN!¡± I scream.

    He beams and waves good-naturedly. ¡°Don¡¯t go worryin¡¯ about them,¡± he calls, ¡°They likes running.¡±

    With this final droplet of wisdom safely dispensed. Goat Man moves on, wading through his herd. The glimpse of him is soon lost in the pitching throng of rusty bodies.

    A few seconds later the goats are gone, leaving nothing but a cloud of dust and a trampled sea of carnage in their wake. Below me, a lone figure stands, sword in hand, surveying the wrecked camp. Kayla! By some miracle, she was left untouched.

    I slide down the flagpole and hurry over to her. ¡°Kayla, you¡¯re not dead!¡±

    ¡°No, but he is.¡± She gestures with the point of her sword to a hump of rags representing what might once have been a corpse.

    ¡°Where did all those goats come from?¡± I ask in bewilderment.

    Kayla sighs and shakes her head. ¡°I was afraid of this. It was an accident just waiting to happen.¡±

    ¡°What was?¡±

    She grimaces. ¡°All these decades, royal wedding parties have been bringing small herds of goats to Zair with them so they can follow the ¡®wedding tradition¡¯.¡±

    ¡°Yes?¡±

    ¡°The problem is, there are no records of any goats being brought back to Druinberg.¡±

    I stare at her wonderingly. ¡°They just abandon the goats here?¡±

    ¡°Yep.¡±

    ¡°So they¡¯ve basically been building a goat army without realising?¡±

    ¡°Yep. The latest lot must have come across their long-lost cousins and decided to have a stampede party.¡±

    Now that the smoke has been swept away and all the tents have been trampled, it¡¯s easy to see the prisoner enclosure. The stout fence has withstood even the recent goat hurricane. Kayla and I get to work pulling down the pickets and letting free the prisoners. Soon, the camp is full of dazed people wandering back and forth.

    We search the camp, but fail to find Fell or Spindral anywhere. What we do find is a rather scorched patch of ground containing the remains of a few ex-tents. Scattered across the dirt lie a fine selection of cheeses. In the lee of a particularly large Gorgonzola, we unearth a contented family of mice.

    So much for natural enemies.

 Final Episode - An Unexpected Ally

    It takes a while for everything to be accounted for. People rush around, reuniting themselves with loved ones, claiming prized possessions and rifling the contents of the supply wagons. It seems the bandits weren¡¯t very concerned about feeding their prisoners. The cook, having found his trampled chef¡¯s hat, gathers an army of assistants to reassemble his kitchen tents. He chases interlopers away from the stored delicacies and sets about preparing the belated wedding feast.

    A mounted escort is prepared to ride forth and bring the prince and princess back to camp in appropriate style and pomp, but in the end they aren¡¯t needed. A chorus of cries and gasps signals the royal arrival on dragon-back. Spindral circles the camp several times to give everyone a chance to point and exclaim at her passengers, before landing in the huge clearing designated for the wedding feast. The prince and princess dismount to cheers and applause, bowing and waving as if they¡¯d personally been responsible for freeing the camp from murderous bandits.

    After that, I leave everyone to their rebuilding and feast preparation activities. Finding a bed that doesn¡¯t smell too strongly of bandit sweat, I zonk out and sleep for the entire afternoon.

    I¡¯m awakened later by one of the princess¡¯s ladies, who does her best to tidy up my non-haircut and dresses me in one of my daintiest dresses. I¡¯m to be an honoured guest at the feast, she tells me.

    ¡°That¡¯s nice,¡± I yawn. I¡¯d have preferred to have been an honoured occupant of my bed for a while longer. This is why I¡¯d never want to be a princess.

    ¡°Still, it could have been worse,¡± I tell the woman. ¡°This whole thing could have been at dawn.¡±

    In the forest clearing, long tables have been hastily assembled. Ample space has been left next to the high table for Spindral to sprawl her huge body comfortably. Next to the dragon stands a familiar, oddly proportioned table where Fell is already seated, drinking dark-coloured wine out of a mysterious carved goblet.

    I squeeze myself into a space at one of the tables and, as if everyone had merely been waiting for my arrival, the atmosphere explodes into festivity. Beneath the jovial mood I can sense a mildly frantic undercurrent, as if the guests are determined to wring every extra scrap of enjoyment out of the feast as a way of blocking out the horrible ordeal they¡¯ve just survived.

    The prince and princess are toasted with gusto. Several battered nobles in muddy finery mount a pedestal to make speeches, belatedly congratulating the pair on their nuptials. Their words, obviously prepared in advance of the whole bandit fiasco, contain several digs about the wedding night, which cause the prince and princess to look at one another and giggle in a disgustingly suggestive way. I roll my eyes and try my best not to let my mind go back to that clearing, where I heard¡­ I clap my hands over my ears.

    And that¡¯s why I fail to hear when my name is called. Someone nudges me and I look up. Everyone is staring at me. Kayla stands next to the pedestal, beckoning, with a broad grin on her face. The prince and princess are smiling and nodding encouragingly. Hesitantly, I push back my chair and make my way across the clearing, feeling all eyes on me and my bruises and cropped hair.

    Kayla gives me a hand up onto the pedestal and turns to face the assembled crowd of nobles and wedding guests. ¡°And for numerous instances of bravery, above and beyond what she was hired to do, including personal guarding of the royal persons, penetrating enemy lines and mutilating her own hair in the quest to restore Prince Theodore and Princess Isla¡¯s wedding to its intended course, I hereby award Wilhelmina Lang with the Order of Hellvan, the highest honour to be conferred on fighters in the Kingdom of Hellavan.¡± Kayla hands me an ordinary wooden shield, whispering, ¡°Just take this, it¡¯s symbolic.¡±

    It¡¯s also heavy. ¡°How the bloody hell did you find out my full name?¡± I hiss at her.

    She winks, turning back to the audience. ¡°And there¡¯s one more thing that I wish to award to Wilhelmina today.¡± She pauses. The prince and princess glance at each other questioningly. Looks like they weren¡¯t in on this extra award, whatever it is. Maybe it¡¯s the bravery bonus. But something tells me this isn¡¯t about money.

    ¡°When I first met Willa, she was in a bad situation,¡± says Kayla. ¡°She was looking for a quick fix and she was willing to do whatever it took to get one. Unfortunately, in the process of seeking that fix, she lashed out. She was rude, and that rudeness had a price.¡±

    I frown as I think back to the first time I met Kayla in that bar. Was I rude to her? Or to someone else? I can¡¯t remember¡­

    ¡°But today I¡¯m going to fix all that, make it all right again and give her back what was taken. Willa,¡± she turns to smile at me. ¡°I¡¯m impressed with your progress and I¡¯m convinced you¡¯ve learned your lesson. I¡¯m going to turn you back.¡±

    I stare at her uncomprehendingly.

    ¡°Turn me back where?¡±

    She just keeps smiling at me. Then it clicks. I¡¯ve seen that smile before. On the fire-lit face of a woman with mud-brown hair, who petted a cat as she berated me for being too selfish, too churlish, too lacking in compassion, too quick to judge by appearances. Even as I watch, Kayla¡¯s familiar face shifts slightly, gaining years, taking on a more pronounced likeness to that other face. Her dark brown hair shifts to a muddier tone. My mouth drops open as I realise what¡¯s happening.

    With her transformation complete, the witch stands before me, wearing Kayla¡¯s usual ensemble of leather armour and weapons. If I¡¯d been looking for it, I might have spotted the resemblance in Kayla¡¯s features. As it is, I¡¯m totally thrown. I want to gasp in shock, laugh at the irony and, at the same time, rage at her for the deception. How can it be that this woman, the one I¡¯ve travelled for, fought beside and shared jokes with, can be the same one that cursed me into this too-small body, this miserable existence, against which I¡¯ve struggled and chafed for so long? How could I have failed to guess who she was?! The conversations we¡¯ve had, the friendship I felt growing¡­ Was it all a sham? It suddenly seems incredibly important to ask her.

    But I can¡¯t ask or rage or do any of it because something is happening in my throat. My shoulders are shooting up, pushing my head higher. My arms lengthen and stretch. My feet burst through the thin slippers I¡¯m wearing. Other parts of me do the same, while my clothes stretch and burst in response to my rapid enlargement. The gathered faces watching me all lift by a few degrees as I get taller and taller.

    Finally, I stand there in what was once my own body. My previously charming dress hangs in precarious tatters. I look around dazedly. Seventeen years worth of growth in a few seconds. That¡¯ll leave a person bewildered.

    ¡°Spindral, would you be so kind as to fix Willa¡¯s outfit?¡± asks Kayla the Witch.This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.

    The dragon sniffs. ¡°I suppose so. But only because I do not wish to be seated with such indecency.¡± She flicks a claw and I feel something happen to my clothing. I look down.

    Aaaand that¡¯s the last time I let a centuries-old dragon make wardrobe choices for me. The outfit I end up in looks like a cross between a nun and an old dowager with a fixation for petticoats. The princess¡¯s wedding dress has nothing on the number of layers I¡¯m currently wearing.

    Kayla looks like she¡¯s trying not to laugh, but offers the dragon her thanks.

    ¡°But, I don¡¯t understand,¡± says Princess Isla. ¡°Where did Willa go? And who is this lady?¡±

    ¡°This is Willa,¡± says Kayla, gently.

    ¡°No it isn¡¯t,¡± Prince Theodore shakes his head emphatically. ¡°Willa is short. And she has curly hair.¡±

    I put up my hand to feel my head. My hair is still short but it feels like it¡¯s gone back to its usual texture. Thank goodness!

    Kayla does her best to explain about the curse and how the person they see now is actually the real me. Understanding dawns on a few people¡¯s faces, but not Prince Theodore¡¯s. He keeps insisting that it can¡¯t be me. Likewise, most of the wedding guests lose interest in the story halfway through and return their attention to the food and drink. Several loud toasts are ringing out through the clearing as Kayla sticks out a hand to help me down from the pedestal. Her grip is firm and she gives my hand an extra squeeze. ¡°Enjoy yourself, Willa. You deserve it.¡± She turns to go back to her seat.

    ¡°Wait a minute, Kayla, Witchy-witch, whatever your name is. I need a word with you.¡± I grab her arm and haul her away from the feast and a short distance into the surrounding forest.

    Once we¡¯re in a suitably deserted clearing Kayla wrenches her arm out of my grasp and turns to me, folding her arms. ¡°Yes,¡± she says. ¡°My name is Kayla! Which you¡¯d already know if you¡¯d bothered to ask or shown any interest in me as a person the first time we met!¡±

    I shuffle my feet and say in a small voice. ¡°I¡¯m sorry for that. I wasn¡¯t very nice.¡±

    ¡°No, you weren¡¯t.¡±

    ¡°To be fair, I had circumstances¡­¡± I begin, then break off under her hard gaze. ¡°Ok, that¡¯s not really an excuse. I¡¯m really sorry.¡±

    She nods in acknowledgement of my apology.

    I ask, ¡°So all that time you were¡­ you? A witch pretending to be an expedition leader?¡±

    ¡°Yup.¡± She looks the tiniest bit smug. ¡°I was pleased with how the curse turned out. It was bloody hilarious watching you trying so desperately to get rid of it. But then I was so stern with you that last time you came to my cottage, I got worried you wouldn¡¯t come back. So I arranged to put myself in charge of this little operation and then invited you to join it.¡±

    ¡°So you basically engineered this whole expedition?¡±

    ¡°Not exactly. I mean, Isla was going to get married either way.¡± Her face breaks into a grin that¡¯s startlingly familiar, despite the added years on her face. ¡°But if you¡¯re asking whether I took advantage of the situation,¡± she continues, ¡°then the answer is obviously, yes!¡±

    I scowl. ¡°So much for being Miss Morality. I thought the whole point of the curse was to teach me a lesson in manners?¡±

    She hesitates, then folds her arms again and snorts. ¡°Oh let¡¯s face it. It was mostly simple revenge. You insult a witch, you get punished. That¡¯s the way the world works, baby. Well, I got a good deal of amusement out of you. And you learned your lesson, so it was a win-win as far as I see it.¡±

    ¡°Not from where I was standing,¡± I grumble. ¡°And what about us¡­? I mean, I thought we were friends?¡± I always felt like Kayla saw who I truly was, despite the curse. Turns out there¡¯s an excellent reason for that.

    She shrugs. ¡°Put it this way. If I can forgive you for repeatedly insulting me and you can forgive me for cursing you with a child¡¯s body in order to teach you a valuable lesson, then as far as I¡¯m concerned, we¡¯re friends.¡±

    ¡°Speaking of the curse, I mean, not that I¡¯m complaining or anything but I thought I¡¯d have to, you know, grovel a bit more before you¡­¡±

    ¡°I admit, that was my original plan, but then¡­¡± She shakes her head. ¡°You went and impressed me. You were unselfish, you did your best to support Isla and Theodore¡¯s marriage. You lectured me about not judging people based on their appearance. You even cut off your own hair and made yourself ugly for their cause.¡±

    ¡°Hey! I wasn¡¯t that ugly,¡± I poke her in the arm. ¡°And what about the part where I was generous with my stolen jewellery. Don¡¯t forget that.¡±

    ¡°Ladies, a moment of your time.¡± Fell steps into being next to us. Kayla jumps, startled. I roll my eyes.

    He clears his throat. A slight blush stains his cheeks as he addresses himself to a spot just wide of Kayla¡¯s eyebrow. ¡°Spindral and I must be on our way. Besieged kingdom. Duty calls.¡±

    Something clicks in my brain. ¡°You knew the whole time!¡± I exclaim. ¡°You could see Kayla was a witch and that¡¯s why you were acting so weirdly.¡±

    A faint hint of a smile graces the corner of his lips. ¡°Correct. Standard illusion spell. Fairly obvious.¡±

    ¡°And where¡¯re you going now?¡± I demand.

    ¡°Kingdom of Buhne. Offering a reward for the slaying of a Vernal Beast. Fairly handsome.¡±

    ¡°A handsome beast?¡± Kayla asks with interest.

    He glares. ¡°No, the reward. Fairly handsome.¡±

    ¡°Oh.¡±

    There¡¯s a pause.

    ¡°Well, have fun slaying your venereal beast,¡± I say.

    He scowls at me, then snaps out of existence.

    ¡°What a strange man,¡± remarks Kayla.

    ¡°Fairly standard for him,¡± I tell her.

    She looks sideways at me. ¡°So, this is a crazy idea but¡­ do you want to follow them? Sounds like that reward might be worth chasing.¡±

    My face cracks into the beginnings of a grin. I always knew I felt an affinity for this woman. ¡°I¡¯m up for some excitement, but¡­¡± I hesitate. ¡°I¡¯d kind of like to stick around here until I get my pay. I earned two bravery bonuses, you know.¡±

    A strange look comes over Kayla¡¯s face. ¡°Willa,¡± she hesitates. ¡°There¡¯s something I have to tell you about those bonuses. In fact, about your pay in general.¡±

    I have a bad feeling about this. ¡°What? Don¡¯t say I didn¡¯t get the second bonus? I kept those overgrown babies alive in the forest for a whole day!¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s not the problem.¡± She sighs. ¡°Remember when I recruited you, I told you we needed fighters because of a flu epidemic?¡±

    ¡°Well?¡±

    She looks uncomfortable. ¡°Well¡­ the thing is, there wasn¡¯t actually an epidemic. Lots of guards quit because they hadn¡¯t been paid in months. The truth is, the royal family is broke.¡±

    I stare at her, open-mouthed. ¡°But you,¡± I splutter. ¡°You recruited me and all those men. And all the time, you knew you wouldn¡¯t be able to pay us?!¡±

    ¡°I didn¡¯t have much of a choice.¡± She shrugs. ¡°And I kind of assumed most of them would get killed along the way, so the problem would solve itself. Royal wedding parties have a habit of being attacked.¡±

    ¡°So you¡­ And I¡­ All that time I was¡­ AAARRRGGGHH!¡± I end the frustrated scream with a string of my most imaginative swear words.

    ¡°So, how about it?¡± says Kayla once I¡¯ve run out of steam. ¡°The Kingdom of Buhne? Fairly handsome reward?¡±

    ¡°Absolutely,¡± I say furiously. ¡°I¡¯m not sticking around here another minute!¡±

    ¡°We can take some horses and supplies,¡± she says. ¡°It¡¯ll be like collecting payment in kind.¡±

    I have no argument with that. ¡°But what about Fell and Spindral?¡± I say doubtfully. ¡°They¡¯ve already got a head start. Will it be worth it if they beat us to the reward?¡±

    ¡°Are you joking?¡± she scoffs. ¡°They¡¯ll arrive in an instant, then decorate a burned patch of forest with ridiculous furniture and loll around for days, arguing over the best spell to use. Meanwhile, you and I can ride in, slay the beast, collect the ¡®fairly handsome¡¯ reward and be gone before they¡¯ve finished their breakfast.¡±

    I grin in delight. ¡°Let¡¯s do it!¡±

    We sneak past the forest clearing where the noise indicates the feast is still going strong and make our way to the equipment stores. Kayla picks us out a couple of horses while I raid Prince Theodore¡¯s armoury. He has a few decent knives, but I¡¯ll still have to stop at a proper market when I get the chance. I also take the opportunity to change out of my nun outfit and pull on some leather armour. Now I feel properly dressed. It feels bloody brilliant to be back!

    The sun is setting as we lead our new horses silently out of the camp. Once we¡¯re far enough away, we mount and begin to ride in earnest, chasing the faint trail of dragon smoke leading west. Kayla grins back at me as she kicks her horse into a gallop. The further we get from the mess and hubbub of the feasting camp, the better I feel. What an adventure! I got my body back, saved the day a few times and found an unexpected ally into the bargain.

    Now I just have to convince Kayla around to my way of thinking where lie-ins are concerned.

    Running parallel through the trees alongside us, I can just make out a three-horned shadow.

    I have a feeling my next few jobs are going to be very interesting.

    The End.