I touched his arm to feel the fur, which was as rough as an otter dog’s coat. As I stroked, a spark passed between us. The monkey threw back his head and panted, laughing, I thought.
Something had to be done with his clothing. I began to fold each item while wondering how I could fit it all into my satchel and then carry it as well as the sack of food.
I rolled his belt and tucked his purse—still heavy despite all the purchases—between his hose and his tunic. Mean-while he bounced on his bare feet, chirping like a bird, adding a screech, a choo, and a sucking sound.
“I wish I spoke monkey language, Your Lordship.” I folded the cloak and added the huge shoes, soles up, to the pile.
The pendant lay on the ground, apart from the rest. I hid it in the toe of a shoe.
Night would fall soon. Were we safe out here, where Two Castles’s thieves might kill us for the pendant and the purse? A monkey who took five minutes to transform back into an ogre would be unable to defend us, and one dog wouldn’t be enough to hold off a gang.
The monkey sat in the road and pulled apart the strings of the sack.
Sheeyen tried to stick her nose in, but I pulled her away.
“Your Lordship, we mustn’t stay here. Robbers and bandits may come.”
He chittered and patted the ground next to himself in a gesture that said as clearly as a word, Sit.
The monkey was a count. I sat.
No. I was human, and he was a monkey.
The road stretched along a low rise. In two trips, tugging Sheeyen along each way, I carried everything down the western slope to a spot low enough, I thought, that we wouldn’t be noticed in the dark. The monkey followed, then sat again, pulling me down next to him. Together, we watched the sunset turn the sky gold and scarlet.
Chirping, he took a packet out of the sack and opened the burlap covering to reveal lamb pottage.
“Sit, Sheeyen,” I said.
Pottage was humble food, but delicious: grain mixed with beans, a chopped onion, a little shredded meat, shaped into a ball, wrapped in a square of linen, simmered with other wrapped packages of carrots, celery, beets. At home we’d eat the pottage and vegetables atop a plate of stale bread with broth spooned over. At the end we’d break off pieces of our plates and devour them, too.
Here there was no broth, but the pottage was moist, with more meat than I was accustomed to. The monkey and I shared it, feeding each other by turn, as people do. He ate daintily but as much as if he were still ogre size. I gave Sheeyen a little at first, too, then ignored her. After a while she lost hope and slept.
“Your Lordship, are you awake inside your present shape?”
For answer he twittered, but his eyes met mine in a way I had seen in no other animal. Perhaps he could understand and remember. I had questions, and I hoped he would answer them when he could speak again.
But before I could say anything, he pulled another packet out of the sack.
Lambs and calves! This was the saffron fish, as golden as if King Midas had touched it. The monkey held a chunk to my lips. I tasted, spat it out, and wiped my mouth on my sleeve. Ugh! Gold itself would taste better. How could people enjoy saffron so much?
The monkey’s shoulders shook. He took a great handful of the awful mess and crammed it into his mouth. After he swallowed, he smiled and pointed at his teeth, now dyed yellow.
I couldn’t help laughing.
Next he brought out pickled blue carrots. As we ate, the stars and the moon rose. I drew my cloak tight around me. The monkey jumped up, fetched the ogre’s huge cloak, and draped it inexpertly over my shoulders, making his panting laugh and ignoring my protests that it would get dirty.
I covered my head with the cloak, which enfolded me, and inside I was as snug as if I were in the lair.
We continued eating. The sack collapsed as its contents slid into our stomachs. In the back of my mind, I was aware of the marchpane still remaining. No matter how much I ate, I would make room for it.
Between bites I spoke. “Pardon me, Your Lordship”—I cleared my throat nervously—“I have a few questions. . . .”
He went on chewing.
I asked about the dog, Nesspa, what his habits were, what he dined on, whose company he kept in addition to His Lordship’s.
“My guess is”—I thought aloud, deducing or inducing or using my common sense—“that you don’t often change shape, because changing hurts so much.” More to myself than to the monkey, I said, “I wonder why you did with me.”