Red's Untold Tale (26 page)

She stopped rinsing her coffee cup and whirled around.

“I told you that would never work.”

“I had to see if I'd poisoned it.”

“You disobeyed me.”

“I don't know if the wolf is dead, Granny. I never found it. But…” There was no gentle way to break the news. She'd learn soon enough, anyway. I lowered my hood.
“Amos Slade…”

“What of him? Is he harassing you for peach pie again? Land sakes, that fool just doesn't get it, does he? How can I make him a fresh peach pie when the peaches aren't ready to
be picked? It's like living in that dirty old shack day in and day out, with no one but a hound to talk to, is drying up his brain. Soon there'll be nothing but a crusty little raisin
rattling around his skull, and I'll be damned if he still asks for peach pie!”

“He's dead, Granny. Wolf tracks all around. He's…not going to be asking for peach pie, ever again.”

She blinked. “Oh.”

Her face went as pasty as flour, and I feared she might topple over, so I scooted the rush-topped stool to her.

Lowering herself, she stared out the window. She took off her glasses and rubbed them clean on her apron. It must have been a trick of the sunlight pouring into the kitchen and onto her face,
but I thought I might have caught a cursory glimpse of a younger Widow Lucas in her.

June, ten years ago

I peeked through the curtain to see our neighbor, Mr. Slade, waiting at the front door. He had a mop of brownish-gray hair on his head and a smaller one under his nose, and blue-gray eyes that
somehow managed to look grumpy and kind at once. In one hand, he held his floppy brown hat, and in the other, a bouquet of wildflowers.

“Granny! Mr. Slade's here,” I said, running into the kitchen to fetch her. “Looks like he's selling flowers again.”

Granny had been baking peach pies when he'd rapped on the door, and now she had a dusting of flour on her cheek. She wagged her finger at me. “Don't open the door until
he's gone away. Do you hear me, child?”

I watched him finally walk down the pathway with his hat on his head and his shoulders slumped. He looked so sad; I couldn't stand it. I'd found a halfpenny on the street in the
village and was saving it for something special. Maybe that was enough for one of his flowers, and it would make him happy.

But by the time I'd run to my bedroom and back down onto the porch, he was gone. Anyway, I didn't need to buy a flower because he'd left the entire bouquet by the door. When I
gave the flowers to Granny, she waved her hand at them like they were useless, but I thought I'd spotted something in her eyes that day. Something that looked an awful lot like a sparkle.

“Amos Slade fancied you, didn't he?” I asked, astounded that it had taken me so long to piece it all together. Someone having those kinds of feelings for my
grandmother was more than a bit awkward to imagine. Naturally, I could imagine my grandparents being sweethearts, long, long ago. But my grandpa died before I was born; so in my eyes, he was more
of an idea than a living, breathing man. On the contrary, I knew Amos Slade. And, up until an hour ago, Amos had been a living, breathing man.

Granny's shoulders were shaking, almost as if she was sobbing—or trying like crazy not to. Maybe my grandmother had felt something for Amos, as well. “Wait, did you two have a
secret romance?” I asked.

Granny blinked a few times and slowly put her glasses back on. “Nonsense. I don't know what you're yakking about, child.” She stood and finished packing the baskets.
After filling me in on the day's deliveries and telling me to put in an order for some new chickens with Farmer Thompson, she said softly, “Amos didn't deserve to die that way.
It's a shame. A waste.” She clenched her hands into fists. “I wish your poison had killed the wolf.” She handed me one of the baskets. “You'd better get a wiggle
on,” she said. “And don't forget your hood.”

Shortly thereafter, I tore off up the road, loaded down with two baskets and my bow and arrows. As I headed toward the gully where the bilberries grew, I stopped at the customers' houses
along the way, dropping off their baked goods and dog biscuits, collecting their payments, and, when I arrived at the Thompsons' house, putting in an order for more chickens.

When I made it to the gully, I splashed my face with springwater and sat to rest on a log. I held a crumpet and whistled. “Come out, come out, wherever you are!” No crows—let
alone talking ones—appeared. “Heathcliff? Please come out. I have a nice tasty crumpet for you. I'm here to see the wizard. He's expecting me.”

“Give it.”

Startled, I dropped the crumpet into the spring and cursed under my breath. In the entrance to the cave, the bird tilted its scruffy black-feathered head. “Don't worry, I have
another. Here,” I said, holding a crumpet in the air. He circled around my head twice and then grabbed it in his pointy beak. He flew back to the cave and began taking his good sweet time
picking at the bread.

“Will you take me to see Knubbin now?” I rose and gathered my baskets.

The bird blinked its beady eyes, and with crumbs falling out of his beak, said, “No.”

“Stop playing games with me, Heathcliff. It's past noon, and you're making me even later.”

“No one is home.”

“Oh.” Panic seeped into my gut. I'd been worried about finding the crow in the first place, and even more nervous to discover whether or not the wizard made good on his
promise. “All right, then. When do you expect him back?”

The crow blinked. “Nevermore.”

“Will you take me to his place?” Perhaps Heathcliff was wrong. I'd come this far, and I'd feel a lot better seeing whether or not the wizard was home for myself.
“Here, I have another delicious crumpet. And a raisin cookie, if that's to your liking.”

The bird swooped down for the treats. I waited as patiently as possible for him to finish eating and, finally, we were on our way.

The instant I spotted the rickety cabin, I knew something was amiss. The garden was picked-over, the windows closed, and the mare missing. The place appeared to be deserted. My heart sunk when I
knocked and he didn't answer. Just to be sure that he wasn't there, I set my baskets down on the little porch and let myself in.

“Is anyone home? Knubbin? Are you here?” I asked, leaving the door cracked open as I wandered in. A pot crashed to the floor and I must have jumped twice my height. I hoped it was
the wizard, but when I saw that it was just the gray cat, chasing spiders in the rafters, I exhaled with disappointment.

While the pans and miniature furnishings were still there, the wizard's animal figurines, moon and stars painting, black cloak, and jugs of mead were missing. Clearly, Knubbin hadn't
merely gone on a walk. He had packed his personal belongings—and my life savings—and hightailed it on his horse. Where he'd gone, I had no idea.
How could he have betrayed me
like this?

My eyes burning, I took one last glance around, and that was when I saw it. “I could've sworn this wasn't here just a second ago,” I said out loud. On the curio where the
wizard's figurines once sat was an amber-hued jar the size of a thimble. The note tucked behind the jar read:
RUB SALVE ON
,
FEEL NOT THE PAIN
in bilberry ink. Was this the magic salve?

A voice came from behind me: “Aha!”

It startled me so badly I jumped. And when I whirled around, I had to blink to make sure it was indeed the wizard who was looming in the entryway. He wore his long black cloak and pointy-toed
boots, and he appeared to have bathed and trimmed his beard. As he crossed the room toward me, I wondered why he was so much more put-together than yesterday.

“You've found it,” he said, lifting the jar off the shelf. When he handed it to me, he gave it a jiggle. The jar lit up, like a firefly was trapped inside. It sparkled
brilliantly, and I had the wonderful sensation that the magic in this tiny bottle would change Granny's life forever.

I couldn't wait to give it to her. And since this was the last night of Wolfstime, she'd never have to live with the pain, ever again. I beamed at the wizard. “Thank you so
much, Knubbin. I thought you'd forgotten.”

“Well, isn't that a coincidence? I thought you had forgotten to come for it,” Knubbin said. “But then I forgot that I ever thought that, and so here I am. However, I
cannot stay but a minute or six, you see, because I must put the finishing touches on my relocation spell.” His beady eyes shifted hither and thither, and had I not known better, I would have
said the wizard was nervous. “They are on their way.”

“Who?” I asked.

“It does not concern you as it does me, so never mind that, and instead look there.” He pointed at my hand, and I saw that the jar had stopped glowing.

I shook it as Knubbin had, but nothing happened. “Is something wrong with it?” I asked.

“There's one teensy-tiny ingredient the spell is missing, one you'll need to add in order for it to work,” he said. “The one who loves your grandmother most of all
must see it to its completion, you see. But don't fret, poppet. You're a smart girl, and I know you'll accomplish the quest with no hitches whatsoever.”

“A quest? But I've never even journeyed to another village,” I said.

“You told me you wanted to go off into the world and have adventures,” he said, grandly sweeping his hand before us. “You want to find your happy ending, isn't that
right? Or has your plan changed in a mere day's time?”

“No, I
do
want to do that. I just…” My mind was spinning. I wasn't quite sure what was happening.
What game is the wizard playing with me?

“And don't you want the magic salve so your poor grandmother can bake and knit and sleep without having to take poppy dust at night?” He wrinkled his long, narrow nose.
“Terrible stuff, or so I hear.”

“Well, yes, of course I want Granny's pain to be gone. That's why I came to you in the first place.”

“Very good, very good indeed. Then it is settled. You shall leave the village to go on a quest for the final ingredient in the magic salve that will heal your grandmother. And although I
cannot know for sure, I have a good feeling that you will experience an adventure or five along the way, and if everything works out, you will find your happy ending.” The wizard clapped
three times and gestured toward the door.

“Oh, one more thing.” He flipped his hand palm-up, and like the gypsies at market who can make objects materialize seemingly out of thin air, his leather belt-pouch appeared. I heard
the jingle of coins as he gave the pouch a little toss and dangled it by its drawstring. “You told me when you gave me this money that it was your future, did you not?”

I nodded.

“Now I'm giving it back to you, every last cent of it. I predict that you'll need your future more than I. Besides, it's always a good idea for common folk to bring money
along on their quests. You never know when you'll need to pay a toll or buy something to eat.”

I reached out for the pouch but then hesitated when his mouth curved into a yellow-toothed smirk. “But I thought all magic came with a price,” I said slowly.

“It does, that's true. Not even I know what the future brings, but that's what makes life so interesting. Now, it's time for you to run along. Go, go, go.”

“Wait, what is the ingredient I'm to find on this quest?” I asked.

“Ah, a good question. All you need is a drop of water from Lake Nostos. Just one little drop, no more, and no less—”

“Lake Nostos?” I wanted to laugh and cry at the same time.

The wizard arched his left eyebrow and tilted his head like an owl. “You look as if I've told you to go fetch a scale from a sleeping dragon. It's just a little lake water,
what could be simpler?”

“Yes, but everybody knows that Lake Nostos isn't real. It's just a tale from a dusty old storybook.”