Red's Untold Tale (19 page)

Strangely, the bird did not fly away from me like the other woodland critters. Instead, he hovered oafishly just above my hood. Suddenly, his beak opened, and he asked, “You have
crumpets?”

My eyeballs practically popped out of my head as I implored Peter, “Please tell me you heard that. The bird is
talking
, Peter!”

Peter blinked a couple of times and said, “It's squawked a time or two, as crows are prone to do. But as for speaking…”

I bit my lower lip, knowing full well—and dreading with every ounce of my being—where his train of thought was taking him. If he couldn't hear that the crow was speaking actual
human words, he undoubtedly believed I'd suddenly gone stark raving mad.
Was
I going crazy?

“What did the crow say?” Peter asked, his voice hitching.

I swallowed. “Um, I think he wants a crumpet.”

“I haven't had one for over three years,” the bird squawked.

I turned back to Peter, silently begging him to acknowledge that he'd finally heard the crow speak.

But he only gestured for me to lower my weapon. He shook his head slowly, fixing me with a gaze that was part concern and part fear. “Red, are you all right? What's going
on?”

How could it be that he didn't hear the bird speaking actual words? Why was I the only one that could understand him? Unless…Maybe the crow belonged to the wizard?

“Take me to the wizard, and I'll give you a crumpet,” I whispered to the bird as he swooped by on his tatty wings. He blinked his dark, beady eyes at me and took off.

I packed up my bow, grabbed the basket, and hurried after him, calling, “Come on, Peter!” over my shoulder. Perhaps I was crazy, but I hoped beyond hope that Peter would come along
with me on my journey.

The cabin was odd indeed—narrow
and lofty, with three small, shutterless windows and a dwarf-sized yellow door. It was built of stones of every color,
shape, and size, which gave it the distinct appearance of being crooked. On its roof grew patches of grass and wilting dandelions, and to its side, a little vegetable garden. Out back, a swaybacked
white mare swished her tail and gazed at us with her pink eyes.

Without taking my eyes off the rickety dwelling, I reached in my basket for a crumpet and held it out for the crow. He didn't utter a word as he snatched the treat in his beak and perched
on a window ledge.

“I don't believe it,” said Peter as he, too, gaped at the house. “Do you really think a wizard lives here?”

“Only one way to find out.” I dropped the dragon-head knocker against the door and held my breath.

Crashing noises followed by a stream of curses that would make even Granny blush came from inside. The crow continued eating, obviously unfazed. Peter's eyes widened. “Red, I'm
not so sure this is a good idea. He sounds like a regular lunatic.”

“He very well might be crazy, but I have something very important to ask him,” I replied. “We've come this far, Peter. Please, stay with me just a little
longer.”

The little yellow door finally cracked open, revealing mid-chest and downwards of a knobby man in a shirt that once upon a time might have possibly been white, baggy brown trousers, and bare
feet with hairy toes. He ducked and stepped out, letting us see the top of him: wild yellowish-white hair for his head, brows, and beard, and a long, thin nose that angled down. Clearly, the
man's bloodshot eyes were struggling to adjust to the sunlight, and his knees were having a hard time keeping his body from falling over.

“That's no wizard,” Peter whispered in my ear. “It's just an eccentric old drunkard.”

“Did you really think he'd be wearing a pointy purple hat, Peter?” I whispered back. Though I had to hand it to my friend; the man looked—and smelled—more like a
washed-up toper than a powerful wizard. I smiled at the man and started to ask if he'd like a rhubarb pie. However, he didn't give me a chance to.

“Will you look at that, Heathcliff? Look, look, look,” the man said, his bony fingers reaching out for my face. “It's uncanny!” I stepped back, tripping on a gray
cat that I hadn't seen.

“What do you mean?” I asked, starting to feel panicky. “Who's Heathcliff, and what's uncanny?”

“Where, oh, where are my manners?” he said, retracting his hands to open the door wider. “Oh, here they are, right where I left them.” He pantomimed pulling something out
of his pocket and putting it in his mouth. After clearing his throat, he continued, “Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Knubbin.”

I'd never met a wizard before, so I didn't know how to properly greet him. I decided to give him a little curtsy. “I'm Red. At least, that's what everybody calls
me.”

“I know,” he said, curtsying back.

I blinked, trying to wrap my mind around the wizard's odd welcome. It took me a moment to realize I hadn't finished our introductions. “This is Pe—”

“You've come all this way,” the wizard interrupted. “The least I can do is offer you a chair and some tea. Come in. Please do!”

Peter and I exchanged hesitant looks. Then Peter gestured for me to go ahead, and so I did.

“Allow me to clarify in the clearest manner I know,” the man said, blocking Peter's way. “You, my poppet, can come in. The boy can sit…over yonder.” He twirled
his bony finger in the air, and next pointed at a flat-topped rock by the garden.

“That's not going to happen,” Peter said sternly, folding his arms over his chest.

“It's a very comfortable sitting place,” Knubbin said. “I sit there myself for hours on end, watching my carrots grow. Once I thought I'd watch the cabbage grow,
but there's nothing quite as boring as cabbage, so I guess you could say I learned my lesson. But the poppet and I won't be long at all, so you have nothing to worry about, unless, of
course, you have something to worry about. And that would be quite worrisome, don't you agree?”

Peter said, “What I mean is, I'm not letting her go in alone.”

“She won't be alone, my dear oblivious boy. She'll be with
me
.” The man stroked his beard as he turned to face me. “Correct me if I'm incorrect, but
aren't you here to see a wizard?”

“You
are
a wizard, aren't you?” I asked. “The one who enchanted my red riding hood?”

He blinked several times, seemingly chewing on my words. “Well!
Of course
I'm a wizard. Did you not hear me introduce myself? Knubbin is my name.
Am I a wizard?
What kind of
ridiculous
question is that? And equally ridiculous—I might add, if I were to add something, which I am—is your ignorance on the topic at hand.” He wiggled
his hand in my face and briefly smirked before going on. “Only the person seeking the wizard may speak with him. Wizards do not accept audiences when it comes to matters of magic.”

“So you are the one who put a spell on this?” I repeated, opening the side of my cape.

“Ah, it has held up quite nicely, if I
do
say so myself. But if I do say so myself, I risk sounding like a braggart, don't you think?
Shhh
, don't answer that,
it will only hurt my feelings, and then I'll have no choice but to ask you to leave my premises, never to return.”

“Oh, no, it's definitely held up. Thank you.”

“You are welcome. So, my poppet, where were we?” He looked down at our feet. “Of course, silly me. We are outside, on my stoop. And the reason we're still out here is
because you have a choice to make. Now, choose wisely, because unwise choices have destroyed many a wise creature. One, you can come in and the two of us—no more, no less—will
chitchat.” His lips curved into an impish grin. “Two, you and your beau can be off, lickety-split.” He frowned and waved as if someone was headed down the path. “So what
will it be? Oh, the suspense…” he said, rubbing his hands together.

I met Peter's eyes and smiled in a way I hoped made me appear brave and self-assured.

“I will wait in the garden,” Peter offered slowly, “if that's what you want, Red.” His gaze darkened as he turned to Knubbin. “As for you, Wizard, if you so
much as touch one hair on her head—”

“Touch a
hair on her head
?” The wizard repeated, looking like he'd licked a lemon. “Gracious, why would I ever do
that
?”

Peter's forehead creased, and I bet I appeared equally confused.

“Of course! I know the answer,” Knubbin piped up, tapping his finger on his cheek. “I do, on rare occasion, require a strand of human hair in order to do a little magic. But in
that particular case, I would ask nicely for it. Or perhaps I'd take one she'd shed and carelessly left behind. But I can assure you, as I'm assuring myself just now, I will not
touch her hair whilst it is still attached to her scalp.”

Peter grabbed my shoulders and pulled me close, whispering gruffly in my ear, “Listen, Red. This so-called wizard is as mad as a March hare. I don't think this meeting is a good
idea—”

“Excuse us, Knubbin,” I said, and tugged Peter around the corner of the house to speak in semiprivate. “Don't worry so much. He said he wouldn't touch a hair on my
head, and I believe him. I'll be fine, Peter. Please, we've come this far. It will only take a few moments.”

He flexed his jaw and looked away, at the garden. “All right, but I'll be right here.”

I thanked Peter and followed the wizard into his cabin, which was surprisingly—even miraculously—spacious, given the outside. Candles flickered from almost every nook, and yet my
eyes needed a few moments to adjust to the dimness. The place stunk of dust and wet dog, so the lack of light was probably a blessing. Like the front door, the furniture appeared shrunken yet
sturdy. Pans and plates cluttered the kitchen, a mountain of kindling buried the potbellied stove, and small statues of dragons, lions, and wolves were arranged on a curio shelf. A long black cloak
dangled from a coatrack, and on the wall beside it hung a childlike painting of a crescent moon and stars.

“Well, don't just stand there,” Knubbin said. “Hang your riding hood on the rack and sit and have a drink or three.”

“I'm not thirsty, but thank you all the same,” I said, taking my hood off my head as I lowered myself into a small armchair. From there, I could see the window where the crow
perched—also the one closest to where Peter waited. He paced back and forth alongside the garden. I had the feeling his heart was thumping against his ribs, as was mine.

“Suit yourself, poppet. I will have some mead if you don't mind. Don't get up, I'll help myself. Lucky for the both of us, I know exactly where I left it, which is not
always the case, in case you were curious. And I'll take a wager that you are the curious sort, or else you wouldn't be here, would you?”

Once he joined me in the living room, I said, “I'm here to ask for something magical.” Suddenly, my granny's warning from so long ago came back to haunt me: “Even
when magic is used for good, it can become something very bad.” Her words gave me a moment of hesitation, but I was determined to see this through. How could wanting Granny to be well be a
bad thing?

“I know why you're here,” said Knubbin as he settled opposite me and crossed his legs. He looked rather unwieldy, a spindly giant sitting on a tiny sofa. “I know
everything, you know. Everything there ever was to know is right in here,” he said, tapping the side of his bristly brow.

“You don't know everything.” When I glanced at the window, I couldn't see Peter any longer. I presumed he finally took a seat on the rock, and I didn't blame him
one bit. “You thought Peter was my beau. He's not. We've been friends since we were children. We're only friends.”

“Not your beau, you say?” He took a swig out of his cup and cracked a yellow-toothed smirk. “If you truly believe that, it seems to me that I am more familiar with your heart
than you. However, you're not here for a silly old love potion—that much is clear. It does have something to do with your heart, though. There's something tormenting it, is there
not? And, if my suspicions are correct, this something is most agonizing…” He brought his hands together, creating the shape of a ball. Light glowed from the center of his palms—or at
least I thought it had, but perhaps it was only a trick played on me by the flicker of a candle and the flit of my eyelashes. “…when the moon is full.”

“Yes, exactly!” I straightened my posture, thrilled that this rumpled tippler was finally beginning to sound like a true man of magic. He knew of Granny's Wolfstime aches even
without me having mentioned it!

He quaffed his mead and then let out a horrible burp. “How long have you been having them?”

Just like that, my hopes of him being somewhat sane went up in smoke. “I'm sorry, but what in the land are you talking about?”