“I think we are guarded well enough here,” said the Good Wizard drily, glancing around at the heavily armed and armored dwarves, Bert with her bow, and who knew how many invisible servants besides the ones carrying the carpet. And, Anya suddenly noticed, however many more were carrying the large sack that hung in the air near her. It smelled very strongly of onions and was far too big for her to even pick up, let alone carry anywhere.
“I don’t think I need that many on—” she started to say, when Ardent sniffed twice very deeply and barked.
“It’s Gotfried!”
“Gotfried?”
Even as she spoke, a small owl emerged from a clump of grass and wearily dragged itself into the open, trailing one wing. Anya and Ardent both dashed forward, ignoring Bert’s cry that it might be a trap.
Within a few moments, Anya was cradling the small injured owl to her chest while Ardent helpfully leaped around her in circles.
“Gotfried!” cried Anya again. “What are you doing here? Are you hurt?”
“Yes,” said the owl. “I am hurt. Badly hurt. I have been pecked near to death by the Duke’s ravens. And obviously I was looking for you.”
“Oh, Gotfried!” said Anya. She turned him over, checking for terrible wounds. But apart from one wing that was lacking a few feathers, he seemed to be all right. “What’s happened?”
“What’s happened? Everything!” cried the owl. “Most of it bad, I’m afraid to say.”
He put his head under his undamaged wing, clearly about to gather his thoughts.
“But what exactly has happened?” asked Anya.
Some muffled and unintelligible speech came from under the wing. Anya lifted it up and saw Gotfried had tears in his eyes. As normal owls cannot cry, this was quite alarming.
“What has happened?” asked Anya again, very slowly and clearly. It had to be shockingly bad news, she knew, if Gotfried had come to seek her out.
“Morven is very sick,” gabbled out Gotfried. “You have to come home.”
“What?”
This was not what Anya was expecting. And Gotfried’s voice didn’t sound quite right.
“Morven is sick? What with?”
“Plague,” said Gotfried. “Er … and swamp fever. Or possibly hen ague.”
Anya thought about this for a few moments. Ardent stretched up, sniffing at the owl in her arms, his expression severe.
“Gotfried,” Anya said heavily. “How did you know where to find me?”
It was Gotfried’s turn to be silent for a while. Finally, he managed to squeak out, “I asked around. The heralds, they told me.”
“He’s lying,” said Ardent with an angry woof. “I c-c-can smell the lies!”
Gotfried burst into full-blown crying, which was even more alarming.
“Tell me the truth,” said Anya, firmly but kindly.
“The Duke made me,” sobbed Gotfried. “He said if I didn’t then he’d turn me into a skeleton on the spot and stick it on a spike. I’m not brave like you, Anya.”
“What happened to your wing, then?”
“I just pulled some feathers out myself,” cried Gotfried. He started to struggle in Anya’s arms, trying to get free. “Put me down and have that archer shoot me! I’m a traitor!”
“Don’t be silly,” said Anya. “You’re a librarian who is unlucky enough to work for an evil sorcerer, that’s all. What’s really happening back home?”
Gotfried stopped struggling and tried to put his head back under his wing again.
“Tell me,” said Anya.
“It is bad,” whispered Gotfried. “That’s another reason I was so afraid.”
“Tell me,” said Anya.
“Moatie died the night you left,” said Gotfried. His voice was so quiet Anya had to lean right down so his feathery head tickled her face. “Simply from old age, or so the cats said. He came out of the moat, roared that he was finally going to eat the Duke, and then he just … rolled over. That was that.”
Anya sat down slowly, lowering Gotfried into her lap. The world seemed to have stopped for a moment, everything suddenly quiet, the sunshine cold. Ardent licked her ear, meaning to give comfort. Anya reached out with her free hand and scratched his head.
“The dogs left in the night,” continued Gotfried. “I don’t know where. Most of the servants left too, as soon as they realized the dogs were gone. The cats have gone into hiding in the top attics.”
“Where did the dogs go?”
Ardent shuffled at Anya’s side, but he didn’t say anything.
It was difficult for Anya to speak, but she managed it. She told herself nothing had really changed. Moatie had been very old; it had always been likely that he would die, or that the Duke would grow strong enough to overpower him with sorcery. Perhaps, in his last great shout, the moat monster had believed he was killing the Duke and saving the princesses. So he would have died happy.
“I don’t know,” said Gotfried.
“What?” asked Anya, whose thoughts were still on the ancient moat monster. He had always been such a friend to the two little girls.
“I don’t know where the dogs went,” repeated Gotfried.
“And Morven?” asked Anya. “She’s not sick? That was just the Duke trying to lure me home?”
“She’s fine. She probably won’t even realize anything’s amiss,” whispered Gotfried. “As long as Prince Maggers sings to her, that’s all she cares about. And Bethany will never leave her, so she’ll still be waited on hand and foot. I’m sure she’ll be all right.”
“I don’t know,” said Anya anxiously. Without Moatie or the dogs, Morven had to be at risk. Even if she didn’t realize it herself.
“Put me down, Princess,” said Gotfried. “Have your guards execute me. I deserve it.”
“They’re not my guards,” Anya replied. “That’s Snow White and the Seven Dwarves, and the current Good Wizard, and … some other friends I’ve found along the way.”
“Snow White? The Seven Dwarves?” mumbled Gotfried. “Oh woe! To meet in such circumstances.”
He struggled out of Anya’s arms and bowed deeply to the old man and the dwarves. His trailing wing, though lacking a few feathers, seemed to have miraculously recovered.
No one bowed back.
“So you’re the Trallonian librarian who wanted to be a sorcerer and botched your own transformation,” said the Good Wizard. “And now you’re some kind of henchman for Duke Rikard?”