The Quest of the Fair Unknown (17 page)

"Who do you suppose those fellows are?" Beaufils asked. Galahad and Ellyn both looked at him, then followed his gaze down the hill, where a line of nearly ten knights rode toward them, each holding a lance.

"Don't worry, Lady Ellyn," Galahad said. "I'll protect you."

"I don't need your protection!" Ellyn snapped.

"Not much you could do anyway," Beaufils pointed out to Galahad. "Ten knights with lances against three people without them. And you're the only one with a sword and armor."

By now the knights had drawn near, and the line curved around them, forming a circle. Then they pointed their lances at the three. One of the knights spoke loudly. "Is that a maiden?"

Galahad and Ellyn maintained a rigid silence, so after a few seconds Beaufils said, "You can't tell? Do you not have many women hereabouts? I mean, they
do
have a pretty distinctive—"

"Are you a maiden?" the knight rapped out.

"Last time I checked, yes," Ellyn said.

"You will come with us!" the knight replied. "All of you."

"In here!" declared the knight, opening a great oaken door at the end of the long hall.

The troop of knights had led them into the valley, along a river, around a great rocky crag, and to a massive stone castle, built, so it seemed, right into the side of a mountain. A drawbridge had lowered, and they had crossed the river into a cavernous courtyard. There the knights had disarmed Galahad, then conducted them all down the dim hallway at swordpoint.

"This," the head knight added, "is the chamber of our mistress, ruler of these lands, the Lady Petunia."

The three companions stepped into a room that was brightly lit by torches and a vast fireplace, then all stopped involuntarily. Ellyn gasped, and Galahad muttered a quick prayer under his breath. Beaufils only nodded slowly. "Oh," he said. "This is why you weren't sure what a maiden looked like."

The woman who lay on the monstrous bed in the center of the room was as foul a creature as Beaufils had ever seen. She was vast and flaccid, and where her skin showed, it was swollen and puffy. Her face was mottled gray and red and raddled with pustules, many of which were oozing a clear fluid that formed patches of flaking, yellow crust. Her hair, what little there was of it, was wispy and wild and incongruously bedecked with dainty pink bows and ribbons. Small, beady black eyes looked out from behind puffy cheeks and bushy eyebrows. Judging from the shape beneath the sheets, the Lady Petunia was easily twice as large as any woman Beaufils had ever seen. A foul odor filled the room.

"My dear lady," said the head knight, bowing. "We have found a maiden!"

"Oh, you're so good to me, dear, dear Ronnie," Lady Petunia said to the knight. Her voice was surprisingly shrill and thin, almost girlish, for one of her bulk. "What would I ever do without such loyal, loving knights?"

"It is my honor to serve you, my lady."

"But you do so much," the woman said, her voice cracking as if she were about to cry. "I don't deserve such service, an old woman like me who is not long for this world."

"You must not say so, my dear!" the knight said earnestly, kneeling beside the bed. "You see, I've brought the maiden for the cure! The last one we need, too!"

"Ronnie!" the lady said sharply. "Mind your tongue!"

The knight looked stricken. "I'm sorry! Oh, my lady, I'm such a fool! My wretched—"

"There, there, Ronnie," the woman said soothingly. "You know I can never be angry with my dear boys for long. You will learn. I don't suppose you could ... no, you've done far too much already."

"How can I serve you?"

Lady Petunia looked at a plate covered with crumbs that lay beside her on the bed. "That silly manservant has let my bonbon plate go all empty."

The knight rose to his feet instantly. "I shall speak to the churl at once!"

"Now, Ronnie, don't be harsh with the poor boy," Lady Petunia said. "You know how difficult it must be for a pretty young man like that to serve an ugly hag like me."

"He cannot have said so!"

"It doesn't really matter if he did," Lady Petunia said, her voice becoming fainter. "It's only the truth, after all. I'm sure you will all be much happier when I die."

"I shall cut out his tongue for saying such things!" the knight exclaimed, livid with rage.

"But then who will bring me my bonbons?" Lady Petunia said plaintively.

"I shall bring them myself!"

With that, the knight stormed from the room, murder in his eyes, while Lady Petunia turned her black eyes on the three visitors. "Oh, my!" she said, looking from Galahad to Beaufils and back. "What pretty, pretty young men!" She blinked a few times and made a grimace that Beaufils guessed was supposed to be a smile. Then she looked at Ellyn, and her eyes grew cold. "And a pretty girl as well. You
do
think you're pretty, don't you, girl?"

Ellyn's voice was hoarse, but she said, "That's not really for me to say, my lady."

"Now, now, let's not play games," Lady Petunia said. "You are a beautiful girl, and you know it. You remind me of myself at your age." She gave a mournful sigh, while all three visitors stared at her with incredulity. "Indeed, I think I may have had the edge on you in my day," Lady Petunia continued, "but that day is long past, I'm afraid. Now I suppose all my knights will be falling in love with you and ignoring me, leaving me here all alone to die. Oh well, it's no more than I expect."

With what seemed to be her last ounce of energy, she pulled a cloth rope that hung by her bed, and at once a door opened and a man of middle years hurried into the room. "Dear, dear Eggie-poo," Lady Petunia said. "Were you just waiting for my bell? Oh, you mustn't do that. I know you have better things to do than to serve an old wreck like me."

The man knelt in abject subservience. "I live but to serve you, my dear."

Lady Petunia fluttered her swollen eyelids again. "So silly of you," she murmured faintly. "As if I were worth such loyalty. But if you
do
want to help me, you could take these visitors to the guest hall and explain things to them."

"At once, my precious lady," Eggie-poo said. Then he rose and led the three out of Lady Petunia's room.

"I am Sir Egbert," the man said once they were in a spacious, though ill-lit, room with several bedchambers branching off from it.

"Not Eggie-poo?" Beaufils asked.

The man's jaw clenched momentarily, then relaxed. "My lady," he said, "is not well."

"Really?" Ellyn said politely.

"She has been grievously afflicted by a horrid enchantment, thrown on her by an evil man named Ganscotter."

"Ganscotter," Beaufils repeated softly.

"The curse was meant to destroy her, but my mistress is an enchantress herself, and by her own arts she has discovered that one thing alone may prevent her death." Then he hesitated, avoiding the gaze of all three.

"Yes?" asked Galahad. "What is this?"

"Only the blood of a maiden," Sir Egbert said.

"Oh," they all said together. Beaufils and Galahad looked at Ellyn.

"Er, how much blood?" asked Beaufils.

"One small bowl," Sir Egbert said hurriedly. "We should be very careful not to hurt you, my lady. Just a pinprick in the arm, and we'd make you very easy while we bled you."

Ellyn looked at him suspiciously and said, "Why go to all that bother? After all, we're your prisoners, aren't we? You could just kill me and take all the blood you want."

Sir Egbert winced. "Please, my lady, let us not talk about killing. No one wants to kill you. But the thing is, the blood cannot be taken by force. It must be given willingly or it will have no healing power."

Ellyn and Beaufils looked at each other, eyes wide. Sir Egbert bowed and, seemingly in a hurry, excused himself from the room. "You'll want to discuss this among yourselves," he said. "I shall be back shortly." Then he left, closing the door behind him.

Before Beaufils or Ellyn could speak, Galahad burst out, "But this must be it!"

"Must be what?" asked Ellyn.

"Your quest, of course! I did not understand how a woman could have a quest, but now I see it all clearly. The quest of womanhood is the quest of self-sacrifice!"

"Bosh," Ellyn retorted.

"A woman gives herself for the sake of others, for her children, for her husband, for all! It is the noblest part of womanhood! My own mother, the most virtuous of all women, gave everything for me. No sacrifice was too great for her to bear. She never denied me anything!"

"Unfortunate child," Ellyn murmured.

"What could be more perfect a quest for a fair lady?" Galahad demanded. "To give of the lifeblood that flows through her veins so another can live! It is a perfect symbol of womanhood! Do you not think it noble to save another's life?"

Ellyn hesitated. "Yes, I suppose it is. All things considered, though, I'd rather my lifeblood went to save a different life than Lady Petunia's."

Beaufils nodded. "Appalling, wasn't she? I think maybe I'm finally starting to understand the difference between beautiful and ugly. That was ugly, wasn't it?"

"Yes, it was," Ellyn replied, "and not just her appearance, either."

"It ill becomes you to insult a helpless woman thus," Galahad said austerely.

"Helpless?" Ellyn repeated. "There was nothing helpless about Lady Petunia. She had everyone dancing to her will."

"Yes," Beaufils said. "I wondered about that, because you said earlier today that women don't use other people as tools, but I thought Lady Petunia—"

"I may have to rethink that," Ellyn replied hastily. "A nasty piece of work, wasn't she?"

Galahad broke in. "It little matters whether you like the woman or not. Is it yours to decide if she deserves to live?"

Ellyn glanced at Beaufils. "True," she said. "For once, your annoying friend is right." Then she looked back at Galahad. "But has it occurred to you that I might die?"

"I thought about that," Beaufils said. "I wonder how big this bowl is."

"What if you do die?" Galahad demanded. "What could be more noble than to lay down your life for another? I promise you, Lady Ellyn, that if you die in this endeavor, I shall honor you as long as I live."

"Thank you," Ellyn said. "That will be a great comfort, I'm sure." She shook her head as if to clear it, then said, "I need to think alone for a while." Going into one of the bedchambers, she closed the door.

Galahad gazed at the closed door for a long moment, then let out a sigh and said, "Yes. Now I understand. I must learn to think of others before myself. Lady Ellyn's sacrifice is showing me the way."

Beaufils frowned and, when Galahad said nothing more, commented, "I'm sure that's an excellent lesson, Galahad, but I say, now that you've learned it, perhaps Ellyn doesn't need to risk her life after all."

But Galahad ignored him, caught up in his own meditations, and after waiting a frustrating moment for a reply, Beaufils turned on his heel and went out into the hall.

It was deserted, and Beaufils walked down the corridor, thinking how odd it was that anyone should build a castle underground, where there could be no windows. The only light was artificial, mostly from tiny candles that guttered in occasional sconces along the hallway. He looked in each room he passed, finding each one empty and somehow darker and more oppressive than the one before. At last he came to the final candle, but the hall continued on, a black pit yawning before him, leading into the mountain. "Where?" Beaufils muttered to himself, and his voice seemed eerily loud.

Taking the last candle from its sconce, Beaufils walked into the blackness, feeling the thick darkness open before him, then fold behind him when he had passed. He could not explain why he felt the need to plunge into this sea of hiddenness, but his steps did not falter as he pressed on down the hall to whatever awaited him in the sunless depths. Finally he came to the end of the corridor, and without hesitating he pushed open the closed door that he found there.

The tiny candle flickered, and the small circle of light that it gave seemed to contract. The pungent and offensive smell of decaying meat met Beaufils's nostrils, but he stepped over the threshold and into the room. A sense that went beyond sight told him that he was in a vast room with a high ceiling, and the dim glow of his candle revealed a stone shelf built into the wall on his left. On the shelf lay a skeleton. Beaufils stepped near and looked more closely. From the dress of fine linen that still covered the skeleton and the long wisps of hair that lay about the grinning skull, he could tell that this had once been a woman. Lifting his eyes, he made out the gray form of another skeleton, on another shelf a few steps farther along. He began to walk around the perimeter of the room, finding another skeleton every ten feet or so. All were laid out with care, their arms across their chests; all were women. After he had passed a dozen skeletons, the smell of decay grew stronger, and he realized that he was now passing bodies that had not wholly rotted away. Now he could see on the bones bits of crumbling flesh. Beaufils felt a wave of nausea, and he picked up his pace, passing several more corpses quickly. At the end of the row, though, he stopped, for the last body was so recently dead that it was still whole. This had been a young woman, and had the body not been so pale and white it would have appeared to be merely a young woman sleeping. Stretching out his candle, Beaufils looked closely at the face, then at an arm. There, at the crook of the elbow, was a hole surrounded by an ugly bruise.

"And did you give your lifeblood willingly?" he asked in a whisper. He stepped back until he was in the center of the room, then held his candle high and looked around. He remembered that back in his forest home, before he had set out, the old man had told him that in the world he would find much wickedness. "Yes," Beaufils said sadly. "More wickedness than I could have imagined." His head felt very heavy, and he allowed it to sink to his chin for a moment, but then he raised it. "Sleep well, sisters," he said hoarsely. "Perhaps you have already come to a kinder world." He looked back at the last body and realized that he had walked almost all the way around the room and had returned to the door through which he had entered. Between the last corpse and the doorway there was only one more stone slab, awaiting one more body. His eyes widened as he remember what the knight called Ronnie had said when he had ushered Ellyn in to Lady Petunia:
I've brought the maiden for the cure; the last one we need, too.
Turning on his heel, Beaufils ran back down the corridor, holding his candle before him like a sword, cutting the blackness as he returned to the world of the living.