8.17 The Pooka’s Wife
8.17 Penelope: I was worried about what was going on with poor Ben, teetering on the cliff between his friendship with Timothy (and possibly me) and in front of an irate Queen Moragana. The latter looked like she was giving Ben what for concerning the fact that Timothy and the crew had all disobeyed direct orders. I wanted to intercede, but what if something I said made it worse? I tugged at Timothy’s arm and whispered, “Can’t we help Ben?” Timothy hadn’t seem overly concerned about the situation with his head chef and friend, but he looked down at me and nodded briefly. “Queen Moragana, is the food now safe for Penelope to eat?” Timothy suddenly interjected into the very loud dressing-down currently taking place. That brought the queen’s eyes over to us. But instead of responding to Timothy’s question, she stared at me, not even glancing at my husband “Lord Stauff is your friend?” she asked me. Of course I had no idea who that was until Timothy whispered, “She means Ben.” “Oh, yes. Ben, Lord Stauff. . . Wow, he’s a lord!” I shouted out. “Is that like in: ten lords a leaping?” Everyone in the room stared at me with blank faces, even Timothy. I guess the next time I was forced to entertain, I’d need to introduce the Twelve Days of Christmas song to everyone. But the queen was still waiting for a response that made sense, so I replied: “Absolutely! All these guys are my best of friends. That’s Bob, Terry, Daniel, and Ben, or Lord Stauff, as you call him.” I pointed out each of them as I named them so the queen would know who was who, as well as giving her a ready answer, even though I really didn’t understand her line of questioning. “So, you think that these males should be praised for entering Faery when ordered not to,” she taunted me as if she were an attorney just waiting for me to fall into her trap. Timothy, knowing me as he did, squeezed my hand, which was supposed to mean: don’t antagonize the queen. I noticed that that my husband wasn’t saying anything in mind-speech. Was that because the queen could hear his thoughts when he did, which produced another of a thousand questions I needed to ask. I shuffled the query into my brain box for later. “I think, Your Royal Queenship,” I said, forgetting how the others had addressed her. Was that title sufficient? “I think that friends will push against all rules to assist those they care about. Isn’t that the nature of friendship, that we help each other?” The queen’s eyes continued to pierce mine. Did she have x-ray vision or something? I was just about to add something else to my argument when she let out a hump sound, then clapped her hands together once. “Let’s eat,” she said.
8.16 The Pooka’s Wife
Bob: All this Faery stuff was dumb. Telling us we couldn’t eat. I had a pocketful of these scone things, and I’d already eaten several. I felt just fine. No poison in them. No faery dust that I could taste. Besides, I wasn’t human like Penelope. I was a werewolf. We didn’t get sick. Terry kept eyeing me as I continued to munch on the sort of sweet biscuit things. They had some kind of fruit in them. Red dots. Probably raisins. There were probably red grapes. Terry didn’t like bread stuff. He was always worrying about not getting what the humans at our gym called love handles. I kept assuring him that we wolves didn’t get fat. We ran through the forest at night. And we ate meat. Meat couldn’t make you fat. These bread things were pretty good. I liked cookies and pastries. Were these pastries? It was too bad they took the platter of them away. I grabbed as many as I could get, filling both pockets, but I didn’t want to act greedy. Strange how the mean queen said we shouldn’t have eaten the Faery food. Blah. That was just superstition. Probably the Faeries just wanted folks to be scared of Faeryland. What were we waiting for, anyway? Time to get back to the ship. We had what we came for. Except Ben was talking to that queen lady, and I think he was being scolded. Poor man. I liked the fellow. Daniel I wasn’t so sure about. He was weird, if you asked me. Terry said he was cool, but Terry was liberal about things like that. He didn’t mind if a guy talked all big words and meditation. Penelope was sure looking like something the cat dragged inside after playing in the rain. Not that she was a lizard or something, but I’d never seen her looking grubby before. Her eyes had black rims, not like some Goth kid, but from lack of sleep. Probably from being treated bad. That bad queen, the eviler of the two, ought to get mauled a bit. I’d do it, but Penelope wouldn’t like that. Neither would Timothy. He was pretty much a straight shooter now. He’d end someone, if that person deserved it, but he wasn’t big on roughness for the sake of . . . Penelope was talking to me, telling me to stop eating the scones. I didn’t want to do that, but I’d obey. Boss had told us to follow his wife’s orders whenever she gave us any. She wasn’t like that, though. She didn’t like telling us to do stuff. I liked that about her. Actually, I liked everything about her, except her telling me not to eat any more of the scones. I chewed what was in my mouth and nodded my head. Then I turned about, emptied my pockets, and stuffed the rest of them into my mouth. Okay. I’d always do what she asked. No more scones.
8.15 The Pooka’s Wife
Timothy: Of course they didn’t see how amazing Penelope was. Kidnapped, starved because she was afraid to eat Faery foods based not on something I had told her, but concerning a piece of mythology she’d learned in school . . . Here she stood, withstanding criticism, threats, and drawn battlelines with two queens fussing at her, belittling her, and Queen Beatrice having forced her to be the entertainment of the day. My poor wife must have been scared and lonely in her captivity. Penelope deserved praise and consideration, loving tenderness. Not this … this catastrophe. The whole scene enraged me. Yet, even worse was the realization that I was the cause of this turmoil, this horror. If Penelope had not married me, none of this would have happened to her. Queen Moragana would never understand my anger. She would assume that a human could not feel as deeply as a Fae. The rest of the Court would be like that, too, following Queen Moragana’s attitude precisely. They would all look down on my darling, treating her like a subspecies. But I wouldn’t stand for it. I’d . . . My mind was spinning in circles, cursing the situation, feeling guilt for my role in it, and . . . “Timothy,” my wife entreated softly. “I still can’t eat anything here, right?” That did it. I exploded. “Queen Moragana, fix this, I implore you. My wife is famished from not eating, exhausted, and . . .” I didn’t want to say dirty, but scanning that stained pale yellow gown, torn on one side, wrinkled throughout, and obviously not a good fit or fashion for her. . . “dressed in grimy rags unbefitting to her position.” Okay, I stumbled over being so blunt with her standing there, now cowering in shame. Words had defeated me. I saw immediately how I’d crushed her more than the rebukes of the two queens. I shifted closer, picked up Penelope’s hand, and kissed it. “But in spite of that,” I hurried to say quickly, staring down into her tearful eyes. “My wife is still the most beautiful woman in the world. Her goodness shines . . . no matter what you’ve disgraced her loveliness with.” Queen Beatrice was the first to speak. “That dress was all we had. We raided the larders of a noble lady from my court. Only we had no shoes to fit her.” Queen Moragana spoke up second, honing in on the most important aspect of my speech. “Penelope, dear. I will bless this food for you. You will not go without eating. Nor will it keep you here longer than required to flush out the drink you sipped. Before you know it you will be free to journey back to your honeymoon voyage. “As to the dress and lack of shoes . . .” She shook her head, pondering that problem as if she were mortal, one lacking any magic. “Let us dine here, then we will hustle you back to my Court where gowns will fill the closets of your wardrobe, and the bed will be like an enchanted cloud of softness. The pillows will soothe you. The coverlets will monitor the correct temperature of your body at all times. I give you my word that we will take care of you perfectly, my dear, young human.”
8.14 The Pooka’s Wife
“Queen Moragana, if you will permit me to argue my side,” Timothy said, bowing to her. “My beloved wife, my perfect beloved wife, has no familiarity with the Fae by your decree. I have kept Penelope free of all Fae lore, as is the law of dealing with humans, but, as she has now entered Faeryland and will be staying here a bit, I will indeed instruct her on the rules and customs of this land.” “Clever Prince Cadarone,” Queen Moragana said with a full-throttled smile. “You are most correct. She was human, so, therefore kept ignorant. Of course. But now things have changed. She is changed. No longer human, but not yet Pooka wife-changed, I think. Yes, she remains in the in between. That in itself is an intriguing point.” She sat down in the chair that Queen Beatrice had formerly claimed, stared at the other woman and said, “What do you think, Beatrice? Do you see any indication that the girl is anything more than a normal human?” Queen Beatrice darted a look in my direction, then glared down at Queen Moragana. “That is my dining chair. Are you stealing that from me, too?” Queen Moragana stared over at her and laughed. “You do realize that you have been conquered, Beatrice. Nothing here belongs to you now. It is all mine. She glanced about her, took note of the peeling wall paint, the dust and dirt, the saggy chairs, and sighed heavily. “Never mind. I will not keep this pile of rubbish. However, there will be punishment for you in spite of your position and your mental unstableness.” “Mental unstableness!” Queen Beatrice cried out. “Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled potatoes, and Susie sells seashells. That proves that I have a firm grip on my capacities.” The Kidnapper Queen was actually looking quite unsure of herself at that point. Her face had puckered up, her eyes begun to leak, and her mouth was pouting in a manner more suitable for a toddler than a woman of indeterminate age. The soap opera of the two queens and my husband, the pooka, was interrupted by the arrival of a group of soldiers carrying in platters of food. But where would they put it with the table still laid out as it had been since early in the morning? I turned to look and saw that everything had not only been hauled away, but the whole area had been cleaned. A faded blue cloth was spread over the sagging table, and tableware and dishes, so pristine with clean, they were all shining with golden highlights, now occupied a corner of the table. Goblets decorated the other side, multi-jeweled, gold-rimmed, and equally sparkling. The first soldier set down a huge platter with roasted meat. As he turned the platter to the front, I saw that it was a cooked pig with an apple in its mouth. The sight of that almost took my appetite away. More soldiers delivered other platters: chunks of fruit, rye and wheat breads, carrots and potatoes with green beans, and what I thought were beets, but turned out to be cooked red apples.
8.13 The Pooka’s Wife
Timothy grew even angrier when I explained that to him. Bob came storming over. “What does she mean we can’t eat anything in Faery?” He was half-way through one of Queen Beatrice’s pomegranate scones. His jaws were chewing, his mouth full, and crumbs from the unfinished parts were dropping like heavy hail. Queen Moragana had returned to squabbling with Queen Beatrice. She wasn’t even looking our way anymore, nor apparently noticing that one of our team was eating from the table. “I don’t know how you found me or how you were able to get arrive here, Timothy,” I said, “but couldn’t we scurry back to the ship? All of us just ignoring Faery’s rules about not eating and drinking while here?” As I watched, Bob shoved the other half of the scone into his cavernous mouth. His cheeks looked like a chipmunk’s as he mauled the scone about inside his mouth. How many days would the Queen want to keep Bob in Faery? How many days or weeks was a scone worth? Or would it matter really? What if this was all a pretext just to keep me here longer? “Sh,” Timothy said, scoldingly. He glanced over at Queen Moragana to check if she’d heard. Since she was still arguing with Queen Beatrice, he continued. “It’s not about laws or rules, my darling. It’s about human bodies. If a human holds bits of Faery inside them through eating or drinking something here, the body harbors, which means that the person dies if he doesn’t quickly return to Faery. It isn’t something we can challenge. I can’t take you back until . . .” I interrupted, charging ahead with my hole in the bucket analogy. “Okay, I guess, if that’s really true and not some propaganda put out by Faeryland, but how can a person stay in Faery without eating, Timothy? I’ll starve if I don’t drink or eat, and every future bite will add to the length of time I have to stay. That means I’ll never get to leave. And now Bob is grounded, will he have to stay even longer than me!” I felt my eyes getting teary. I wasn’t a crier, but everyone has their limit. “Penelope, Penelope,” Queen Moragana inserted herself into the conversation. “You won’t die, and your fears are needless. In my kingdom, all food and beverage will be human-friendly, not like here,” the queen assured me. “What a pity,” Queen Beatrice said. “The human is very entertaining. She taught us tongue twisters. I can now say: Susie sells seashells at the seashore twice without fluster, but that Peter Piper picks pickled potatoes one not so well.” “Pickled peppers,” I corrected, not meaning to say anything. Unfortunately, both queens heard me and raised their eyebrows almost in sync. “She must be taught protocol, Cadarone,” Queen Moragana said, snappingly, if there is such a word. I sighed, irritated not only with the two queens, but with the whole Faeryland ordeal. I desperately wanted to go back to Earth, my Earth, anyway . . . to our elegant and exciting cruise ship, my French lessons, the huge swimming pool, and all those delicious buffets and restaurants where food was approved for human consumption without the need to be sucked into someone’s royal kingdom.
8.12 The Pooka’s Wife
I shook my head, which was probably very rude to do to a queen, but I was in shock and feeling a sudden urge to slam my fist into my beloved’s chest. Not that I would ever do so, of course. But, why hadn’t he told me anything about Faery? Why hadn’t he prepared me for the odd rules and the even stranger people who lived here? The queen continued, all the while, half shaking her head and half smiling. “Unfortunately, Queen Beatrice got her wish that you will be required to remain in Faeryland for a time. Your body would not allow you to leave before . . . Two sips, you said? That is two weeks, at least, I’m afraid. But you will not linger here in this wretched castle, of course. I shall take you to my kingdom where you will be treated as the wife of Prince Cadarone should have been treated all along.” I detached myself from Timothy who’d gasped loudly and then swallowed hard. His face had paled, and I think from the way the muscles in his cheeks were actively flapping about like a fish trying to breathe in air, he was greatly upset with the conversation. Realizing how dismayed he was, instead of slugging him, I turned and patted his arm. “It’s okay, Timothy. Really. I assume you and the guys can all go to Queen Moragana’s palace with me? We can have a pre-Paris vacation.” Timothy groaned, corralled me once again inside his strong-armed embrace and kissed my cheek with a smucking sound. “It’s not what I wanted for you. I was hoping to whisk you back onboard the ship where I could ravish you suitably.” Okay, he said that last line with that eerie ability he had to mind-link, but I still felt my face grow hot as boiled water and probably red as a fire engine. “Good. That is settled then,” Queen Moragana said, and she clapped her hands together loudly. “Where is the food?” she called out. “Why has no one cleared this stale stuff away?” That brought my mind back to the old ditty about the hole in the bucket. A husband tells his wife there’s a hole in the bucket, which is why he can’t fetch any water. Then they go through a dialogue of what to do to repair the bucket, the wife growing more irate with each stanza. It ends with the fellow once again explaining that he can’t do what the wife asks because . . . there’s a hole in the bucket. It’s a very funny children’s song, but why that piece brought itself into memory at the moment is the realization that if I was being forced to stay in Faeryland for two weeks, how could I avoid eating and drinking anything while there? Wouldn’t doing so prolong my stay into permanence?
8.11 The Pooka’s Wife
Had Ben helped Timothy and the others to arrive at this strange, decrepit palace? Was he in trouble for having done so? Were there laws about not doing so, other than for directly disobeying a queen? Surely if Queen Moragana had forgiven Timothy, she’d forgive Ben, wouldn’t she? And was Queen Beatrice, the Kidnapper, really suffering from Alzheimer or some other kind of senior dementia? My irritation (anger) with her dimmed somewhat with that idea, but her guards had followed through on her orders. I wouldn’t forgive them. Shouldn’t they have resisted? Shouldn’t they have said, “No, we can’t do that, our queen.” And while, I was thinking about that, I was also wondering about Queen Beatrice’s people. Had the caretakers, nobles, servants, and staff of this palace all fled when the queen’s sickness came into being? Had they realized how batty she’d become? Timothy was kissing my neck, making it harder to concentrate on such thoughts, but I couldn’t object to it. I needed the confirmation that we were still in love, still in lust. I turned my neck to catch his lips, then a few moments later whispered, “Can we go back to our honeymoon now?” Suddenly, Queen Moragana’s head reared up, and her eyes centered on me once more. “Did you eat anything, my dear?” the queen asked. I think I’d already made that clear, especially because my stomach kept growling loudly enough for those around me to think I was part Werewolf. But it was Be Nice to Queens Week, so I meekly replied, “No, not a bite.” “Did you drink anything, child?” she continued probing. Oh, no. Queen Beatrice of Kidnapping/Alzheimer fame had forced me to take a drink from the heavy goblet she’d handed me. Would having done so count against me in some way? For a moment, I thought about lying, but among the Fae that never worked. Timothy had told me that the Fae could always sense a lie with absolutely no effort or magic. It was like all Fae were lie detectors. Anyway, lying wasn’t in my nature, even if it was to hurry our shipbound reunion, so I told Queen Moragana the truth. “I took two sips of some kind of fruit juice, which I very much didn’t like, but it was because Queen Beatrice was so insistent that I do so. Truthfully, with all the threats of throwing me into the dungeon, I was afraid not to.” “Of course. That was to be expected. Dungeon?” she added, giving the other queen a look that was strong enough to have bleached a carrot white. Queen Moragana added. “It is obvious that she demanded that because she wanted you to be forced to stay with her. Taking food or drink while in Faery can leave a human grounded here permanently. I gather that Prince Cadarone never told you that?”
8.10 The Pooka’s Wife
“Ill-treated? Of course she wasn’t ill-treated,” the kidnapping queen said, her nose rather red from her recent bawling over the injustice of an army inside her chamber. I looked up and over at her, remembering all those threats of being sent to the dungeon if I hadn’t entertained her proficiently, and then there was that horrible bedroom that had lacked a proper shower and toilet. I opened my mouth to say something about those things, but Timothy was busy lambasting the woman for having stolen me off the ship. He was doing such a super job, I decided that my quarrel with the kidnapper’s statement was only secondary. Once Timothy ran down enough to take a breath, Queen Moragana interrupted. “I believe I told you to stay on that ship, Prince Cadarone, You were ordered to let me handle the situation.” Oh, dear. That sounded serious. Had Timothy truly disobeyed a queen’s order? Would he get in trouble, maybe sent to that dungeon, the one I never actually saw? Coming to his rescue, I dove into the conversation. “Queen Moragana, thank you, thank you for bringing my dear husband to me. I was feeling ill from his absence,” I said. “I barely slept a wink last night without his arms around me, and I haven’t eaten a thing since I saw him last. My heart has been crushed from his absence. I can’t thank you enough for . . .” “Sh,” Timothy said as he kissed the ear he was whispering into. “You’ve made your point.” Queen Moragana considered the two of us for a moment, then broke into laugher. “Obviously, you didn’t need that necklace, my dear. It seems that given an undisturbed moment or two together, the two of you will soon make me very happy indeed with . . .” She didn’t explain that unfinished thought but turned to the kidnapping queen. “And you, Queen Beatrice. How dare you . . .” Again, Queen Moragana halted in the middle of her speech, then glanced about the hall where a large number of soldiers were still standing at attention, waiting for her orders. “Some of you soldiers, go in search of sustenance in the kitchens,” Queen Moragana commanded. “The rest of you, head outside. Enough of this standing around gaping at the drama going on here. Be gone.” I don’t understand how the sorting of who goes where happened, but in a swallow and a half, the room had emptied of most of the Fae in the striking red and blue Moragana colors. Only the three guards who belonged to Queen Beatrice, otherwise known as the Kidnap Queen, remained over in the corner. (Plus, of course, the men in charge of them and Queen Moragana’s personal guards. The Kidnap Queen didn’t seem to need anyone securing her. She’d turned into a sad-looking weeping willow tree, (Not really, although with Fae magic, I suppose that would have been possible.) “Now where was I?” Queen Moragana continued. “Ah yes, I was deciding to forgive the prince for his disobedience and was about to chastise Beatrice, although what good that would do, I haven’t the foggiest since it is obvious that she needs senility treatments more than imprisonment.” “Ben, come here,” Queen Moragana demanded, jumping off the track of that sequential thought.
8.9 The Pooka’s Wife
So that was the end of our getting reacquainted (intimately at least.) Timothy growled at Bob, then unfastened his arms from around my cracked vertebra. “Are you okay, darling?” my husband asked, and of course, I nodded, grateful for breath again. (Really, we do ignore respiration’s advantages. Breathing is such a luxury that we normally just take for granted.) Sweeping me to the side, away from Bob, Timothy turned his attention to the queens. “Your Majesties,” he said bowing politely, although he didn’t bother to mask his silent rage.(I assume the queens could see how his facial muscles had pulled tight, his mouth veered downward, and his eyes had taken on the dark flare that turned them scary.) “But I just wanted Penelope to know how much we missed her and love her,” Bob whined. This time, Terry growled, drawing my eyes. Terry’s whiskers and facial hair were shadowing in with his aggravation with Bob, displaying more clearly his werewolf heritage. Sometimes I believed that the males were best friends. At other times, like at that moment, I wondered if Terry even liked his co-guard who he was constantly shepherding through life. Daniel and Ben were standing back, not participating in either greetings or confrontations, but they were there for me (or for Timothy,) so I waved to them and mouthed a silent thank you. Bob, being Bob, was not constrained by the look Timothy sent his way, nor at Terry’s growl. “You love her, too,” Bob said, staring at Terry. “Why don’t you just admit it?” “Enough,” Timothy roared. “Bob, remember your place. Penelope is grateful for your greeting, I suppose, knowing her habitual sweetness concerning your strangeness, but cease this discussion. Admire my wife from a distance, a distance that does not involve hugging her. Terry, deal with him, if you can. I have other matters to contend with.” A slightly subdued Bob stepped further away, but he gave me a quick wink as he did so. I hoped Timothy didn’t observe that. He was already close to his breaking point with the Bob situation. If I didn’t keep pleading for Timothy not to fire the guy, I was sure that Bob would already be gone. As if that matter had been sufficiently dealt with, and taking my hand in his, with a gentle kiss to let me know that he loved me, Timothy turned to face the queens. “I thank you profoundly, Queen Moragana for coming to my wife’s rescue,” Timothy said. “I see that my young bride is uninjured and was seemingly not ill-treated outside of being kidnapped and stolen from my arms, although I do wonder at the gown she’s wearing.” I looked down at the dress and noticed once more that it was smeared with dirt, grease, and food stains. It was also torn in several places, probably from sliding across the floor and or tripping over the excess material of it while trying to creep/crawl under the table. Of course, Timothy probably didn’t take note of its insipid color and styling. But the whole dirty gown (and me) made it clear why Timothy’s nose had wrinkled in distaste when he looked down to examine my costume.
8.8 The Pooka’s Wife
It took a couple of moments before Queen Moragana realized that she was crushing me against her breasts. I suppose if I’d been a man, I might have welcomed that, but I wasn’t, and I didn’t. During this grab and pinch. I issued several squawks like those of a sick parrot, but the queen only pressed me closer. My breath was almost depleted, and I was feeling limp as a scarecrow deprived of its stick by the time she eased the pressure. Not released me. I was still caught in her amazingly strong arms, a wood-working vice clamp from two sides, or so it seemed. “No, don’t harm them,” Queen Moragana thundered out, panic in her voice as well as urgent command, which I was sure the soldiers wouldn’t dare to oppose. Okay, she’d said, “Don’t harm them.” Plural. So what was everyone but me seeing? The other queen’s troops finally showed up? Loyal servants had just dragged themselves in from the kitchen, armed with frying pans in order to do battle and defend their queen? Or perhaps, because this was Faeryland, could it be dragons and unicorns invading the palace? With Queen Moragana’s command still reverberating through the huge chamber, she suddenly released me. I heaved several mighty breaths, stepped back so I wasn’t as close to her bosom, and then turned to see what all the fuss (and magic) was about. What air I still had in my lungs, almost took wing in surprise. It was my own dear husband and the rest of the crew. “Timothy!” I cried out, then flung myself forward, avoiding both queen’s attempt to prevent me from my gallop across the space between my darling love and my current position (just shy of that horrid bosom cuddle.) The room was filled with soldiers in multiple poses, many of them still standing in attack mode, despite Queen Moragana’s command, but I ignored them all, consumed by my need to throw myself into my beloved’s arms. I launched into him like a baseball player sliding into home, because that’s exactly what he was to me. He was my home, my safety, my comfort, my everything. His arms were ready. He met my fierceness with an equal force that swung me up against his mighty chest. My feet dangled, but my lips didn’t. We seared together with an embrace that included a full-throttled emotional kiss which did its best to wipe away all the days we’d been apart. Our lips traveled, reacquainted themselves to salvation, then returned to the source of all goodness. I suppose we would have kept that up for several hours, days, even months. (Okay brief exaggeration, but we were starved for each other, and that counts for a person’s kissing endurance.) Anyway despite a room full of soldiers, stale food, queens, and three prisoners, we were completely deliriously enraptured in our personal celebration, but then, Bob, good old Bob, bobbed into the picture, throwing his arms about the two of us and hugging us with the kind of enthusiasm that breaks bones.