The Curse of the Giant Hogweed (23 page)

Dwydd picked up a large knife and tested the edge on her thumb. “ ’Twill do, meseems. ’Tis a loathsome fate I be reduced to, trapping innocent wayfarers to stock my larder. Ne’er yet have I tasted human flesh, and mine own crawleth at ye thought. Almost would I rather starve. But not quite. Innocent wayfarer, I be about to disembowel ye. Wouldst endeavor to keep breathing whilst I hack out thine entrails?”

“Be damned if I will,” came the snappish reply. “Hell of a geste this turned out to be, ecod. First I sprain mine ankle and get stuck in this moldy den for three days. Then along cometh an evil hag and turneth mine henchman into some kind of lit-up bug. And now she craveth to slash my guts out. I shall stop breathing any time I take ye notion, hag, and ye can put that in thy pipe and smoke it.”

“You tell her, Lord Ysgard,” said Peter, stepping forth into the den he remembered so vividly and had hoped never to see again. “Well, Dwydd, I see you’ve found yourself a new home.”

“Aye, and ’twas ye who drove me to it,” the crone replied sourly. “I hope ye be satisfied. Making an old woman end her days in a hole in ye ground, instead of my erstwhile comfy quarters at ye castle of King Sfyn.”

“Drat it, woman,” Peter expostulated, “is it my fault you chose to set yourself up as a witch? Can’t you understand you’ve brought retribution on yourself by brewing up poisons and bashing the edges off swords and kidnapping griffins and maidens and feeding Sir Torchyld that nonsense about being enchanted? What was in those two biscuits you handed him before he went to kill the wyvern, by the way?”

“Naught save henbane, wolfbane, and dogbane,” Dwydd answered sullenly. “ ’Twas a new receipt I was trying out in ye public interest. I deemed that gin ye wyvern ate Sir Torchyld, it would also swallow ye biscuits and be poisoned, thereby conferring a great boon on ye kingdom of Sfynfford and surrounding realms. Try to perform a kind deed and where doth it get ye?”

“Good question. And this was all your own idea?”

“Nay, dulling ye sword was my wicked niece Edelgysa’s doing. I but strove to salvage some good out of her iniquity.”

“You’re all heart, Dwydd. How did you get to be such great pals with Gwrach?”

“ ’Twas but a professional acquaintance, noble bard. My late husband ye wizard summoned her by accident one Beltane eve, and she stayed with us for a spell. Ye see, sire, my husband was not a bad man, but he was in sooth a terrible wizard. At ye end, he became addicted to potions. Morn and night he sat around brewing and swilling and conjuring up satyrs and centaurs to drink with him. Hast ever had to clean up after a parlorful of hairy-hooved debauchers, bard? None wist what I went through ere ye wizard expired in agony from a mismixt elixir. E’en then he left me in parlous state, a lone widow with barely a fillet of fenny snake to my name, not wotting where my next phial of toad sweat was coming from. Bethink ye, I had to pawn my cauldron.”

“Gad, yours is a sad tale, madam.”

“Ye ha’nt heard ye half of it yet, bard. In mine desperation, I got in touch with Gwrach by a method ye wot of, belike, and begged succor. She scryed an opening for a job at ye castle of King Sfyn, though I misdoubt she and my wicked niece Edelgysa, who by then was wed to ye well-meaning but thick-headed Prince Edwy, had contrived ye vacancy by eliminating ye then resident hag. Gwrach gave me a short course in haggery and taught me ye spell for raising hogweed.”

“How did she happen to choose hogweed?”

“La, sire, wist ye not that hogweed be one of ye old standbys in ye wizardry repertoire? Like ye poor, it be always with us, though it lieth dormant in ye soil until ye potent spell be spoke.”

“Do tell. And it—er—disappeareth once the spell is unspaken, so to speak?”

“Nay. To vanish ye hogweed, ye must use a special spell, which only I know, methinks, now Gwrach be agone. ’Tis ye only spell I wot how to work, gin ye want ye truth. For aught else I maun rely on potions, trickery, or sleight of hand. And, alas, mine hands be not so sleight as once they were. ’Tis a rotten life for an aging hag.”

A small sigh came from the glow at their feet. “Ay, well do I wot how she feeleth. Poor hag! One might almost feel pity for her were one’s own plight not rendered so dire by her evildoiņg.”

“M’yes,” said Peter. “Now, madam, I gather your position is this. Having been ousted from King Sfyn’s castle because of your unholy alliance with Princess Edelgysa, you feel you have no recourse but to take over Gwrach’s old stand here and turn mass murderess for a living.”

“Sire, let me clarify my position. I was not ye willing confederate of Gwrach and Edelgysa, but their helpless tool. Gwrach taught me ye spell only on condition that I use ye hogweed to send her victims. Edelgysa got me ye job only so that she could employ me in turn as an instrument of her perfidy. And bitter did I rue my cruel fate.”

“Yet you’re quite ready to go on being cruel to line your own stomach.”

“Nay”, cried Dwydd. “Methought I could, but I find I cannot. May mine hand wither ere I disembowel this noble lord. Were he but an humble peasant I might bring myself to it, but I have been too long steeped in ye protocol of ye court. ’Tis not ye done thing to show disrespect for one’s betters in so gory a manner, and that be ye flat of it. Regard his high, disdainful mien e’en now as I raise ye disemboweling knife. See, he flincheth not when I describe a circle with ye tip of ye blade around his
bogail.
”

“He-he-he,” giggled Lord Ysgard. “Get away from my belly button, hag. That tickleth.”

“Aagh!” she cried, flinching back. “He laugheth.”

“So he does,” said Peter, “and so do I. Ha-ha to you, silly old woman. Don’t you agree, boys? Aren’t you laughing, too?”

“Hell, yes,” shouted Tim. “Ho-ho-ho.”

“And a lusty guffaw,” added Dan Stott, suiting the deed to the word.

That set them all off. Lord Ysgard roared himself red in the face as he adjusted his disarranged garments over the area Dwydd had laid bare for disemboweling purposes. Peter, Tim, and Dan chortled and pounded each other on the back. Even Medrus ventured a diffident titter. Wondrous to behold, that broke the spell Dwydd had recast upon him. At once he ceased to glimmer and resumed his own unprepossessing shape.

Tim wasn’t impressed. “Cripes, Medrus, you looked better as a glow.”

“Nay, say not so,” cried Dwydd.

She hurled the disemboweling knife into the farthest recesses of the cave and stood before them totally submissive, with tears running down her face, leaving streaks in the dirt.

“With all respect to ye who have ta’en away ye living from a wretched old woman and exposed my once-feared powers for ye shams they be, I find him not uncomely. He remindeth me of my late husband ye wizard, albeit he be sober. He hath that same intellectual brow and ye same scrawny frame. Mark ye well they bags under his eyes. In my husband’s case they told of long poring o’er ancient tomes of mystic lore, though I misdoubt this sorry wight hath pored only over ye floor of this accursed cavern.”

“Nay,” said Medrus, “I be in sooth a man of learning. I can read long words of many letters. I wot to write and cypher. I was clerk to my late liege, Lord Mochyn, ere he fell victim to Gwrach here in this foul den and she made me her vassal e’en as she made this luckless hag.”

“That so?” said Lord Ysgard. “I can use a man like ye around ye palace. Gin ye help me carry off yon treasure we came for, ye may stay and work for me. What say ye?”

“I say yes,” cried the ex-glow. “Ah, to be a real clerk again, respectably clad in a tunic of reasonably decent quality linen, with a leathern belt around my waist and mine own inkpot depending therefrom. Ah, for ye quill in my hand, ready to inscribe ye words of wisdom that fall from my master’s noble lips regarding ye vendage of sheepskins and salted mutton. I may have a tunic, noble master?”

“Aye,” said Lord Ysgard, “gin there be any left in Ysgard to fashion ye one. Without women to spin and weave and sew, we be in parlous state.”

“There be garments among ye treasure, sire. Gwrach hath stripped them from ye bodies ere she ate her victims. E’en mine own old tunic and inkpot be among them, gin ye rats have left any part uneaten.”

“Then, damme, let’s go get ’em. I have suffered enow for this vaunted hoard and as yet I see not a groat of it. Er—ye druids be far too holy and unworldly to claim shares, be ye not?”

“Hell, yes,” said the archdruid. “It’s yours as far as we’re concerned. Right, boys?”

“By all means,” Daniel Stott confirmed with a gracious inclination of his Jovian head.

“Absolutely,” Peter agreed. “You’re going to need a little something extra in the old sock, Lord Ysgard. You’ll find you’ve a good many more mouths to feed at home than you had when you left.”

“What mean ye?” roared Lord Ysgard. “Have those hot-blooded young devils of mine flouted mine orders? Couldn’t wait till I got back, eh? Rode over to Sfynfford armed to ye teeth and abducted themselves a gaggle of princesses, I’ll be bound. And now, ecod, I have a war with King Sfyn on my hands, I ween.”

“Not at all,” Peter assured him. “In the first place, they didn’t ride, they went afoot. Prince Yfor very sensibly decided not to take any of your horses away in case some emergency came up while your sons were gone. They left Degwel and your master-at-arms, who seems a capable chap, in charge and I—er—put a spell on your strong room for the duration of your absence.”

“Umph. But ye princesses?”

“No problem there, either. The young ladies were so bowled over by your lads’ gallantry that they all fell in love at first sight. The parents could hardly object to such suitable suitors, so they gave consent and threw a first-class wedding. When last seen, the bridal party were all riding back to Ysgard on richly caparisoned chargers, laden with handsome gifts and attended by a number of buxom serving maids.”

“Buxom serving maids? Damme, ye don’t say! And King Sfyn agreed to ye nuptials?”

“He attended the ceremony in full regalia and gave all six happy couples his official blessing. Also some fine presents, I may add.”

“Egad! And my sons bore themselves nobly in ye presence of ye king? Were they dressed as befit their lofty rank?”

“Indeed they were. They’d even had baths. With soap.”

“Soap? Be that some magic potion to induce successful husbandry?”

“No, any such potion—er—hardly seemed necessary. Soap is merely a substance used to get dirt off. One applies it in conjunction with water.”

“To get dirt off? A quaint and amusing concept, forsooth. Perchance I may try it myself sometime. So I be a father-in-law six times over at one swoop. Be all ye princesses comely of countenance and featly of figure?”

“Your sons certainly appeared to find them attractive.”

“Aye, they be chips off ye old block. I don’t suppose they thought of bringing one back for their old dad?”

“Sorry, but I’m afraid this time there were only enough princesses to go around. As it happens, however, Princess Aldora, the mother of two of your new daughters-in-law, was widowed under tragic circumstances just as the lads and lasses were plighting their troth. It’s possible she might be induced to seek consolation after a suitable period of mourning has elapsed. I expect there’s going to be a good deal of visiting back and forth between the palaces.”

“ ’Twill be my lordly pleasure to wait upon His Majesty with pomp and dignity,” said Lord Ysgard, scratching his belly, which must still be tickling from the disemboweling knife. “Now to ye treasure. Lead on, Medrus.”

“Right this way, my liege. I humbly regret it be no longer in my power to glow, but we can take brands from ye fire to light ye way.”

“Gin I be permitted to accompany ye, I could carry a basket of live embers,” Dwydd offered meekly.

“Come ahead, repentant hag. Ye more, ye merrier.”

They set off in high fettle, Medrus leading the way, Lord Ysgard at his heels with Dwydd and her coals a respectful three steps behind them. Peter, Tim, and Dan stayed in the rear. They were not much interested in seeing the sorry pile of loot Gwrach had amassed by dint of God knew how many murders. They simply hadn’t cared to stay behind in that depressing chamber where they’d had such a gruesome experience with the sow sorceress. Nor were they any too keen on trusting Dwydd, Medrus, or even Lord Ysgard out of their sight until they’d been guided safely away from the cave.

Gwrach had kept her hoard within easy distance of her lair, they were relieved to discover. It was an impressive one, though not a patch on the wyvern’s, Peter decided after a quick appraisal. There were few large items like Torchyld’s jeweled goblets and golden plates, but many coins and personal items such as chains and finger rings. Also, there were the clothes Medrus had mentioned. Each outfit was encased in a bag evidently spun of cobwebs by trained spiders, to trap the moths and vermin that might otherwise have destroyed the materials. These looked to Peter like obscene cocoons of giant insects, but Medrus fell with joy on the one that contained his own tunic and scribe’s gear.

“Ah, now I can be human again.”

“And I,” said Dwydd, selecting a sober gown of some dark, purplish fabric. “Oh, for a dollop of ye archdruid’s soap, that I might cast off my hag’s rags and wash myself clean ere donning decent woman’s garb.”

“As it happens,” said Timothy Ames, producing a hornful of his special formula from under his robe, “I brought some with me. Aunt Hilda’s lye soap’s turned out to be so popular that I figured I might as well keep a little in case it should come in handy on the trip. Go ahead, old woman, have a scrub on me.”

“Ecstasy! Ten thousand thanks, noble archdruid. I shall repair to a pool I wot of in one of ye tunnels, and perform mine ablutions.”

“And I to another,” said Medrus, “gin my liege permitteth, and gin this withered crone I served so briefly yet so faithfully be willing to grant me a share of this intriguing stuff. Ye say it be not for eating?”

“No,” Peter explained. “You take some in your hand and moisten it with water so that it makes a lather, then you smear it on your person, rubbing it well into the—er—trouble spots, but being careful to keep it out of your eyes. You then immerse yourself in water and rinse off the soap. The dirt comes off at the same time. It’s merely an improvement on the technique you’ve already—er—been exposed to.”