A Tale of Two Castles

“At my lair. Bread and cheese, which you may toast. Sundry victuals.”


The idea of food more substantial than an apple weakened my knees. I stumbled, then caught myself. At home my family and I would have shared four meals since I’d last eaten more than the apple.

“Masteress, would you pay to post a letter from me to my parents, to let them know I’m safe?”

“One letter. The scribes are all knaves: twenty tins to write a letter, twenty-five for posting, five for a small sheet of parchment, ten for a large.” IT snorted. “Ink is free.”

“Masteress Meenore, I can write my own letter.”

IT exhaled blue smoke. “You will still need parchment and the posting fee.” After a pause IT added, “I failed to deduce that you can read and write.”

Not many could. “My mother taught me.” To take my mind off home, I thought about my salary.

A hundred tins to a copper, fifty coppers to an iron bar, four iron bars to a silver. Many lifetimes before I earned my apprenticeship.

“Lodie, walking is not my preferred mode of travel. Return to the town gate, then follow the high street, Owe Street, west to the end. There is my lair. I will be waiting with your supper.”

“How will I recognize your”—I gulped—“lair?”

“You will. Be alert as you go. When you reach me, tell me what your senses perceived. Mysteries abound in Two Castles. As my assistant, you must learn to notice them.” IT stood on ITs back legs and lifted in two great wing strokes, ITs wing colors muted by the dusk, ITs body in flight powerful and sleek. In a moment IT rose higher than the tallest castle tower, caught a wind, and glided away.

The rain had all but stopped. I pulled my cloak out of my satchel and wrapped it around me.

Mysteries abound. I reviewed the mysteries I had already encountered: the thieving cat; barefoot Master Thiel and his jingling coins; the polite ogre hated by all; no one at the dock to meet Goodwife Celeste and her goodman, who had come to see their children; even Master Dess, who seemed perfect enough to be a whited sepulcher; the dragon willing to hire an unknown girl. An abundance.

Soon I reached the menagerie fence. I ran my fingertips from one upright log to the next, rough to the touch. I smelled wet earth, damp fur, and the rust of raw meat—some animals’ feed, I hoped. My eyes sharpened as the dark deepened.

Again I heard that rising and falling call, which jangled even more eerily in my ears now that it was night. I would have been terrified if not for the protection of the fence. Any animal that escaped its cage would still be contained.

Then my hand encountered air. The gate hung open.

I fled. Although I heard nothing behind me, I didn’t slow for a full five minutes. I was lucky not to slip in the mud. Finally I stopped to quiet my breathing. The open menagerie gate—one more mystery.

In this setting I could truly be Thisbe, out at night to meet my Pyramus, who would look very much like Master Thiel. I could indeed see a bloodied lioness and bolt, leaving behind my veil, if I had a veil.

Torchlight and candlelight twinkled in the town to my right and the castle to my left. Torches flanked the nearby castle gatehouse. The drawbridge was up for the night.

I took the final fork. Below the town’s gate, a figure approached, striding toward me on Daycart Way.

In the daylight, thieves. At night, murderers?

A few houses remained, and he might yet enter one of them, but I couldn’t wait. I darted to the town wall and stood with my back against it, hoping to disappear into its shadow.

The figure, a man, passed through the gate.

Mrrow? from near my feet.

The man halted.

I cursed Two Castles for its cats. My muscles tensed with fear.

“Who goes there?” His voice was sharp, challenging.

The cat rubbed my legs.

The man waited. I waited. The cat leaned into my calf.

Finally the man continued, and in a minute I saw him by castle torchlight. It was Master Dess! Master Dess, without his cows and donkey, but still with his kitten basket.

I almost called to him. Now that I was ITs assistant, I could return his three tins. But his voice had been so harsh, I didn’t dare.

He knocked twice on the gatehouse door, then pounded—bang! bang! bang!—then knocked twice again. A signal?

The drawbridge dropped to let him cross. I remained where I was until he must have reached the castle. The cat made tiny noises, washing itself.

I left it behind. As I followed Owe Street west, I caught a whiff of spoiled eggs. The odor grew with every step.

The street ended at a structure such as I’d never seen before, as big as four houses and twice as tall, with a roof that reminded me of interlaced fingers, pointing upward. The fingers, made of tree trunks, twisted and curved, lashed together by iron bands. Smoke filtered in wisps between the fingers and rose in a thicker plume from a chimney on the other side of the edifice. The walls were made of wattle and daub, as an ordinary cottage would be.

The shape of the building was a rough circle, ringed at regular intervals by rainwater vats as high as my shoulders. The wooden door, big enough to admit a dragon, stood open.

ITs lair. I waited in the shadow outside for a long minute before crossing the threshold.





Chapter Nine

Masteress Meenore faced me from halfway across the single enormous room, where stench seemed to have replaced air. I swallowed repeatedly and tried not to gag.

“Do you like my perfume?” The smoke from ITs nostrils changed from white to blue.

Blue smoke meant shame!

I begged my eyes not to water, but they watered anyway. Should I lie?

IT would know.

Soften the truth?

IT would know.

“Do you like it, Lodie?”

I breathed deep without choking. “Like it? Enh enh enh.”

Enh enh enh. Enh enh enh. Enh enh enh. “My odor is terrible. But you will get used to it, Elodie.”