The Queen's Father

Duke Halbert, the queen’s father, had become a shuffling, muttering shadow that wandered the castle halls at all hours, disturbing the dogs and interrupting late-night trysts.

He was pleasant enough when approached for conversation, but his words were disjointed and likely to have no relationship to the topic.

When Elric, the queen’s chef, found Halbert outside the pantry at midnight, he asked, “Milord, are you hungry? You barely touched your supper.”

“Old Bob used to bring us a string of trout on festival days. I went fishing with him one time, and he sprinkled some kind of dust on the water. He called it Fairy Cinders. Said he got it from an old lady in the woods.”

Elric just stared. Not sure what to say and regretting he had started this conversation at all.

“Here’s the strange part: when he sprinkled it on the water, fish would jump out, and we just needed to catch them.” Halbert made a grabbing motion and smiled. “It was great fun. Old Bob said the dust made the fish think they were birds, made them want to fly.”

A few days later, Elric saw Halbert at the edge of the market talking to an old lady who held up a vial of sparkling powder.

“Milord,” the chef said, hurrying to Halbert’s side, privately worried that the doddering old man would trade away the queen’s jewels for some fireplace ashes. “Lovely to see you here at the market.”

The old woman pulled her hand into her cloak, hiding the vial and eyeing Elric with suspicion.

Upon closer inspection, which he did not try to hide - he was of the royal household, after all - Elric noted she was not as old as he had first thought, though her long hair was grey. She wore blue eye makeup and a red silky cloak with jangling bells sewn on. Her boots were muddy but expensive. She wore rings on every finger but a cheap necklace of shells and raw crystals.

“Hullo, Bob,” Halbert said to Elric. “I was just speaking to my friend here about your Fairy Cinders.”

Elric’s suspicions were confirmed. This carnival soothsayer was going to extort the old man.

“The ones that make the fish fly?” Elric asked with dripping sarcasm.

“Not only fish,” the woman snapped.

Elric ignored her and asked Halbert, “Are you quite sure of this...lady’s claim?”

“I am.” For the first time, he sounded lucid, and even a bit peeved to be answering to a mere chef. It was like the young, headstrong Duke was peeking out of the old man’s eyes.

“Milord.” Elric bowed and stepped back, retreating to the fishmonger’s stall. He could still see Halbert and the mysterious lady, without appearing to be a spy.

“Looking for something fresh, Elric?” the fishmonger asked with a twinkle in his eye. He was sweet on Elric, and Elric had been stringing him along for a while.

“Hush,” Elric said. “I’m watching the Duke and this floozy.”

“Oh, yeah, them. They’ve been meeting for weeks.”

Elric watched Halbert smile at the woman and resume talking with her. The woman’s back was turned to him, so he could not tell what kind of womanly wiles she was using on the Duke. Good thing he could see clearly in such matters.

“Her name is Matilda. She lives off in the forest.” The fishmonger was standing right next to Elric now, his hand on the chef’s shoulder. His fingers squeezing gently. It felt good.

“She’s trying to fleece the old man,” Elric said.

The fishmonger's fist rolled in a circle between Elric’s shoulder blades. “They say she has a talent with healing and potions of all kinds. Old Kyle over at the baker stand says one of her ointments cured his sore knees.”

Elric almost closed his eyes, his tension draining away under the fishmonger’s expert hands. Maybe he would have to do more than string him along.

Halbert nodded, and Matilda bowed. Their transaction was concluded, apparently.

“Look, she has a leather pouch in her hand,” Elric said.

“And he has a little glass tube of shiny powder,” the fishmonger said. “Looks like a speckled trout’s back.”

“Thank you, my friend,” Elric said, patting him on the cheek. “I’ll come again. Soon.”

Elric pondered the events with the Duke as he worked in the kitchen. Days passed, and his unending responsibilities of purchasing food and concocting new dishes and yelling at the scullery boys for sneaking kisses from the serving wenches finally pushed the thoughts away.

A month had flown by when a huge clamor roused Elric from sleep. The entire castle was in an uproar: dogs barking, soldiers bellowing, and ladies crying.

He quickly donned a silk robe and told the fishmonger to stay put as he rushed into the corridor, candle in hand, to join a dozen others in night clothes.

Beside an open window, the queen was holding her father’s favorite cloak with the Clan Steward patch. Other clothing, presumably his as well, lay scattered on the cold stone floor.

The evening breeze that threatened to douse Eric’s candle sent flickering shadows from the bystanders chasing among the hallway’s banners and empty suits of armor. A white feather, a fluff of down, drifted on the breeze.

On the window still, Elric spotted a small, empty vial. But, before he could form his next suspicion, his obvious conclusion that poor, trusting, demented Halbert had been poisoned or driven mad by a carnival soothsayer, a shadow blocked out the sliver moon.

Without a sound, a white owl swooped past the window and snatched the vial. None but Elric saw it happen.

The captain of the guard strode into the dancing circle of candlelight. “Your majesty, we have scoured the grounds,” he glanced at the window, “and we have found no sign of the Duke.”

So, Elric thought. He did not jump. So where was he?

Again, Elric looked out at the sliver moon. This time, he saw two white owls drifting silently over the sleeping world, becoming smaller as they left the castle behind.

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