“My lady,” Captain Braggart — no, Albrecht said, proud to have shared his true name with a living being for the first time in, well, over a lifetime, “it has been a pleasure, in fact it has been an honor to share your company. Be that as it may, I am duty bound to look after my men. I have taken a vow, and it cannot be broken.” He really did want to stay a little longer. Perhaps just a short year or two. Still, the duty of a great hero was to make sacrifices for those who needed him. Perhaps he could exchange missives with her, once his mission was accomplished.
Pteri smiled. Her lips had the miraculous ability to communicate unspoken mysteries. He longed to know more about this enchanting creature. Half woman. Half fish. It didn’t matter. He was, after all, a ghost. Perhaps one of the good ones, but a ghost nonetheless. Albrecht was smart enough to realize he had his own flaws.
“Pity,” the siren said, letting out a deep sigh, “will I ever see you again?” She paused, “perhaps see isn’t the right word. Will you come back, some day, tell me more about yourself and the world? I would like that.” She paused again, thoughtfully. Her fingers playing along the surface of the water, she tilted her head to the side as if something insightful had just struck her.
“You know,” she added, “it would be good for me. The company. I so very rarely meet men or women I can’t eat. It’s quite novel.”
Albrecht nodded, bowing as best he could, hindered somewhat by his ghostly armor, “you may be assured that once my quest is completed, I shall return.” Straightening his back, he smiled warmly at her, “I do ask that perhaps you don’t eat anyone in the meantime or thereafter, my lady.”
Pteri let out a soft laugh, dipping her head back in the water and gently floating back across the surface. Parts of her tail drifted up, flashing brilliantly under the sunlight.
“I’ll take it into consideration if you promise me you’ll come back.”
Albrecht nodded, especially gratified to hear that she was open to the idea of being somewhat less monstrous, “then rest assured, you have my word as a knight of the realms.”
It was exciting to have so many new things to do. A quest for his men. A grand romance. Not the sort that led to children or dishonor, but the truer and more beautiful sort. The romance of words and company. The romance of sharing stories and smiles. The almost platonic romance of a man and a half-woman that could never truly be fulfilled. He would look forward to it.
Neither of them noticed the irate fish beneath the water attempting to breach through to give Albrecht a piece of his mind. An impossible feat for many reasons, but it didn’t stop Gret from trying.
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Rachel desperately tugged on the clothes that had been placed for her, one hand flying wildly in the air to try and smack the water sprites. They hadn’t taken no for an answer, very obviously, but she sure as hell wasn’t about to do battle with the little things naked.
Small favors, at least this world apparently provided jeans. There was a cotton blouse, a green shrug, a weird work belt with two straps to bring it all together, and even a cute necklace.
Little squeaks of pain escaped her lips while one sprite tugged at a lock of hair and flew above her to pass it to another. Tears rimmed her eyes as she finally managed to pull on a pair of sneakers. Thank god there were sneakers.
“Mistress,” one of the sprites cooed, voice dripping with poisoned sugar, “we’re done!”
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Now was her chance. She tore open the door to the bathroom with a shriek and ran out of the room. Sir Fishbits jerked up from his resting place in front of the cauldron to speak to her, but she missed whatever sarcastic jab he was going to make and instead wrenched open the windows to dive out of the cottage. Come hell or high water, she was getting out of this madhouse.
Her feet carried her over grass and rocks, straight into a clearing of evergreen trees. The pain of her injury had completely vanished, thankfully, healed like new. She didn’t pause to think of where she was going, where she was, or what she would do when she got out of there. All Rachel cared about was escaping, and if she was lucky finding something to light on fire and burn the whole place down.
“Hey!” Sir Fishbits screeched, his voice carrying much further than she might have expected, “come back!”
“Mistress!” The sprites chimed in, giggling madly. The little monsters.
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Book rested on the bed. He didn’t like this. They’d messed this whole thing up. It seemed obvious now, upon reflection, that a few warnings were due before advising the woman to take a bath. He’d say something to Sir Fishbits about it the moment the cat looked at his pages, and perhaps a few other choice words.
The cat huffed, “if I’d known this was going to be such a hassle, I’d have told the forest to sod off.”
Book made a literal note to write an essay haranguing the cat as soon as the opportunity presented itself. He had been just as bad when Gertrudis was around, so the fact that he hadn’t changed shouldn’t be a surprise. Still, it was.
You could be a bit nicer.
“I know what you’re probably writing right now, but I can’t read minds. I had no idea she’d run out on us. I think a little gratitude is in order from both of you.”
I seem to remember now my fifth dissertation on loneliness, and I think it applies very well here. Better to be an island than a town filled with cats. The thesis is nonsensical, but the 500 pages illustrate the point well enough.
Sir Fishbits nodded to himself, scratching at his chin with one singular claw, “yes, I think we probably have the same idea right now. You think we should go after her? Bring her back?”
I think you should put me back in the cellar where you found me and sod off.
“Alright!” Sir Fishbits declared, climbing to his feet, “we’ll do it. There’s a sturdy harness under the table, I think with a little work I could get you strapped to my back so we don’t have to rely on that damned wand so much.”
Then, once you sod off, you can go ahead and jump in a lake too. I think it’s a sound plan.
The cat began to pace, talking to himself with the solid belief that he was in fact having a two-sided conversation with Book, “the cottage will take care of the soup for us. She can’t go very far, either. I found her last time pretty easily when I first summoned her. She isn’t like Gertrudis, she can’t hide with the tree spirits.”
Book remembered how often their old mistress would play games with them, when Sir Fishbits was a much less opinionated kitten. It had been a happy life. What on earth was the cat thinking, conjuring up a new witch to take her place? On top of that, they didn’t even know what sort she was. For all Book knew, Rachel could be a treasure witch. There was no gold in this part of Dreadforest, so her powers would be useless. Or perhaps she was a bog witch? His pages wrinkled at the thought. No. She was, at the very least, far too young and dry to be one of those dreadful women.
It was simply too early to tell what sort of witch she might be. Rachel really had run out on them both at the absolute worst time. It was hard to blame her.
She can’t fend for herself out there yet.
“She can’t fend for herself out there yet,” Sir Fishbits said, the smallest grain of guilt in his voice. So small, anyone who didn’t know the cat would have entirely mistaken it for smugness.
“It will be nightfall before we know it,” Sir Fishbits went on, rounding on Book, “we’ll need some protection herbs. A light. Some water. It will be just like the old days.” He began to warm up a little as he spoke, growing excited, “when you think about it, this is good training. An opportunity, really. We’ll prove to ourselves we don’t need Gertrudis anymore, we’re strong enough to take care of ourselves!”
I fail to see how your insecurity is relevant to this problem.
The very idea of wandering blindly through the woods, or being dragged around by Sir Fishbits while he wandered blindly through the woods was not remotely appealing. Saving Rachel from herself, however, was. Otherwise, Book would be stuck with the cat. Even worse, with the cat’s monologuing. A shiver went down Book’s spine.
Let’s go.
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