“Can you really transform me back into a human?” asked Shrub.
“If I can make a magical lip balm, I should be able to. But I’m not just going to transform anyone who asks. I mean, you admit you’re a thief—”
“In training to be a thief,” said Shrub. “A good one, though. You know, stealing from the rich, giving to the poor, that sort of thing. And I was trying to steal the Only Stone for a good reason.”
“Why?”
“To give it to Bert,” replied the newt, as if this explained everything.
“Who’s Bert?” Anya was a little exasperated. After all, she’d only wanted to get two bowls of soup, not get caught up in a long conversation with a transformed newt, the newt’s mother, and his druidic uncle.
“Bert is Roberta, the leader of ARR—the Association of Responsible Robbers. I want to join up with them, but she says I’m too young. I thought if I could steal the Only Stone and give it to her, that would prove I wasn’t. Too young, I mean.”
“How old are you?”
“I’m ten,” said Shrub. “Next month. But I’ve been training to be a thief since I was six.”
“If you change him back, I’ll give you two bowls of soup and a big piece of ham to take with you, wrapped in cheesecloth,” said Martha encouragingly.
“Yum,” said Ardent.
“Hmmm,” said Anya. “I’ll buy the soup and think about this while we eat. Is one small silver enough?”
“Plenty!” said Martha, taking the proffered coin. She surreptitiously rubbed it on her apron to make sure the tarnished metal really was silver. “Please be seated. I’ll get bowls and spoons.”
Anya looked around and eventually sat on a half-rotten log that had fallen nearby, setting Denholm in his cage next to her. Ardent sat on her feet and leaned against her, already drooling.
“I could help you,” said Shrub. He climbed up onto the log and sat next to Denholm, who eyed him balefully. Frogs and newts were not traditionally friends. “On your Quest. What are you questing for?”
“To get help against an evil sorcerer who wants to usurp the crown of Trallonia,” Anya explained. “And to get the ingredients to make the lip balm to turn Prince Denholm back into a man.”
“The Only Stone would be a great help against an evil sorcerer,” said Shrub. He blinked as he spoke, and his long tongue came out and whisked across his eye.
“Perhaps,” agreed Anya. “But as it is, I already have one evil sorcerer as an enemy. Why would I want to go up against a whole society of evil sorcerers? Particularly if one of them can turn into a gray mist. Or is a gray mist. That sounds really bad.”
“No problem if you’ve got the Only Stone,” said Shrub.
Anya sighed. This boy-turned-newt seemed to have an obsession that had clouded his thinking.
“It is a problem because we haven’t got it and they do,” she said. “Besides, I have to stay focused on getting the ingredients. One thing at a time!”
“Always eat the food in front of you first,” said Ardent. He looked across at Martha, who was ladling soup into bowls, and licked the gathering drool off his lips.
“I still think you should … mumble … the Only Stone … mumble … ” Shrub complained, his voice receding as Anya gave him one of her very stern looks. Anya’s stern looks were legendary, and not something anyone wanted to experience twice.
“Here’s your soup,” said Martha, passing Anya a bowl and setting one down on the ground for Ardent. The dog made a slight lunge towards it, but managed to stop himself and look at Anya.
“Wait,” she said to the dog, lifting her spoon. “Very well. Begin.”
She had just got her first spoonful in her mouth when Ardent finished his bowl and started licking up the spots that had been spilled around by his frantic gulping.
“Greedy-guts,” said Anya between mouthfuls. The soup was wonderfully good and did a great deal to improve her temper and outlook. Sitting down to eat also reenergized her mind, and for the first time since her hurried departure from the castle, Anya’s brain began to work at its usual highly intelligent rate.
“I might be able to take Shrub along and turn him back when I make the lip balm,” she told Martha. “If you can help me find one of the ingredients. Specifically, four drops of blood from a retired druid.”
A sudden, shocked intake of breath from both Martha and Hedric wasn’t what Anya was expecting. She lowered her spoon and looked at them.
“What?” she asked. “I just need four drops.”
Hedric looked at the ground and shuffled his large feet. Martha took another deep breath and glanced quickly to the left and right, and then up at the sky.
“It’s not something respectable people talk about,” she whispered.
“What?” asked Anya. “The blood, or the retired part?”
“Druids don’t really retire,” said Martha, still whispering. She came closer to Anya and knelt down by her side. The princess leaned in close so she could hear. So did Ardent and Shrub—at least till his mother clapped her hands over his head to stop his ears. Then he tried to wriggle away.
“You behave, Shrub!” scolded Martha. She added to Anya, “It’s not suitable for children to hear, you know.”
“I’m a child,” said Anya. “Technically.”
“But you’re a princess,” said Martha.
“Yeeees,” said Anya doubtfully. “Why is talking about retired druids unsuitable for children?”
“Druids don’t retire,” said Martha. “They either die with their sickles on, so to speak, or they … ”
She took another deep breath.
“They what?” asked Anya.
“They take up with the tree spirits,” mumbled Martha. “And, you know, become one.”
“They become tree spirits?”
“No, they become a tree! With a tree spirit, ahem, living in it. Together.”
“That doesn’t sound terribly bad,” said Anya. “I expect it’s quite nice for both of them.”
“No, no, no,” said Martha. “It’s not the done thing. Some of them don’t even become oaks. They turn into beeches or pines or even … even chestnuts.”
“I suppose the blood would be the sap,” said Anya thoughtfully.