THE FROG AND THE GROG
by
Christopher Stasheff
Copyright 2011
Galben and Aelwyn exchanged a glance; Galben shrugged. Aelwyn grinned and turned back to the king, doffing his cap and bowing. "As you wish, King Usurper."
The silence was dreadful. Earl Shakle reddened as though he would explode.
The king, however, only sat regarding Aelwyn, bemused. Then he laughed.
After a second, the courtiers began to laugh, and the whole room rocked with mirth. But Viburnum's eye gleamed, and when the laughter quieted, he said, "What did you fellows come here for?"
"I am reeve of a shire, sworn to defend the crown," said Galben. "I came to escort the princess to safety."
Viburnum's mouth twitched. "Well, you've seen her safely to her little brother, where I'm sure she's badly needed. And you, minstrel?"
"I made a wager with the reeve," Aelwyn said.
"Oh, really!" Viburnum lounged back in his chair. "What was the bet?"
"That I would dare to come to your castle and tell you to your face what I thought of you."
The room fell totally silent again. Viburnum's face turned to wood. "Go ahead."
Aelwyn set down the keg, unslung his lute, and tuned the strings.
"I said for you to go ahead." Viburnum frowned. "Talk!"
"Would Your Majesty mind if I sang instead?"
Viburnum stared. Then he roared with laughter, leaning back in his high chair and shaking his head. "Sure, go ahead and sing, minstrel! Better think twice about the dance that goes with the tune, though."
"He who would dance must pay the piper—or, in this case, the lutist."
"If I don't like the song," Viburnum said, "you won't like the pay."
Aelwyn struck the strings; the lute issued a rollicking tune.
"The Folk of Azure are good and kind,
there's no way they'd have in mind
Harm to Ustared or its folk.
He who says else must surely joke."
"I'm not laughing," Viburnum said.
"Slander has a strange and treach'rous way,
Of turning on those who do it say.
Truth can burn but never turn
On the ones who speak it straight away."
"Better not slander me, then, minstrel."
Aelwyn tried to remember everything Musa had taught him.
"Let Truth be known, then, let Truth flower—
Let this be Truth-telling's finest hour!
The king who speaks for all his land—
Let him here before us stand
And tell the truth to see it flower!"
Aelwyn struck a chord and bowed.
The great hall was dreadfully silent. Earl Shakle was swollen with rage.
Then Viburnum howled with laughter, shaking his head. "Neatly done, minstrel, neatly done! You came to tell me what you thought of me, and ended by challenging me to tell what I thought of you!"
A tentative laugh rose from the courtiers. Viburnum laughed again, and the laughter crew. In seconds, the whole hall was filled with mirth.
Aelwyn leaned close to Galben and said, "I win!"
"Not yet," Galben said. "You didn't tell him half of what you told me."
"The evening isn't over yet."
"You wouldn't dare tell him anything more!"
"Why not? This is a man who knows how to laugh off charges against him. He doesn't dare take me seriously—that would mean I might be right!"
The laughter quieted. Viburnum nodded. "Very good, minstrel, very good! No pay yet, but the night is young. Step over there against the wall and give us another song—anything that's right for a celebration." Then for the first time, the king frowned at the minstrel's feet. "What's in that keg?"
"I'm not sure, Your Majesty," Aelwyn said. "It's different every night."
"Usually wine, though," Galben said quickly.
"What is it—enchanted or something?"
"I think so, sire. At least, it's never empty."
"A never-empty keg? Just what we need for a party! How about you share it with us?"
Aelwyn bowed, his arm sweeping toward the keg. "Welcome, and may all enjoy!"
"Varlets, take that keg to a table and start filling tankards!" the king directed.
Servers scrambled to obey, taking the king to the steward. He decanted a cupful with a look of disdain and sniffed it. His look changed from disdain to doubt; he took a sip and rolled it around his tongue before he swallowed it. Surprised, he declared, "It is quite good, Your Majesty!"
"Then share it out among us all!" the king cried.
Galben said in an undertone, "Generous man."
"Especially when it isn't his," Aelwyn agreed.
"Minstrel!" the king cried, "play for us! And make it songs of mirth!" This time, there was an undertone of threat.
"Time to cut your losses," Galben muttered.
"For the time being," Aelwyn agreed.
"You don't mean to start your satire again!"
"I'll think about it when they're all in good spirits." Aelwyn checked the tuning of his strings again, then began to play a lilting merry tune.
"Summer is a-coming in!
Loud sing, cuckoo!"
The courtiers began to dance.
* * * * *
The guard led Nadia down a broad curving stair that narrowed amazingly once it had curved out of sight of the great hall. The guard behind Nadia said, "Maybe we could have a bit of fun with her on the way."
"Are you out of your mind?" The guard in front turned back, horrified. "She's royal!"
"Yeah, and different from us, right? Softer, smoother. Wouldn't you like to find out for sure?"
"I don't know what you're talking about." Nadia's voice shook. "But whatever it is, don't even think it!"
"The king would kill us," the first guard agreed.
"Why? She's in his way. Likely he's thinking to kill her himself—just taking his time working up the nerve. He wouldn't mind if we gave her a good thorough beating first."
"He certainly would!" Musa snapped.
Both guards whirled, staring in amazement at the bald-headed woman who had suddenly appeared beside them. "Where did you come from?"
"I was here all along," Musa said. "You simply did not notice me—not unusual, for men who see a woman only as something convenient."
"Convenient she is." The rear guard rallied with a leer. "You don't think you're going to stop us, do you? Only makes one for each of us."
The first guard didn't look all that sure. Musa turned to him. "She's a child—only sixteen."
"Women marry younger than that," the second guard said.
"A guard threatened her grandmother, when Princess Sophia was much her age," Musa said. "He was drawn and quartered."
The first guard shuddered. The second said, "I've never heard that."
"It happened," Musa assured him. "Ask your grandfather—or read the chronicles."
"My grandfather's dead these dozen years, and I can't read!"
"Then take my word for it," Musa said. "Do you dare ignore me?"
"No, we don't!" the first guard snapped. "But since you're so fond of this princess, you can keep her company." He leveled his spear at her heart. "Down with you!"
Musa gave a sniff of disdain and took Nadia's hand as she followed the guard down the rest of the steps. "Don't worry, child. You're not alone."
At the bottom, the steps opened onto a narrow stone hallway lined with bars on both sides. The guard nudged a heap of rags with his foot. "Open the door, Gori! More guests!"
The rags stirred and seemed to swell as the jailer rose from his stool. "Where to?"
"In with her brother the king! Look lively, now!"
Gori seemed not at all impressed. He limped down the hallway and turned the key in a huge lock, then swung open a section of iron bars. Musa led the way through, head high. When Nadia had stepped through, Gori slammed the door behind her with a cackle.
"Guard them well, now," the sentry admonished, and led the way back upstairs.
Gori sniffed and limped back to settle on his stool again. He leaned his head against the wall and began to snore.
Musa turned, arms wide. "There, now, child. This can't last, you know."
Nadia leaned into Musa's embrace and let the tears flow. The cell was quiet except for her sobs. As they slackened, though, a voice behind Musa asked, "Who are you?"
* * * * *
Cadavan plunged into the moat and swam for all he was worth. Behind him, he heard a huge splash as Jojo leaped in after him. Terrified, Cadavan sped across the water. He had seen the boy turn into a wolf, and didn't know which would win out inside him: blood-lust, or loyalty to Nadia.
Then a black coil rose from the water. Cadavan stopped and treaded water, fear of the unknown ahead balancing fear of the wolf behind—and that stillness was his undoing. A wedge of a head lifted and the coil wrapped around him. Cadavan struggled for breath, but the coil tightened. He struggled to work his way free, but felt another coil joining the first.
The snake was big, far bigger than a water-snake has any right to be. It threw a third loop around Cadavan. All three tightened, and the frog felt the breath being squeezed out of him. His struggles grew more and more frantic even as he moved less and less, and the wedge-shaped head opened to show a pink mouth that widened and widened as it came closer and closer. Impossible though it seemed, this snake could swallow a two-foot frog!... or at least was going to give it a brave try. Cadavan's great hind legs, still free, churned the water to froth, but the coils held him still as the pink mouth yawned even wider and came down on his head.
Growling filled the world, and the pinkness jerked away. The snake thrashed now for its own life. Unbelieving, Cadavan saw the wolf's head bearing the snake toward the inner bank of the moat. The snake thrashed about, trying desperately to throw a coil around the wolf's neck—and failing.
Cadavan took the chance and swam for that shore. He climbed out and hopped past the snake's whipping length as the wolf held its head down, snarling and chewing. Cadavan saw an opening in the wall ahead, not even three feet high, a curved dark tunnel—the drain of which Nadia had spoken. He hopped for it with relief, then balked at its entrance. Moonlight shone off the wall about it, making the tunnel itself seem even darker. There might be nothing inside but a clear path to the kitchens—or there might be monsters like the snake he had just escaped.
Did Cadavan want to be a man again? Possibly a dead man? Or a live frog?
But there was a wolf behind him, and though it had resisted the temptation of a frog's-legs dinner once, it might not be able to do so again. Cadavan took a deep breath and hopped into the darkness.
Frogs are nighttime creatures and have eyes that take in what little light there is. Moonlight reflected off the tunnel walls. Cadavan hopped forward warily—and because of his wariness, he saw the dagger in brackets on the wall. More importantly, he saw it rise from those brackets and slash down at him.
Of course! The king who had built this castle would not have left an entrance unguarded. He had persuaded some wizard to place an enchanted guardian here—a blade that didn't need an arm to swing it!
He leaped aside; the tip whickered past inches from his side, then slashed again, lower now, aiming for his legs.
Cadavan leaped as high as he could. He bounced off the tunnel ceiling, but the dagger slashed on by before he struck the ground again. This time the knife slashed high, as though expecting him to leap toward the top of the tunnel again—so Cadavan leaped forward with all his strength. Behind him, he heard the blade clash against stone and glanced behind, fearing to see the point skewering toward him—but the dagger sank back into its brackets. Cadavan stared. This was poor wizardry indeed, to let the guardian rest once the intruder had gone by!
Of course, the wizard who had laid this spell probably hadn't thought any human intruder could make it past. He hadn't thought of frogs—or hadn't minded.
Cadavan turned to hop onward, but the tunnel darkened. Looking back, he saw the wolf's silhouette filling the mouth of the tunnel.
Panic urged him to turn and flee—but the wolf was really his friend Jojo, and had just saved his life. Worse, the wolf took up most of the tunnel—he couldn't hop over or under the blade, as Cadavan had.
He couldn't leave a friend to almost certain death.
Doubt made him pause—this friend might be swept up by his hunger and decide a meal was worth more than a companion—but what was right, was right. Cadavan set his amphibian jaw and hopped back toward the enchanted dagger.
What could he do to protect the wolf? How can a frog fight a steel blade?
Jojo loomed, darkening the tunnel even more, and the dagger snickered free of the brackets, swinging back for a slash.
Cadavan took his courage in his flippers and hopped high, catching the blade in his mouth.
The dagger jolted back and forth, and Cadavan tasted blood. Fortunately, the back of the blade was dull and square—it was single-edged—but as it wrenched from side to side, it cut his lip. He ignored the pain and pressed his nose against the wall, hoping Jojo could remember who his friends were.
Apparently he could; Cadavan heard feet padding behind him, then off to his left, and moonlight brightened the tunnel again. Cadavan turned toward it and spat out the blade, then whirled and took a long leap that sent him sailing down the tunnel.
He slammed into a furry side. As he fell to the floor, he saw the dagger settle back into its brackets. Then a cold nose touched him, and the wolf whined in concern. Cadavan swallowed blood, fearing what its scent might do to a wolf, and turned to rub noses with his friend. Then he hopped under Jojo's belly—a long flat gliding leap, just to be safe.
He landed and leaped again, and heard the wolf padding behind him. That was as reassuring as it was worrying, but there was nothing to do but hop on into darkness and hope. The wolf was watching his back (and his great big hind legs) but it was also blocking what little light remained.
Suddenly two red dots glowed in the darkness—two, then eight, then twenty and more. Something squealed; the sound echoed and rebounded all about him as more and more voices took it up, and the red dots charged toward him.
Rats!
Filthy naked feet showered him as the mangy rodents rolled over him. Cadavan croaked in terror, trying to leap ahead, tripping, falling, feeling sharp teeth bite his shoulder, his flank, his leg. He rolled, but the bites struck his chest and belly. He was drowning in a spiteful tide of rats.
Then roaring filled the tunnel, angry and hammering. Rats disappeared from his belly, his shoulders, and the roaring resolved into growling as the wolf raced past, allowing a little moonlight to show Cadavan the river of rats running from the wolf. They surely could have turned and overwhelmed him, but none dared, because Jojo caught the laggards one by one. A crunch of those powerful jaws, and a dead body sailed over his shoulder to land on the stone of the tunnel floor. No rat wanted the next honor. In minutes, they were gone.
Then the wolf turned back to him, yellow eyes glaring in the darkness.
Cadavan braced for his strongest leap and hoped it would be enough—but the muzzle stayed close, the jaws shut, as the cold wet nose probed him, nuzzling an anxious whine. Cadavan relaxed and croaked, " 'S awright. 'S awright."
Jojo sat down, cocking his head to the side, reassured, but not enough.
" 'Ankoo," Cadavan said. " 'Ank you."
Now Jojo's jaw opened, tongue lolling out in a wolfish smile. He trotted around behind Cadavan and nudged his backside.
"Let's go," Cadavan agreed. "Let's go."
On down the tunnel he hopped, the trace of moonlight growing weaker behind him—and the tunnel branched.
Cadavan paused, not liking the look of things—both tunnels went into darkness. Nadia hadn't said anything about a branch. The left-hand branch reeked abominably, and Cadavan realized it was some kind of sewer. The other branch, though, seemed clean enough. He screwed up his courage and hopped toward it.
Then he heard the sound of rushing water, and a wave of heat blasted him.
Cadavan croaked in dismay and took a long flying leap toward the reeking tunnel. "Go 'ere! Go 'ere!" he croaked, and hoped Jojo would heed.
He landed on clean stone, which amazed him. He took two more long hops and heard claws behind him; then the sound of rushing water echoed all about as the wave of heat blasted—and was gone. Turning about, Cadavan looked under Jojo's belly and saw a tide of steaming water rolling down the tunnel they had just traversed. His legs turned to jelly as he realized how closely he and Jojo had come to being parboiled. Someone in the kitchens had just emptied a kettle of boiling water—and sure enough, as the steam passed, he caught the smell of boiled cabbage, quickly fading.
No wonder that branch had been so clean!
But if that branch went to the kitchens, where did this one go? Well, there wasn't much choice—they would have to follow it, not matter where it went. He hopped on, expecting the tunnel to end in a sewer shaft from above, but it sloped uphill instead—not much, but enough to keep the stinking water moving.
At least the liquid ran in a ditch with a ledge alongside; there was still enough trace light left to see that.
Then a hop brought a click, the sound of sliding stone, and a metal tube rose up pointing squarely at his head.
TO BE CONTINUED…
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