Section F: Fairy Tales & Physicists

Chapter 6

"Well, I suppose he never actually said he was a sorcerer. Not as such. Not in so many words. I just rather assumed that's what he was. I mean one would, wouldn't one? Magicking me here from Gronce, summoning witches willy-nilly, zooming off in horseless carriages—all very sorcerer-like behaviour, wouldn't you say?"

Fields wasn't about to say any such thing. "He magicked you here?"

Embers looked a little uncomfortable. "Well, I'm only assuming that, too. I'm afraid I don't actually understand how I got here. All I know is one moment I was picking flowers in the palace gardens, then suddenly there was a kerfuffle, and the next thing I knew I found myself in a dungeon, trapped inside a box."

"A kerfuffle?" queried Peregrine.

"Oh, yes. A commotion. A hullabaloo. A brouhaha, if you like."

"A brouhaha—I see. And could you perhaps describe this brouhaha for us?"

"Oh, Peregrine. I fear a simple girl such as I would not have the words to do such a strange experience justice. How could I possibly describe the scintillating spectrum of colours which enveloped my suddenly spectral self? How would I accurately recount the resounding, resonating rhythms which so rapidly wrapped around my abruptly wraith-like essence? In what possible way could I portray the tumbling, dizzying, overwhelmingly vertiginous sensations that perfused every iota of my being? No, I would be loath to even make the attempt."

Peregrine nodded slowly. "Right. I see. Okay, well, perhaps we'll come back to the kerfuffle. Tell us about this dungeon."

"Oh, I can do better than that, my dear Peregrine. I can show it to you. It's just downstairs."

Fields wasn't usually prone to déjà vu, however as he walked down the stairs, he found himself experiencing a serious case.

Basement—check. Paper-strewn desk—check. Coffin-like box attached to the wall—check. Suspicion his day had just taken a turn for the worse—big, fat check.

There was even a freaking copy of Grimm's Fairy Tales on the desk.

Embers pointed. "That's the box I found myself in. It was most disconcerting, I must say. Even more so when the sorcerer opened it up and offered me flowers."

"Flowers?" queried Fields.

"Yes—peonies I believe. Without any sort of preamble, he declared that fate had brought us together, and then gave me flowers. Once I regathered my senses, it became quite clear he was trying to woo me."

"To woo you?"

"To woo me. Obviously, I told the fellow that quite apart from the inappropriateness of wooing confused women in boxes, I was married, but he was most persistent. If I hadn't felt quite so discombobulated, I would have given his codpiece what for, I can assure you. In fact, my somewhat frosty reception of you, my dear Eel, was because I suspected you were him, returning to continue his suit."

Fields' tenderised groin twinged in recollection. "Well, he won't, if he knows what's good for him. I can testify to that. Anyway, what happened next?"

"You writhed about on the floor in a most undignified manner—don't you remember?"

"Not after you kicked me! What happened after Feather—after the sorcerer tried to woo you?"

"Oh, I see. Well, when I had made it quite clear I was most certainly not interested in his courtship, the presumptuous fellow became quite cross, locked me in there"—she indicated a barred, cell-like area in the far corner of the basement—"and said he would deal with me later. Honestly, the impertinence. He then set about fiddling with that wretched box, mumbling and poking and prodding all the while. After what seemed like hours, I must admit I rather dozed off. It was the bang that woke me."

"The bang?" asked Peregrine.

"Yes. It was most frightfully loud. And followed by several more, apparently coming from a strange bent wand the sorcerer was wielding. As you can imagine, I was somewhat dazed, so it took me a moment to comprehend the situation, however it soon became clear he was directing his wand at the witch."

Closing his eyes, Fields rubbed his temples. "Right. The witch. I'd forgotten about her."

"Do try to keep up, Eel. Yes, she was standing before the box I'd found myself in, with the door wide open—presumably the sorcerer had magicked her here too, for his own nefarious purposes."

"Right," muttered Fields, "or maybe he just wanted to woo her, too."

"Oh, I don't think so. She was most hideou-...that is to say, she was perhaps a little under-endowed in the aesthetic sense, if you get my drift. Quite warty. Not really the sort to inspire wooing. More so abject terror, I should think. The sorcerer certainly seemed quite apprehensive, particularly when his wand had no effect."

Peregrine bumped shoulders with Fields. "I can't say I'm surprised. Most men are a little apprehensive when their wands have no effect, hey partner?"

Completely at a loss as to how to respond to this, he was saved the trouble by Embers' delighted peals of laughter.

"Oh, Peregrine, you wicked, wicked woman. If only my ladies-in-waiting had a little of your spirit. I don't suppose you'd be interested in a change of career? Free gowns and all the cake you can eat? Scandalous gossip and endless back-stabbing?"

"Well, you almost had me at 'cake' but I'm not much of a one for gowns. Besides, what would poor old Eel"—she prodded her partner in the stomach—"do without me?"

Embers nodded soberly. "Yes, of course. From the little I've seen, he wouldn't last five minutes without your guidance. Your sense of duty to the poor fellow is most admirable, my dear Peregrine. Still, please do keep it in mind."

"Oh, I will."

"Right. Fine. Good." Having just been thoroughly dissed by a fairy-tale princess, Fields' ego was starting to feel almost as battered as his body. It was definitely time to get the investigation back on track, or to at least prevent it going any further off track. Assuming there even was a track. Which he was increasingly doubtful about. "If you two are quite done, then perhaps we can get back to the witch and the wand? Tell me, Embers"—Fields drew his gun from its shoulder holster—"did it look anything like this?"

The princess' eyes grew wide. "Why, yes it did, Eel. The sorcerer's wand looked very much like that. Please don't tell me you're also a dabbler in the dark arts?"

Unable to resist the temptation to possibly regain a little cred, Fields put on his best Clint Eastwood voice. "Only when I need to be, Princess. Only when I need to be."

Which, with the benefit of time and hindsight, he would have no doubt later realised was an entirely unwise thing to say. As it turned out, Embers saved him the trouble, bringing the matter to his immediate attention with another one of her remarkably well-aimed kicks, directed squarely at his beleaguered, bruised and increasingly battered codpiece.