8.21 The Pooka’s Wife
Terry: This whole place was giving me the creeps. We had found Penelope, so I didn’t understand why we didn’t just reverse the magic that had gotten us here, and take off before any of this: forced to go to the queen’s court business. I respected my boss. He’d never steer us wrong. I just didn’t understand the Fae babble about it all. But, when Timothy told us to head outside, change our shape, and run alongside him, I resigned myself to future days stuck in Faeryland. Too bad because the cruise ship had better food, a swimming pool, and quality beds. Plus, we got to see a real cool show. I wouldn’t mind seeing several more of those. I’d read that there was a magic show scheduled. Not the real magic stuff like the Fae practiced, which was scary bad, but the fake kind where little, white rabbits hid inside stove-pipe hats. But Bob and I didn’t call the shots. We waited until all the soldiers and the two queens came outside. Penelope was in Timothy’s arms, where she should be. Daniel had already turned into some kind of bird, a falcon, I think, although it was bigger than most of its kind. I had no idea what Ben would do. He didn’t have a second shape. Ah. I head the queen inviting/commanding him to sit inside the royal carriage. That solved one problem. I glanced at Bob. He was still munching on something, doing his chipmunk imitation, which, of course, wasn’t his real animal. He was a wolf, like me. The two of us eyed the royals and Ben, then watched the soldiers with their four captives. Apparently, those guys would be footing it. Tough luck on them, but maybe jogging for miles was part of their training. I was just wondering if Timothy was going to tell Bob and me to change our shape when I saw Timothy gently push his wife to the side, then right in front of us, he rippled into a huge black monster of a horse. If a person had an eye for horseflesh, I bet they’d salivate over Timothy. He made a very fine-looking horse, I mean, pooka. I was wondering how Penelope was supposed to climb up onto the pooka’s back, but Bob went rushing over. “Let me help,” Bob called out. I wasn’t sure Timothy would go for that, but since the pooka was in his horse form, I guess he couldn’t protest. Anyway. Bob lifted up Penelope, placed her on her husband’s back, and that was that. Last of all were the two of us. Seeing as how everyone was waiting then for us, a minute later, Bob and I did our thing. With my wolfy tongue dangling down in eagerness, we set out at a full run, Bob and I, not minding a quick jaunt through the forest, we started our journey toward the queen’s court.
8.20 The Pooka’s Wife
Timothy: Ben knew Queen Moragana best, I supposed. When Andrew and I had stayed at Court, we’d been very young and very stupid. All of remembered of the queen, to be honest, is that she chased me around, trying to get me into her bed. The funny thing is that the other young nobles would have readily volunteered for that position and would have thoroughly enjoyed her attentions, but that kind of relationship was not for me. Once the queen had informed me that she and I were related, any bed play was an obvious no for me. And then there were the things my dad had said about the oddities of Faeryland. I’d thought at the time that the stories he’d told us were pure fantasy, something he’d made up. Andrew and I used to laugh, in fact. But Faeryland was real, and so were the many regulations, the court jockeying for positions, the back stabbings, the trickery, and all the deceits. Court was not a place I’d ever wanted to return to, but it seemed inevitable now. With Penelope bound to the kingdom for a while, so was I. At the moment, it was making me uneasy that Ben had cozied up to Penelope. I trusted her completely, and I think that Ben was a good sort, but he was Fae. I was reminded that he belonged firstly to the queen. That would make me weary of him from now on. Still, Ben did seem to have a calming influence, almost as much as Daniel always did. I supposed, in a way, that Penelope benefited from the whole crew of guards. Each one offered her something that I couldn’t. As if my wife felt my thoughts at that moment, she reached out to me, taking my hand in hers. My fingers, used to holding swords in the olden days, lifting up bails of hay or boulders on the days of the Wild West, and even lately with my hefting paintings about, must feel rough against her delicate hands. Many men in my class would spend time getting manicures and smoothing out their hard-earned calluses, but I never found the time for such things, even if I’d believed it worthwhile. My wife never seemed to mind, however. Her fingers were massaging mine, calming me as I longed to provide her with an equal portion of soothing for having endured this whole kidnapping misadventure. “Prince Cadarone, your wife is fine. She has completely recovered from her misfortune at Queen Beatrice’s abduction. Besides, one can only go forward, never back. What is done is done.” One of the most irritating things of being near a Fae queen is that they sensed your thoughts and then often responded with trite sayings. But instead of addressing my feelings about that, I asked, “Is there a carriage to take us back to Court, Your Majesty?” The queen laughed. “Why should Penelope need that when your young wife has her very own Pooka to ride.”
8.19 The Pooka’s Wife
“Don’t you want to be magical?” Queen Moragana asked. I laughed then glanced about the room. Even the soldiers’ eyes were focused on me, as if this were a crucial moment in time. “We are what we are,” I responded, treating the subject lightly as if it were unimportant, but what was I supposed to say, that I wanted to become Fae? I presumed that the Fae were born as Fae, not changed by a potion or created by some Fae Queen’s mumbo jumbo recitation. “Do not be impertinent,” the queen reacted in a voice raised into a higher octave. She sniffed into a scented hankie as if I’d insulted her. I felt Timothy fidget in the chair beside me, which meant that I was on the borderline of queenly anger. I sighed and restrained my aggravation. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to be impertinent. It’s only that I don’t have all the wonderful powers that you and your Fae court have. I can’t do the magnificent things that Timothy can either. Humans are totally without such benefits.” Queen Moragana shook her head, then flashed a searching look at Timothy. “Prince Cadarone, haven’t you explained any of this to the girl?” she thundered, so loudly that I quivered with regret for my big mouth, which had apparently provoked her. But before Timothy could get a word in, the queen continued. “You, Pe ne lop ee are going to acquire powers. I have seen it. You married a Pooka who is Fae, a prince of the Fae. Of course you will become High Born. It is the law, and in Faery, that means you must acquaint yourself with your abilities, whether you want them or not.” With that said, Queen Moragana went back to her eating, munching on a baked apple as if she’d saved the best for last. It was a good thing I wasn’t being called on to say anything more because I’d been completely tongue-tied by astonishment. I didn’t look at Timothy or any of the people around me. I just picked up the scone I’d been nibbling on and took another bite. Ben came over, moving his chair to sit beside me. Then he plopped down and with his puppy eyes of kindness, said, “The queen likes you, Penelope. I’ve never heard her lecture anyone so severely. That is not her habit. Most people she merely avoids speaking to.” I wanted to say that I wished she had avoided me, but I was pretty sure that she was listening to Ben’s words. Sometimes, silence really is the best response.
8.18 The Pooka’s Wife
I was almost feeling sick to my stomach for not having eaten in so long. I think they call that low blood sugar, but maybe it was just starvation setting in. However, I still wasn’t planning to eat anything if doing so would keep me longer in this strange place. I wanted to GO HOME, or rather back to the ship. But then the queen and Timothy both assured me that I could eat without being required to spend more time in Faeryland. That was super good news. I dived into a plate of scones. These had apricot bits inside them, not pomegranate seeds, which I found somewhat relieving. Next, on the plate that Timothy handed me, he’d placed a baked apple, a piece of the roasted pig, I mean, pork, and a pile of mashed pumpkin. I picked up a fork and tasted the pumpkin. Oh, my. Delicious. Someone had prepared it with whipped cream and orange peel. The dish was sweet, I think, from honey drippings, and it made me wish I could eat nothing but pumpkin. Especially not the pig! When the pumpkin was gone, I tasted the apple. Yummy. Stuffed with cinnamon and something sweetly caramelized. In between my samplings of these things, I finished off my apricot scone. Timothy brought me another when he saw me glancing back at the table with, I suppose, a look of longing. We were sitting in chairs formed into a circle, but I could have gotten up and gotten my own scone. I told him that, but he just smiled at me. Out team of guards were also eating. No chairs for them, but it didn’t seem to bother them. They and some of the soldiers had just plopped down on the floor and were holding their plates in their laps, enjoying the food as much as I was. Bob, especially, because I saw that he had a stack of scones piled on his plate. Terry had loaded his plate with sliced pork. His personal mountain lay like slabs of concrete. Daniel was also enjoying his feast, but Ben wasn’t part of the floor crowd. I glanced about and finally saw him catering to Queen Beatrice. He’d delivered her a plate filled with goodies, and she was eating like she was starved, although I’d seen her munching on the breakfast spread earlier. “All right, Ben. Go serve yourself,” Queen Moragana said, and Ben jumped up and headed to the table. So, had that been his punishment, to have to serve the Kidnap Queen as well as being forced to wait for his own meal? “What magic can you do, Penelope?” Queen Moragana suddenly asked me. I’d just taken a bite of Mr. Piggy and almost choked on it. “Magic? I’m just a human. Your Majesty,” I said, when my coughing finally stopped and I could speak again.
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?