Elven Star

11

My dear Paithan,

You’re probably astonished to hear from me. I’m not one for writing. However, I’m certain you won’t be offended if I tell you the truth and that is that I’m writing to you out of sheer boredom. I certainly hope this engagement doesn’t last too long or I shall go out of my mind.

Yes, dear brother, I’ve given up my “wild and wicked ways.” At least temporarily. When I’m a “staid old married woman” I intend to pursue a more interesting life; one only needs to be discreet.

As I had foreseen, there is a bit of scandal over the impending marriage. The dowager is a snobbish old bitch who came near to ruining everything. She had the nerve to inform Durndrun that I had been having an affair with Lord K———, that I frequented certain establishments Below and that I even carried on with the human slaves! In short, I was a slut, not worthy of being honored with the Durndrun money, the Durndrun house, and the Durndrun name. Fortunately, I had foreseen something like this happening and had procured a promise from my “beloved” that he was to inform me of any allegations made by his dear mama and allow me to refute them. He did so, coming to see me in the mistymorne! of all times. That’s one habit of which I shall have to break him!

By Orn! What does one do at such an ungodly hour? There was no help for it. I had to make an appearance. Fortunately, unlike some women, I always look well on arising.

I found Durndrun in the parlor, looking extremely serious and stern, being entertained by Calandra, who was enjoying the whole thing immensely. She left us alone—quite proper between engaged couples, you know—and, if you will believe this, my dear brother, the man began heaping his mother’s accusations upon my head!

I was, of course, prepared.

Once I understood the precise nature of his complaints (and their source), I tumbled down upon the floor in a swoon. (In passing, there is a true art to that. One must fall without doing damage and preferably without any unsightly bruises on the elbows. It is not as easy as it looks.) Anyway, Durndrun was quite alarmed and was obliged—of course—to lift me in his arms and place me on the sofa.

I came to myself just in time to prevent him ringing for help and, seeing him bending over me, called him a “cad” and burst into tears. He was again obliged to take me in his arms. Sobbing incoherently about my besmirched honor and how I could never love a man who didn’t trust me, I attempted to push him away, making certain that in the ensuing struggle my gown tore and the lord discovered that his hand had wandered to a place where it should not have been.

“Ah, so this is what you think of me!” I flung myself on the sofa, taking care that in my frantic attempts to repair the damage, I simply made it worse. My only worry was that he should ring for the servants. I, therefore, did not allow my tears to degenerate into hysterics.

He rose to his feet and I could see, out of the corner of my eye, the struggle ensuing in his breast. I quieted my sobs and turned my head, looking up at him through a veil of golden hair, my eyes shimmering quite prettily.

“I admit that ! have been what some might call irresponsible,” I said in a choked voice, “but then I never had a mama to guide me! I’ve been searching so long for someone to love and honor with al! my heart, and now that I’ve found you …” I couldn’t go on. Turning my face to the tear-soaked pillow, I stretched out my arm. “Go!” I told him. “Your mama is right! I am not worthy of such love!” Well, Fait, I’m sure you must have guessed the rest. Before you could say “matrimony,” Lord Durndrun was at my feet, begging my forgiveness! I allowed him another kiss and a long, lingering glance before I modestly covered the “treasures” he won’t acquire until our wedding night. He was so carried away by his passion he even spoke of turning his mother out of his house! It took a great deal of persuading to convince him that the dowager would be as dear to me as the mother I never knew. I have plans for the old lady. She doesn’t know it, but she will cover my little “escapes” when married life becomes too boring.

And so I am well on the way to the altar. Lord Durndrun laid down the law to the dowager, informing her that he would wed me and that if she didn’t like it we would live somewhere else. That wouldn’t do at all, of course. The house is the main reason I’m marrying him. But I wasn’t too afraid. The old woman simply dotes on her son and she gave way, as I knew she must. The wedding will be in about four months time. I had hoped it would be sooner, but there are certain formalities that must be observed, and Callie is insisting on everything being very proper. In the meantime, I have no choice but to give the appearance that I am a modest, well-bred maiden and stay prudently at home. You will laugh, I’m certain, Paithan, when you read this. But I assure you I have not been with a man this past month. By the time the wedding night comes around, Durndrun himself will look good to me!

(I’m not at all certain I can hold out that long. I don’t suppose you’ve noticed, but one of the human slaves is quite a pretty specimen. He’s very interesting to talk to and has even taught me some of that beastly language of theirs. Speaking of beasts, do you suppose it’s true what they say about human males?)

Sorry about the blurred text on that last part. Callie came into my room and I was forced to slip this in among my undergarments before the ink was dry. Can you imagine what she would have done if she’d read that last part?

Fortunately, she needn’t worry. Thinking about it, I don’t believe I could bring myself to form a liaison with a human. No offense, Pait, but how can you stand to touch them? I suppose it’s different for a man.

You’re wondering what Callie was doing in here at this hour of stormtime? The rockets were keeping her awake.

Speaking of rockets, home life has gone from bad to worse since you left. Papa and that crazy old wizard spend all toiltime down in the cellar preparing rockets and all darktime out in the backyard, firing them off. We’ve set a record, I do believe, in the number of servants who’ve left us. Cal’s been forced to pay out large sums to several families in the town below, whose houses caught fire. Papa and the wizard are sending the rockets up, you see, so that this “man with the bandaged hands” will see them and know where to land!

Oh, Paithan, I’m sure you’re laughing now, but this is serious. Poor Callie’s about to tear the hair off her head in frastration, and I’m afraid I’m not much better. Of course, she’s worried about the money and the business and the mayor coming by with a petition to get rid of the dragon.

I’m worried about poor Papa. The crafty old human has Papa completely convinced in this nonsense about a ship and going to see Mama in the stars. It’s all Papa talks about. He’s so excited he won’t eat and he’s getting thinner by the day. Callie and I know that old wizard must be up to something—maybe making off with ail Papa’s fortune. But, if so, he’s shown no signs of it. Cal tried twice to buy Zifnab—or whatever he calls himself—off, offering him more money than most humans would see in a lifetime to go away and leave us alone. The old man took her by the hand and, with a sad look on his face, told her, “But my dear, soon the day will come when money won’t matter.” Won’t matter! Money won’t matter! Callie thought he was crazy before but now she’s convinced he’s a raving maniac and should be locked up somewhere. I think she’d do it, too, but she’s afraid how Papa might react. And then there was the day the dragon almost got loose. You remember how the old man keeps the creature under enchantment? (Orn knows how or why.) We were sitting down to breakfast when suddenly there was a terrible commotion outside, the house shook like it would fall apart, tree limbs cracked and thudded into the moss and a fiery red eye appeared, staring into our dining room window.

“Have another muffin, old man!” came this dreadful, hissing voice. “With lots of honey on it. You need fattening, fool. Like the rest of the plump, juicy meat around you!”

Its teeth flashed, saliva dripped from its forked tongue. The old man went pale as a ghost. What few servants we had left ran screaming out the door.

“Ah, ha!” shouted the dragon. “Fast food!” The eye disappeared. We ran to the front door and saw the dragon’s head diving down, its jaws ready to close over the cook!

“No, not her!” shouted the old man. “She does the most wonderful things to a chicken! Try the butler. Never did like him,” he said, turning to Father.

“Uppity chap.”

“But,” said poor Papa, “you can’t let him eat thr staff!”

“Why not?” Cal screamed. “Let him eat all of us! What does it matter to you?” You should have seen Callie, Brother. It was frightening. She went all stiff and rigid and just stood there on the front porch, her arms crossed over her chest, her face set hard as rock. The dragon seemed to be toying with his victims, driving them like sheep, watching them duck behind trees, lunging at them when they came out in the open.

“What if we let him have the butler,” said the old man nervously, “and maybe a footman or two? Take the edge off, so to speak?”

“I—I’m afraid not,” answered poor Papa, who was shaking like a leaf. The old man heaved a sigh. “You’re right, I suppose. Mustn’t abuse your hospitality. Seems a pity. Elves are so easily digestible. Slide right down. He always feels hungry right after, though.” The old man began rolling up his sleeves. “Dwarves, now. I never let him eat a dwarf. Not since the last time. Up with him all night. Let’s see. How did that spell go? Let’s see, I need a ball of bat guano and a pinch of sulfur. No, wait. I’ve got my spells muddled.”

The old man strolled out on the lawn, cool as you please, in the midst of the chaos, talking to himself about bat dung! By now, some of the townspeople had arrived, carrying weapons. The dragon was delighted to see them, shouting about “all-you-can-eat buffets.” Callie was standing on the porch, screeching, “Eat us all!” Papa was wringing his hands until he collapsed into a chaise lounge.

I hate to admit this, Pait, but I started to laugh. Why is that? It must be some horrible flaw in me that makes me start giggling during disaster. I wished with all my heart you’d been there to help us, but you weren’t. Papa was useless, Cal wasn’t much better. In desperation, I ran down onto the lawn and caught hold of the old man’s arm just as he raised it in the air.

“Aren’t you supposed to sing?” I asked. “You know, ‘something, something Bonnie Earl’!”

It was all I could understand of the damn song. The old man blinked and his face brightened. Then he whirled around and glared at me, his beard bristling. The dragon, meanwhile, was chasing the townspeople across the lawn.

“What are you trying to do?” the old man demanded angrily. “Take over my job?”

“No, I—”

“ ‘Don’t meddle in the affairs of wizards,’” he said in lofty tones, “ ‘for they are subtle and quick to anger.’ A fellow sorcerer said that. Good at his job, knew a lot about jewelry. Not bad at fireworks, either. Wasn’t the snappy dresser Merlin was, though. Let’s see, what his name? Raist—no, that was the irritating young chap, kept hacking and spitting up blood all the time. Disgusting. The other’s name was Gand-something or other …” I began laughing wildly, Pait! I couldn’t help it. I had no idea what he was yammering about. It was just all so ludicrous! I must be a truly wicked person.

“The dragon!” I grabbed the old man and shook him until his teeth rattled.

“Stop him!”

“Ah, yes. It’s easy for you to say.” Zifnab gave me a hunted look. “You don’t have to live with him afterward!”

Heaving another sigh, he began to sing in that high-pitched quavery voice of his that goes right through your head. Just like before, the dragon jerked his head up, and stared at the old man. The creature’s eyes glazed over and pretty soon he was swaying in time to the music. Suddenly, the dragon’s eyes popped open wide and he stared at the old man in shock.

“Sir!” the creature thundered. “What are you doing out on the front lawn in your nighty? Have you no shame?”

The dragon’s head snaked across the lawn and loomed over poor Papa, who was huddled underneath the chaise lounge. The townspeople, seeing the creature distracted, began raising their weapons and creeping up on it.

“Forgive me. Master Quindiniar,” said the dragon in a deep, booming voice.

“This is my fault entirely. I was not able to catch him before he left this morning.” The dragon’s head swiveled around to the old man. “Sir, I had laid out the mauve morning coat with the pin-striped pants and the yellow weskit—”

“Mauve morning coat?” screeched the old man. “Did you ever see Merlin strolling around Camelot, casting spells in a mauve morning coat? No, by hoppy toads, you didn’t! And you won’t catch me in one—”

I missed the rest of the conversation because I had to convince the townsfolk to go home. Not that I would have minded so much getting rid of the dragon, but it was perfectly obvious to me that their puny weapons couldn’t do it any serious harm and might only break the spell, it was shortly after this, by the way, around luncheon, that the mayor arrived with the petition. Something seemed to snap inside Callie after that, Pait. Now she completely ignores the wizard and his dragon. She simply behaves as if they aren’t there. She won’t look at the old man; she won’t speak to him. She spends all her time either at the factory or locked up in her office. She’ll barely speak to poor Papa. Not that he notices. He’s too busy with his rockets.

Well, Fait, the barrage has ceased for the moment. I must close and go to bed. I’m taking tea with the dowager tomorrow. I believe I’ll switch cups with her, just in case she’s slipped a little poison in mine.

Oh, I almost forgot. Callie says to tell you that business has really picked up. Something about rumors of trouble coming out of the norinth. Sorry I wasn’t paying more attention, but you know how talking about business bores me. I guess it means more money, but, like the old man says, what does that matter?

Hurry home, Pait, and save me from this madhouse!