“There’s someone on the bridge!” he cried.
There was someone on the bridge, standing right in the middle, over the swollen river. A figure in a voluminous dark cloak, with the hood pulled right up so the face was shadowed. His or her feet were the most visible things, clad in beautifully made bright scarlet boots with curled-up toes and high heels, which were parting the shallow film of floodwater that was only just beginning to trickle over the planks of the bridge.
Anya was certain there hadn’t been anyone there a moment before.
“I will c-c-lear the way!” barked Ardent, charging forward.
“No! Ardent! Stop!” shouted Anya, even as the person on the bridge raised one hand, the ring on the middle finger suddenly glowing as bright as the sun. Ardent skidded to a stop and yelped. The cloaked figure slowly lowered his or her hand.
Anya ran forward and slipped her fingers through Ardent’s collar. She still couldn’t see the bridgekeeper’s face under the hood, but that ring was obviously magical and probably extremely dangerous.
“We’d like to see the Good Wizard, please,” panted Anya.
“Dthhh ywwww hefff ahppenmen,” whispered the cloaked figure.
“Ah, I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch that,” said Anya nervously. She was keeping a close eye on that magic ring, desperately trying to think of what she should do if it was raised again. It probably sent out fire bolts, or maybe lightning, or at the very least caused the ground to open up beneath an enemy’s feet.
A horrible gulping noise came from inside the bridgekeeper’s hood. Anya stiffened, wondering what this meant and what ghastly creature was within.
“Sorry,” said the bridgekeeper, pushing back her hood to reveal that she was a young woman, perhaps only ten years older than Anya. She was pretty and her luxuriant dark hair was loosely pulled back and tied carelessly with a white ribbon. “I was eating a biscuit. Very contemplative thing to do, eat biscuits and watch floodwater. I recommend it.”
Ardent made a gulping noise at the mention of biscuits.
“Do you have an appointment?” asked the woman.
“No, I’m afraid we don’t. But it is very important. I’m Princess Anya—”
“Ah, the Frogkisser!” said the woman. “We heard about you from a Gerald the Herald this morning. And the dog, the frog, the newt, and the half otter-maid are all transformed humans?”
“I’m not!” said Ardent and Smoothie together, both in highly offended tones.
“Hmmm,” said the woman. “And you don’t have an appointment?”
“No,” said Anya. Her vision of a hot bath and food started to fray at the edges, to be replaced with the image of starving in a ditch … with the rain coming back again, of course.
“Can’t see the Good Wizard without an appointment,” said the woman regretfully.
Anya thought for a moment, and looked at the red boots again. She was fairly certain she knew what they meant. Surely, only the Good Wizard herself could have such wonderful footwear. But she looked so young …
“Can’t you make an exception?” asked Anya.
“No exceptions,” said the bridgekeeper firmly. “No appointment, no seeing the wizard.”
Anya thought for a few more seconds. Being very tired, very cold, and very hungry didn’t help. Her mind felt extremely sluggish. She looked down at Ardent, who gazed back at her with great confidence, obviously expecting her to work something out. Shrub was looking at her in the same way, and so was Smoothie. Denholm wasn’t looking at her at all; he was eyeing a mosquito that was venturing close to his cage.
She had to do something. They were relying on her to lead. She was a princess on a Quest, after all, and not just a totally sodden young girl with a cold who hadn’t had anything to eat for what seemed like days.
“Could … could we make an appointment, please?” she asked.
“Certainly,” said the bridgekeeper. She reached under her cloak and took out a dark blue leather-bound book that had Appointments embossed in gold type on the cover.
“Do you have anything in the next five minutes?” asked Anya.
“Certainly,” said the bridgekeeper. She opened the book and wrote in it with the long, artificial nail on her forefinger. The nail turned ink-blue as she wrote and then back to pink again when she stopped writing and shut the book.
“You actually are the Good Wizard yourself, aren’t you?” asked Anya.
“Her, the Good Wizard!” blurted out Shrub. He sounded very doubtful.
“Shhh,” said Anya.
“I am the Good Wizard,” said the woman calmly. She bent her head to meet the newt’s gaze. “And you are?”
“Shrub,” said Shrub. “I’m a good thief. I’m going to join Bert and the Association of Responsible Robbers. Just as soon as Anya changes me back. Are you sure you’re even a wizard?”
“Shrub,” Anya warned, seeing their appointment about to vanish before their eyes, and with it dryness, sustenance, and comfort. She sneezed violently at that thought, and the cold edged its way a bit more into her chest.
“You think I don’t look like a wizard, is that it?” asked the woman.
“I’m sure you’re the Good Wizard,” said Anya fervently. “No one else could have such boots.”
“Yes, they are nice boots,” said the Wizard, if indeed she was the Wizard. She pushed one foot forward and pointed the toe. “Very nice, if I say so myself. Surprisingly waterproof too, even better than I’d hoped. But I suppose you were expecting someone more … ah … traditional, my suspicious newt?”
Shrub mumbled something. Anya could only catch the words beard, staff, and with stars.
“Ah, you want the full regalia,” said the red-booted woman, who still might or might not be the Good Wizard. She turned her head to one side and spoke, apparently to thin air. “The complete outfit, please. Quick as you can.”