THE FROG AND THE GROG
by
Christopher Stasheff
Copyright 2011
Ned stared at the note, amazed. He'd known Monahere had to live somewhere before coming to the royal castle to tutor him, but he had expected a palace. Surely a mighty wizard deserved something at least that grand!
Then he remembered something, a comment caught in passing, and tears filled his eyes, for he could almost hear the wizard's voice saying, Why have more than you need?
Right behind Cadavan, Aelwyn said, "You don't suppose the frog has been trying to find this cottage the whole time, do you?"
"It would seem so," Musa said.
"I think your friend is no ordinary frog, Aelwyn," the reeve said, "and I don't mean his size alone."
"He's a very dejected frog, at the moment," Aelwyn said.
Cadavan sat belly to stone on the doorstep. A frog can't really hang its head, but this one's seemed to wilt. He should have realized, of course. Monahere was the boy king's cousin—three times his age, but a cousin nonetheless. Who else would the regent have asked to be his tutor?
Galben slapped Aelwyn on the shoulder. "Well, you said you'd go to Villeroi and tell the king what you thought of him face to face, didn't you?"
Aelwyn looked up at him in alarm. "Did I?"
"You did," Musa said, "though I suspect you were exaggerating. Caught up with enthusiasm, no doubt."
"Well," Aelwyn said slowly, "I suppose the part about going to Villeroi could work."
"And leave speaking to the king himself for someone else?" Galben nodded. "After all. you don't dare speak your mind there."
"Oh, there are ways." Aelwyn managed a feeble grin. "Make it funny enough, and even the man you're scolding won't realize it—until later, when he thinks it over."
"And you can be gone from the town by then," Musa said quickly.
"Yes," Aelwyn said with some relief. "That might be wise."
Alarm swept through Ned. He didn't dare be seen in Villeroi! Though the thought of seeing Monahere again was very tempting... besides, who would recognize him in a stained, torn peasant's tunic? If he had to, he could simply rub dirt over his face and muss up his hair—though it was probably mussed enough already; he hadn't seen a comb in days...
Aelwyn knelt next to Cadavan. "Seems we're off to the king's town, friend frog. Care to come along?"
Slowly, Cadavan's eyes cleared. He lifted himself off the stone.
"I don't know why you want to see this Monahere wizard," Aelwyn said, "but we seem to be bound on the same journey. Care to come with us?"
Cadavan stood with eyes alight, every inch quivering with eagerness. "Let'sgo let'sgo!"
"Well enough, then." Aelwyn managed a smile. "Into the pack with you, for we're going to have to travel a bit more quickly than a frog can hop, even a frog your size."
"But what are we to do with JoJo in the king's town?" Musa stared at the wolf-boy in dismay.
"I suppose you'll have to teach him to walk like a human being, won't you?" Aelwyn said.
Musa's head lifted, her eyes lighting with delight at the challenge.
"Better teach him to talk, while you're at it." Galben favored the boy with a jaundiced glance. "And to walk. But before that..."
"I know, I must teach him to wear clothes." Musa sighed happily. "It's so nice having someone who needs to learn!"
The keg was there, of course, when they camped for the night in a clearing beside a brook. Aelwyn took his mug from his pack, filled it full, and drained it at three swallows.
"Whoa, lad!" Galben warned. "You don't know what's in there!"
"Wine, generally," Aelwyn told him, "though it changes from time to time. Even small beer, one night."
Galben frowned. "What do you mean? You've been to this clearing before?"
"No, but I have seen this keg—every night, when we pitch camp. If it isn't there when we arrive, it shows up soon after."
"What?" Galben stared in alarm. "You mean it appears out of thin air?"
"No, we turn around and there it is." Aelwyn took the shallow bowl from his pack and filled it, then set it on the ground. "Cadavan likes it, too."
The frog hopped over and lapped up a swallow.
"Well... if you can drink it, I don't suppose it will hurt me." Galben fished in his pack for his own mug.
"Time to think about dinner." Aelwyn looked about, picked up two rocks, and laid them in a clear space. "We can make the fire ring here. Where are those quail you shot at sunset, Galben?"
"Right here." The reeve took the birds out of his pack. "Might want to take the feathers off, though."
With the fire laid and the birds propped over it on green sticks, the companions settled back to wait. JoJo cowered away from the blaze, but Aelwyn took out his lute, and the music reassured the boy—or perhaps it was the smell of roasting fowl.
A quavering moan filled the glade.
"What was that?" Aelwyn looked up in alarm.
Galben swung about, hand going to his sword.
Ned gave a quick look about the glade.
Mist was rising from the brook and swirling into a knot, then stretching into a sort of tube with a ragged bottom. At its top, mist evaporated, leaving three dark spots.
"It's a ghost!" Galben exclaimed.
Cadavan stared, eyes even wider than usual.
Ned fought the urge to hide behind a tree.
"Talk to it, Musa." Aelwyn's voice trembled. "You genii are ghosts too, aren't you?"
Musa shook her head. "We are spirits of another sort." She seemed more puzzled than frightened.
The ghost moaned and drifted toward the keg.
"Away!" Aelwyn shouted, and snatched the blade from Galben's hand. He charged the ghost.
"No, Aelwyn!" Galben cried. "Let it have the leaking keg!"
"But it's ours, and the ghost didn't ask!"
"That sword can't do any good against a spirit!"
"Can't it? It's Cold Iron, after all." Aelwyn jabbed at the ghost—but he slipped in a pool of wine and fell; the hilt jarred against the dirt just as the tip of the sword probed the ghosts' tattered fringe. A flash lit the clearing, and the ghost shrieked as it disappeared.
The clearing was silent, the companions staring at one another in shock. Ned discovered that somehow, he was behind a huge old oak tree—and against its roots, JoJo cowered and whimpered.
The sound brought Musa out of her daze. She went over to the boy and began to stroke his head. "There now, nothing's going to hurt you. The ghost will not come back, surely!"
"I wouldn't be too sure of that," Galben said. "It seemed to want that keg rather badly." He shook his head. "Who would have thought a sword could chase away a ghost?"
Aelwyn frowned in thought. "Would it have banished the spirit if I hadn't been touching earth with the hilt as I did? After all, it was made of mist, and earth and water are two of the elements."
"Three," said Musa. "Mist is air and water, after all."
"All four, then." Aelwyn nodded. "With earth, air, and water there, perhaps the three called to the fourth—fire."
"Which scared the ghost away." Aelwyn nodded.
"I wouldn't be too sure about that," said Galben the professional pessimist. "It seemed mightily interested in that keg."
"Why then, let's be generous." Aelwyn picked up Cadavan's bowl. "You don't mind, do you, old fellow?"
"Drink 'em up," Cadavan croaked. "Drink 'em up."
Aelwyn glanced a question at Ned.
"He says it's all right," the boy interpreted.
"Thanks." Aelwyn filled the bowl and set it beside the keg. "Good things are meant to be shared, after all."
"Shared, yes," Galben said, "but the ghost will want the whole keg."
"What makes you say that?"
"Years of dealing with drunks."
Aelwyn stared. "A drunken ghost?" Then he shrugged. "All the more reason why a flash of fire would banish it, I suppose."
Galben nodded. "Dried it out."
"An interesting notion," Musa said, pleased.
So was Cadavan. He filed the idea away for further examination.
"Interesting indeed," Aelwyn said, "but so is dinner. Are those quail done yet?"
Musa had to show Jojo how to pull the bird apart and hold it with his hands as he ate. They were almost done with dinner when a quavering moan filled the clearing again.
"Is that blasted ghost back?" Galben stood up, hand going to his sword.
Sure enough, the misty form appeared next to the keg. Two strands separated themselves from its body and wrapped around the staves.
"I don't think you can do that," Aelwyn warned.
He guessed rightly; the spectral arms went right through the keg, oak, wine, and all. The ghost moaned piteously.
Musa sighed and went to the phantom. "It's no good for you, you know."
The ghost's moan soared up the scale into a question.
"No, it's not." Musa sounded as though she were trying to be patient. "You're made of mist, which means water, and if you mixed that with wine, what kind of a ghost would you be?"
The ghost quivered and gave a moan of ecstasy.
"No, you wouldn't be a happy one! Wine is too heavy—its droplets stick together. It would sink right through your mist and spread all over the ground."
The ghost's moan was defensive.
"What do you mean, it wouldn't be the first time you'd been falling-down drunk?" Musa set her hands on her hips and eyed the ghost narrowly. "What did you die of, anyway?"
"I think we can guess," Aelwyn said. "He was pickled in brandy and beer. If he could have his dream, he'd be made of wine."
"It wouldn't work, you know," Musa told the ghost. "You'd fall apart."
The ghost shivered in time to the quaver in its moan.
"'What a way to go?'" Musa threw up her hands. "I give up. Go ahead, drink yourself silly. The kindly minstrel has left a bowlful for you." She pointed.
The ghost looked down, gave a moan of delight, and plunged its head into the bowl.
Galben nodded, lips thin. "I knew it. I've seen them before, ready to throw themselves into the drink. It's ruined many a good man, but I didn't know it ruined their ghosts, too."
The ghost straightened up, a lovely shade of pink. Wine seemed to concentrate in the area between its eyes and mouth, where a circle of red formed. It moaned with delight.
"You could say 'thank you,'" Musa said.
The moan turned demanding.
"No, you can't have any more!" Musa snapped. "One bowlful is enough for you. Besides, the night isn't dark enough yet—we can barely see you as it is."
The moan turned threatening. The ghost drifted toward them, stretching out, its head two feet above theirs, bending toward them, its moan echoing all about.
Galben held up the sword. "Think twice before you threaten, lad-that-was."
The ghost shrank away, its moan turning piteous. It turned from side to side, groaning and questioning, receding until it stood by the keg. Then, suddenly, it dived into the oaken staves.
Aelwyn and Galben shouted, coming to their feet, but Musa only shook her head. "I shudder to think what it deserves."
"How about what we deserve?" Aelwyn cried. "We can't drink that now!"
"Why not?" Musa asked. "It's spirits, isn't it?"
"It certainly is now." Galben frowned, rubbing his chin. "There isn't any substance to him, after all."
Aelwyn stared at the reeve as though he were crazed. "If you want to have a sip of ghost, go ahead! Pardon me if I wait to see what happens to you when you do."
"Can't hurt to try." Galben went over to the keg, held his tankard under the spout, and poured a few ounces. He turned off the spigot with one hand while he raised the tankard to his lips.
"How is it?" Aelwyn asked.
"No different than it was," Galben said with distaste. "I'd expected a bit more body."
"Why? It's a ghost, not a corpse." Aelwyn came over with his own tankard.
A ratcheting snore came from the barrel.
Aelwyn looked down politely. "What say?"
"I don't think he can say much of anything any more." Musa came over and turned the spigot. A long, viscous red blob stretched out of it, like gelatin warmed too much by the sun, and splattered on the ground. It emitted a shuddering snore, then lay in a quivering mound that slowly oozed out wider and wider.
"I think your wine is ghost-free now," Musa said.
JoJo came over and sniffed at the puddled ghost, then gave it a tentative lick.
"Stop that!" Musa ordered. "You're too young!"
The wolf-boy shied away, then gave a hiccup.
"Oh, no!" Musa said. "What happened to the virtue of wild things?"
JoJo lay down on his side, curled into a ball that emitted a high-pitched snore of its own, and closed his eyes.
"Corrupted by civilization," Musa said with a sigh.
Two more snores came from her other side.
"All of them," she said with disgust.
Wide-eyed, Ned came out from behind his tree. "What's happened to them, Musa? They haven't really had all that much wine."
"No, but it was fortified," Musa explained. "No way to tell how much wine that ghost has concentrated inside itself over the years. Oh, there will be a jolly morning tomorrow, I'm sure!"
Ned looked at his sleeping companions, at a loss. "What can we do for them?"
"Take the blankets from their packs," Musa said, "and tuck them in. Don't worry about Jojo—I'm sure he's used to sleeping on the ground."
"All right, then." Ned was just as glad to not have to touch the wolf-boy. He took Aelwyn's blanket from his pack and tucked it around him, then did the same for Galben, and finally for himself.
Since there was nothing for it and no more to be done that night, Musa found herself a nice thick tree limb, lay down on it, and melted into the bark to take a nap of her own.
Left to himself, Cadavan hopped over to the puddle of ghost, shot out a yard-long tongue for a lick, shrugged, and hopped down to the water for a swim.
* * *
Flanked by guards, the seneschal led the herald into the throne room. He stopped at the door, and the weary man came forward to bow. He had taken the time to brush off the worst of the dust, but he was still clearly newly arrived.
Viburnum looked him up and down, weighing him, then decided nothing would be lost by warmth. He smiled, and the man almost went limp with relief, even though Earl Shakle stood scowling behind the throne. "What's your news?" the king asked.
"I bear word from Baron Shoril, Your Majesty." The man paused, hesitant to go on. Viburnum gave him a nod, and the herald took a deep breath. "He regrets not being able to come to your banner with the hundred soldiers you have requested..."
"Commanded," Viburnum corrected, but kept the smile.
"Commanded," the herald amended. "The harvest is almost upon us, Majesty, and he cannot spare a single pair of hands. Even he himself must be in the fields with a scythe."
Viburnum's face turned dark with rage. He stood, strode down the steps from the throne's dais, and clouted the herald hard on the side of the head. The man bit back a groan as he fell.
Everyone stared, appalled, even Earl Shakle.
"He brought me bad news," Viburnum explained to the guards and courtiers. "He deserved it." He looked about him from dark face to dark face, then raised his voice to demand, "Didn't he?"
"Oh, yes, Your Majesty," said one courtier; and "Quite right, Your Majesty," and "Indeed he did, Your Majesty."
Earl Shakle, though, said, "He only brought the news, Your Majesty. It wasn't he who disobeyed you."
Viburnum fixed his right-hand-man with a cold stare. "I want good news, Shakle. Understand? If it isn't good, find some way to make it good before you bring it to me."
The two men locked gazes for a long few minutes. Then Shakle nodded, though he looked as though he'd tasted something foul.
"Haul him away," Viburnum said to the guards, and, as they hauled the herald out, "Everybody else go, too—except Lord Shakle."
The guards left quickly, closing the massive doors behind them.
"Don't ever disagree with me again," Viburnum said with a glare. "Not in front of the whole court."
"No, Your Majesty," Shakle grated.
Viburnum stared at him a moment, then said, "Good." He turned away. "What do you think about Shoril?"
"He's a coward and a slackard." Shakle came around the throne to meet Viburnum's gaze. "Can this be the same man who wrote to us in rage saying that he would send a thousand lances if we declared war on Azure?"
"He got over his anger," said Viburnum, "and he's had time enough to get scared of what he might lose in battle."
"Arrest him." Shakle frowned. "Chop off his head as a lesson to the others."
"No," Viburnum said, "we need him in the front lines. We have to get him good and mad again. Scare him so bad he's more afraid of Azure than he is of losing money by sending soldiers. Think of a way."
"Easily done." Shakle gave him a wintry smile. "A bandit gang will cross the border from Azure and raid Shoril's lands."
"Funny how you know that." Viburnum smiled. "Sounds like it could work. You turned fortune-teller, Shakle?"
"I foresee great good fortune for Your Majesty." And to myself, Shakle added silently.
* * *
The road led west, and as the sun neared the horizon, Aelwyn turned off onto a narrow, overgrown path into the woods. "Time to seek the river bank again."
"Why?" Galben asked. "We've water enough in our canteens."
"Even if we didn't," said Musa, "that enchanted keg would surely appear and give us enough to drink."
"And without the ghost in it," Galben said, "it might not put us to sleep right away."
"That's so," said Aelwyn, "but if there's a stream nearby, why not? We might catch a few fish.
"Besides," said Ned, "it's the best place for a frog to spend the night."
A grateful croak came from Aelwyn's knapsack.
"There is that," Galben admitted.
"Not simply 'besides,'" Musa said. "That's your primary concern, isn't it?"
"We may not have begun this trip because of the frog," Aelwyn said, "but we're going on to the king's town for his sake—and since he's part of our company, he might as well be comfortable."
Musa gave him a penetrating glance. "You have become rather attached to the poor thing, haven't you?"
"He's a friend," Aelwyn said. "Odd though it may seem, he's a friend."
"Besides," Galben said, "where he goes, the keg follows."
The trees opened out into a clearing by the river—but there was already a campfire burning and seven bedraggled young women around it.
Aelwyn halted, staring, but Musa said, "Already taken. Let's find another clearing, minstrel."
"A minstrel?" One of the young women looked up. "Will you sing for us, then?"
"G - gladly." Aelwyn couldn't help staring. Her gown was torn and tattered, her face was smudged, her golden hair disheveled and straggling loose from her coronet, but she was nonetheless a beauty.
The other women looked up, interested, though weariness marked all their faces.
"Galben, wake him from his trance," Musa said. "Galben? ...Galben!"
The reeve stood staring, every bit as transfixed as Aelwyn. Musa looked down at JoJo, thinking to tell him to scare the young women away, but he too sat on his haunches wide-eyed, tongue lolling out.
"I'd hoped you were too young for that sort of thing," Musa said with a sigh. "Well, I suppose we're here for the night." She stepped forward. "Good evening, young ladies. I fear you shall have to share this clearing for the evening. I am Musa, a genius, and these are my companions—Aelwyn the minstrel; Galben, a reeve..."
"Reeve?" The eldest looked up. "You are sworn to protect the king and all his family, are you not?"
"Uh..." Galben blinked his way back to use of his brain. "I am, of course..."
"Then protect us!" cried a young woman, perhaps eighteen. "We're all princesses!"
"Seven princesses?" Aelwyn goggled. "But the king has only one sister!"
"We are his cousins and his aunts!" the oldest said—though she was still so young it was hard to tell, perhaps twenty. "I am Lydia, and the king's father was my mother's eldest brother."
Ned marveled. He'd been told he had cousins but had never seen them, though there had occasionally been musical voices raised from the eastern wing of the castle. Could these pretty creatures really be his kin?
"A cousin, then?"
"She does look rather young to be an aunt," Aelwyn said, "but I wish my father's sister had looked like that."
"I am Nadia," said the youngest. "I may be only sixteen, but I am King Edmund's sister nonetheless. Will you guard me?"
"Of course, if you require it, I shall travel with you and do all I can to protect you," Galben said, "but you do understand that Viburnum is king now."
Shrieks of rage and cries of disgust answered him.
"That usurper!"
"That traitor!"
"That thief!"
"He is not the rightful king!" Princess Nadia clenched her fists and stamped her foot. "He is the worst kind of traitor to the crown!"
"It is because he seized the throne that we fled," said Lydia. "Isn't it, Loretta?"
"It certainly is!" said the eighteen-year-old. "We all lived with Baron and Lady Westerman, but we knew they would be in danger if Duke Viburnum found out we were there, so we slipped away in the night."
"If it were not for him," said a third princess, "we should still be soundly ensconced within the palace, sleeping on silken sheets instead of wandering through the woodland and sleeping on bracken!"
"I shall defend you as well as I may," Galben protested, "but rightful or not, Viburnum is now king, and therefore the best chance of keeping peace in this land."
"Peace?" cried Princess Lydia. "Usurpers always breed rebellion, you know that!"
"You've a minstrel with you—haven't you listened to the others of his trade?" another asked. "Viburnum is calling for war on Azure!"
"Can that be peace?" asked a third.
But Princess Nadia was staring at JoJo. "Why is that boy sitting on his haunches?"
Princess Lydia looked at JoJo and frowned. “Why is he only wearing a loincloth?”
“Because I was able to talk him into it,” Musa said. “More than that will take time, though he learns quickly.”
“He is a little old to only now be learning how to dress himself, isn’t he?”
"He is JoJo, a boy reared by wolves," said Musa. "Don't try to talk to him—he has only learned a few words yet. That keg beside him always appears every evening wherever this frog is— Cadavan, also of our company—we think it's enchanted..."
"An enchanted frog?" Lydia goggled.
"Enchanted?" cried Nadia. "Then if I kiss him, he will turn into a prince and take me back to his castle to live in luxury!"
"Not if I catch him first," cried the eighteen-year-old.
"Respect your elders, Loretta," Lydia snapped. "Me first!"
All seven princesses screamed and descended on the hapless frog.
Cadavan croaked in panic and hopped for his life.
"No, no!" cried Musa. "It is the keg that is enchanted, not the frog!"
She was too late. The princesses were gone, running after the frog, leaving Aelwyn, Galben, and JoJo to shake themselves out of their daze and look about.
TO BE CONTINUED…
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