Chapter 7
The erstwhile Ice Queen Barbaria woke up feeling stiff. The issue seemed to be that she was still dressed in her white wool gown, which was now twisted around her in a way that suggested it was unhappy about something and wanted to cut off all circulation to her legs. There was also some problem with the bed. A few minutes later, when she had regained some more consciousness, she realized that the problem was that it wasn’t a bed at all, but the sofa in one of her sitting rooms. Her arm was jammed uncomfortably between a sofa cushion and the back of the sofa. She really wanted a big four poster bed. She pulled her arm free and thought about lying blissfully naked, spread out comfortably on a big four poster bed. That only made the sofa seem more uncomfortable, so she sat up. She noticed with some surprise that the room was surprisingly and pleasantly warm.
Phlebas was lying on the hearth rug, sound asleep, with his arm around a sleeping Eulalia, who was inexplicably sleeping contentedly in a cute firekini and very sheer fire teddy. Well, that seemed like sensible sleepwear. The inexplicable part was that she was sleeping more or less in the fireplace, and the fire, which was still burning seemed to be acting as a mattress. She was certainly not lying in the ashes anyway. Never mind, thought Barb. It’s probably like sleeping on the cloud of dry ice that, until now, had made up her normal bed.
“Rise and shine, sleepyheads,” she said. She went to the window and opened the heavy drapes. Sunlight streamed into the room, making her stagger backward at the sheer golden heat and beauty of the morning. “I am so wasted as an Ice Witch,” she said. “I want to be a Tropical Beach Witch or something.”
A few minutes later, a couple of fauns, playing their pan pipes, came in with breakfast.
“What news today, Mr. Tumnus?” asked Barb. A male faun, clicking along the blue marble floor on his goat’s hooves, and carrying trays of eggs and toast, set them down on the table and bowed to Barb.
“If it please your majesty,” he said, “the sun has apparently come out, and there are crocuses blooming in the garden, quite contrary to the edicts of your mother, the Dowager Ice Queen. The Ice Trolls have all called in sick due to some melting ailment, and the Beavers are holding some silly religious meeting thanking their Lion god for vanquishing your majesty.”
“Sounds like the Foxes are doing the news again,” said Barb, rolling her eyes.
After breakfast, Barb informed the fauns that she was taking a short holiday. She put Tumnus in charge as Prime Minister, and suggested he get a sort of parliament elected. “Let’s try humouring the beavers, rather than hacking them to bits for a change,” she said. That sorted out, it only remained to decide where to go.
“I was on a quest to find the Firebird and bring her back to my father,” said Phlebas doubtfully.
“Your father?” said Barb. “I hear he’s really evil, and probably insane. Even my own mother said so, and she was pretty good on the evil thing. Takes one to know one, maybe.”
“You seemed quite evil,” said Eulalia.
“I had a difficult childhood,” said Barb. “Speaking of which, I wonder…” She waved her hand, and a blue wand appeared in it. A jet of ice shot out the end and turned a chandelier into something resembling a scene out of Dr. Zhivago.
“Oh yeah!” she said. “I still got it!”
Phlebas and Eulalia were looking at her quizzically.
“I didn’t know if all this warm weather and sunlight and wearing brighter colours meant that I had lost my powers,” she said.
“Oh, it’s nice to have powers,” said Phlebas in a conciliatory way.
“Shut up,” said Barb. “Now I really don’t think you should take Eulalia back to your father.”
“Why?” asked Phlebas. “What could he do? He gave me his word that if I brought the Firebird back, he would make me Tsar of all the Russias. All, er, three of them.”
“Good things come in threes,” said Eulalia. When this remark only got her skeptical looks from Phlebas and Barb, she added, “I heard that somewhere.”
“I think this threesome should stick together for a bit,” said Barb. “You said your younger brother went down the other road. Maybe we should find him. Then, if you still want to, we can all go back to St. Petersburg to confront the evil mad Tsar.”
“Is your father really evil and mad?” asked Eulalia, looking a little anxious, certainly more anxious than the normal “meet the parents” anxiety.
“It would explain a lot,” said Phlebas.
“What was your mother like?” asked Eulalia.
“No idea,” said Phlebas. “This is a fairy tale, remember. Dead mothers don’t have a back story.”
“My mother has a bit of a back story,” said Barb.
“Yes,” said Phlebas, “but she was evil and that was necessary to defining your character. I bet you can’t tell me what she looked like.”
“It’s funny,” said Barb thoughtfully. “She raised me until I was 19, but I have no mental image of her face. I only know she transferred all her powers to me when she met my step-father the sculptor, and they ran off together.”
“See?” said Phlebas. “Fairy tale. Anyway, that convinces me. We’ll go meet up with Jollyrei. He’s a bit impetuous and reckless, but a decent fellow. Much better to face the Tsar in numbers.”
“How do we all travel,” asked Eulalia. “I can fly, of course, but …”
“I have my horse,” said Phlebas confidently. “Do you have a horse, Barb?”
“I have a stable full of reindeer,” said Barb. “You can’t ride them, really.”
“A broomstick?” asked Phlebas.
“Don’t be stupid,” said Barb. “Who rides broomsticks these days? Ice Witches travel by sleigh. That’s one reason to keep things cold.”
In the end, she ended up riding behind Phlebas on his charger, while the Firebird flew overhead, and waving goodbye to Tumnus and his new council of owls, foxes, beavers, and fauns, they made their way south. Along the way they stopped to chip a rather frozen looking Windarsky and Repertorevitch out of the ice and send them on their way a bit warmer. Barb wondered why they weren’t wearing boots.
“Onwards to meet Jollyrei,” said Phlebas.
The Jollyrei in question was not having an easy time coming to grips with his situation. “What do you mean I’m not supposed to visit the Princess?” he asked Wragg. “Did she tell you that?”
“Not exactly,” said Wragg. “It’s a bit awkward. You know your friend the Squirrel?”
“She told him?”
“No,” said Wragg. “He, er, suggested strongly to me, that he would watch over the princess during her recovery, and he didn’t need you getting in the way.”
“He's a squirrel...or wolf...for God's sake! What did the princess say?” asked Jollyrei.
“I tried to ask, but she was, er, in conference with Sir Rodion, and…”
“In conference? What sort of conference? Did you hear anything?” asked Jollyrei.
“It sounded like, ‘oh, oui, oui, do that again my squirrel’” said Wragg a bit unhappily.
“But I was supposed to get the Princess,” said Jollyrei hesitantly. “Wasn’t I?”
“Who knows,” said Wragg. “Some fairy tales mix things up a bit to keep the reader guessing. I suspect you’re in one of those. Never mind,” he said cheerfully. “Things usually work out somehow, if everyone isn’t killed horribly in the end. Have one of these cream buns. I had the kitchen slave girls do a whip round the kitchen to find us some real treats. Well, I had the kitchen slave girls roundly whipped until they got us these treats, but it’s all the same in the end, isn’t it?”
“I really thought I understood what to do now,” said Jollyrei. “Now I’m at sixes and sevens.”
“Chapter 7, actually,” said Wragg.
“No,” said Jollyrei, “I mean I feel a bit confused and uncertain what to do next.”
“Normal life for you then," said Wragg. "Breakfast?"
“After that,” said Jollyrei. “Where do I go from here.”
“Well, Messaline won’t be fit to travel for a few days,” said Wragg sympathetically, “so you have time to figure things out. Honestly, you really need to think for yourself.”
“I could go back home,” said Jollyrei, “except that I’ve lost the Firebird again.”
“Yes,” said Wragg. “I’m supposed to have you killed by Goblins for that, aren’t I?” Jollyrei looked alarmed.
“It wasn’t my fault!” he exclaimed. “You know she volunteered to go.”
“Calm yourself,” said Wragg. “A joke. Nevertheless, you don’t want to go back to St. Petersburg. Your father is extremely evil, and probably mad.”
“Oh, right,” said Jollyrei.
“Think about it,” said Wragg. “You really can't just keep letting things just happen to you. As a main protagonist, you need to exercise a bit of agency. If you like, you can whip a slavegirl. Always clears my head.” He smiled happily and his mind seemed to clearly drift off somewhere pleasant. Wragg absently sipped his coffee and made appreciative humming noises to himself.
Jollyrei looked at him in some awe. This whipping of slavegirls might be something to look into.
Messaline made good progress recovering from her recent crucifixion. She found that when she slept there was always a large wolf on her bed, which was nice and warm, and if she needed someone to talk to, besides Wragg who was more like a doctor, there was the large red squirrel who had the cute little helmet and sword. She thought he was very gallant. She wondered where the wolf went when the squirrel was with her. “Perhaps they are friends,” she thought.
Wragg was an excellent doctor, as sorcerers go. Admittedly, he got rather heated while giving her a physical check-up, for which he insisted she had to be completely naked, risking a fair bit of growling from the wolf, and he accidentally bandaged a lamp stand in his excitement, but one had to say his healing potions worked. “Wonderful recipes from a colleague,” he said. “Do you know of Polly. She’s a time witch, but absolutely the dernier mot in potions,” he said.
“It is very good,” said Messaline, “I feel almost ready to go on the cross again.” She laughed at her joke and the look of surprise on Wragg’s face. “But tell me, M. le Sorcier, why is the Prince Jollyrei not coming to visit me?”
“Ah,” said Wragg, “you know these young Princes. They are romantics. He thinks he must now marry you.”
“Mon Dieu,” said Messaline, “no, I cannot marry him. My heart is elsewhere. But I may thank him for the rescue. He is very gallant, but a little bit clumsy perhaps.”
“Yes,” said Wragg. “He’s a decent fellow, but gets himself a bit confused sometimes.”
“So you will say to him that I want to see him?” asked Messaline.
“Oh, certainly,” said Wragg, “but he may not come. Your wolf keeps him away.”
“Then he must come when I am with my Sir Rodion the Squirrel,” she said.
Jollyrei came to see her that evening.
“Just don’t try anything,” said Rodentsov brandishing his sword.
"Idiot squirrel," muttered Jollyrei. "Go eat a horse."
“You are a very gallant defender,” said Messaline encouragingly, “but can we hear what Prince Jolly has to say?”
“I am just here to say that I realize that I will not insist that you marry me, Princess,” said Jollyrei. So often one says something before thinking about how stupid it might make one sound.
“Nobody asked you,” said Rodentsov. “What? You won’t?”
“I don’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings,” said Jollyrei, “but I think it’s best…”
“You are too young?” asked Messaline.
“No,” said Jollyrei, “I don’t think so.”
“I am not beautiful enough?” asked Messaline.
“You are extremely beautiful,” said Jollyrei.
“That’s fine,” said Messaline smiling at him. “I do not think you are my prince, either.”
“You don’t?” asked Jollyrei. He seemed disappointed.
“Oh bloody hell,” said Rodentsov. “You can’t tell a girl you won’t have her in one breath and then act upset when she agrees with you.”
“Good point,” said Jollyrei. “I’m a bit new at this fairy tale rescuing thing, you see. I don't think it's going according to plan.”
“I wanted to thank you for getting me off the cross,” said Messaline. “I really thought at first that your rescue attempt was a terrible mistake and was going to fail, but you came through brilliantly. I am sorry I doubted you.”
Jollyrei wondered if she was remembering the same event he was. As he remembered it, it was all a bit more harrowing, a little embarrassing, probably lacking in the brilliant plan department, and overall extremely lucky that it happened at all. “All in a day’s work,” he said.
“So now what do we do?” asked Messaline.
“I have thought it over, and I think there is another way. We will take the perilous way home, and try to find my brother Phlebas and the Firebird again. Along the way, I will find out what to do. I’m sure of it. Now, if you will excuse me, I have to go whip a slavegirl.”
“Odd man,” said Rodentsov when he was gone.
“Yes,” said Messaline, thinking about whips and slavegirls. “He seems complex.” She sighed.
“Get some sleep, Messaline,” said the wolf. “I will watch and keep you safe.” And so Messaline slept in the large four poster bed, and dreamed of slavegirls and crosses and other happy thoughts, curled up against the comforting warmth of the wolf.
The next day, she was able to walk and her nail wounds were almost completely healed.
“You are almost fit to travel,” said Wragg, “and I sense that your path takes you away from my palace.”
“You are a soothsayer as well,” said Messaline.
“No, dear lady,” said Wragg. “Prince Jollyrei is restless and wants to get going back to Russia, as ridiculous as that idea is.”
“That sounds dangerous,” said Messaline. “Of course, it is probably not more dangerous than coming from France to Russia, getting captured by a sorcerer, and crucified.”
“Peril comes in many forms,” said Wragg. “I think I will come along with you. You may need a sorcerer, and anyway Jollyrei has now whipped all my slavegirls to the point where they are not really able to turn out anything good in the kitchens, and Goblins are not really good company. If I take a holiday, it will give things here a chance to get back to normal.”
“So Jollyrei is good at whipping?” asked Messaline hopefully.
“No,” said Wragg. “He’s dreadful at it. A total amateur, but he’s very enthusiastic. Never mind. All the girls seem to have enjoyed themselves and they will all recover, thanks to Polly’s potions, but the croissants have suffered a bit.”
Jollyrei was in the courtyard saddling up yet another of Wragg’s horses, while a couple of goblins looked on skeptically. There was also a beautiful white mare for Messaline to ride. Rodentsov the wolf was already sitting expectantly beside it waiting for her.
“I do not see a horse for you,” said Messaline to Wragg. “You have changed your mind about coming along?”
“No, no,” said Wragg. “I simply don’t like horses that much. Not a problem.” He snapped his fingers and two Goblin guards ran across the courtyard and into a storage room, emerging again with a large steamer trunk. They manhandled, or goblinhandled it over to Wragg and set it down.
Wragg made a big show of playing with the lock on the chest while Messaline and Jollyrei looked on with some interest. Wragg muttered a few things that sounded like an incantation.
The lock glowed purple for a second and then popped open with a satisfying click. It may have been more of a “clonk”. Wragg seemed happy with the results. He removed the lock and opened the chest. He pulled out a rolled up carpet.
He dragged the carpet roll over next to Jollyrei’s horse and unrolled it. Goblins immediately set an armchair, a small table, a map case, a few boxes of provisions and a winerack onto the carpet.
Messaline looked a little confused. Wragg smiled at her, and lifted a finger as if to say, “wait just a second”. He reached into his blue sorcerer’s robe and pulled out a leather helmet and a pair of sturdy goggles. He put them on, and then he went to seat himself in the armchair on the carpet.
“Ready?” he asked.
“You are going to have lunch there while we go?” asked Messaline.
“No,” said Wragg, “I’m just travelling first class. Watch this.” He gestured to one of the Goblins who stood in front of him, just off the carpet.
"Chocks away!” said Wragg.
“All away sir,” said the Goblin lackadaisically.
“Contact,” said Wragg.
“Contact!” shouted the Goblin, and waved his arms in a circular motion. The carpet made a rumbling noise and rose into the air.
“Mount up,” said Wragg to Jollyrei. Jollyrei shrugged his shoulders. He and Messaline got on their horses and the party moved out.
And so all our protagonists are on the road, Phlebas with the Firebird and Barb, riding south, and Jollyrei with Messaline, Wragg, and Rodentsov, headed somewhat north-ish. Accurate directions are difficult to determine in a fairy tale, there are so many unexpected turns. “Toward” and “away from” work better, but hopefully the reader gets some idea. One can only assume they’ll all meet up at some point and have another needlessly perilous adventure.
“It’s a nice day for a jaunt,” said Wragg cheerfully, pouring himself a glass of port. "Everyone should have a "Biggles" carpet.
“You should not drink and fly,” said Messaline.
To be continued…
