Unwritten Books 1 - Unwritten Girl (8 page)

He shrugged. “That I cannot say. Read on, go on, my friends. The answer awaits us!” He bounded off. Peter and Rosemary glanced at each other. Peter shrugged with a clatter. They followed.

They soon heard the sound of running water, and as they rounded a curve in the path they came upon a narrow stone bridge rising above a swift forest stream. Its threshold was guarded by two chrome jaguars.

Rosemary halted by the jaguars. “What the ...”

“What?” Peter thrust up his visor and peered. “What are these oversize hood ornaments doing here?”

Puck was staring at the air over the bridge, rubbing it with his finger. He looked at the two. “What troubles you?”

“These,” said Rosemary, tapping the metal snouts with her finger. “Princess outfit, suit of armour, stone bridge, and metal panthers or whatever? Did we step into a ‘what’s wrong with this picture’ book?”

Puck peered around as though looking for cameras. Rosemary threw up her hands. “Let me guess: ‘That I cannot say’!”

He grinned at her. “No. That I do not know.” He pointed a long finger over the stream. “What I do know is that the challenge lies before us. To leave this story, we must go across the bridge and continue on our way.”

“That’s it?” said Peter. “Where’s the challenge in that?”

On the other bank, a knight in black armour stepped out from behind a tree and clanged his way onto the bridge. He had a sword with a pommel as large as a skull.

“Me and my big mouth,” said Peter.

The Black Knight drew his sword. “Did I hear somebody utter a challenge?” he bellowed. He pointed his sword at Peter. “Is the boy fool enough to challenge me to a duel to the death?”

Peter’s eyes went round, then the visor clanked in place in front of them. He struggled with his scabbard and drew his sword. The weight of it almost made him drop it.

Rosemary gulped. “This isn’t fair!” she said to Puck. “How can Peter fight
him
?”

“It is a quest, Sage Rosemary. It is not meant to be fair.”

“But —”

The Black Knight raised his sword and charged with a mighty yell. Puck and Rosemary ducked out of his way. Sword and helmet flying, Peter ran into the woods. The knight thundered after him.

“Puck, do something!” Rosemary shook him. “He can’t fight that knight alone!”

Puck shook his head sadly. “I cannot.”

Peter dashed out of the forest, tearing off his gloves and clawing at his breastplate, the Black Knight at his heels. “Turn, boy! Face me!”

“Puck!” shouted Rosemary. “Help him!”

“I am but a guide, Sage Rosemary,” said Puck. “It is your quest, and so it is your challenge.”

“Peter’s challenge,” said Rosemary. “The Black Knight is going after
him
!”

“And your challenge too,” said Puck, tapping her forehead with a long finger. “
You
must save Peter.”

“But how can I? I don’t even have a sword!”

“Remember, Rosemary, a hero has a thousand tricks.”

Rosemary turned towards the sound of the Black Knight’s voice.

Peter dashed back into view, the Black Knight even closer behind him. “When I catch you, you quick cur, the pieces of you will fly faster than your legs now carry you!”

Peter ran past Rosemary, not seeing her in his panic, and disappeared into the trees again. Rosemary took a
deep breath and stuck her foot into the path of the Black Knight.

He tripped and went down. There was a clatter like someone dropping a whole kitchen full of dishes.

Rosemary rubbed her ankle. “Will that do?” she asked. Puck nodded.

The Black Knight was sprawled face down on the muddy path, embedded inches into the earth, trapped by the weight of his own armour. His sword stuck out of the ground, well beyond his reach. Rosemary yanked it up and then staggered to hold it.

Peter slunk out of the forest. “Some champion I turned out to be,” he muttered. Rosemary patted his shoulder. Puck smoothed out his dishevelled hair.

“My lady!” came the muffled voice of the Black Knight. “You do not fight fair! You should not fight at all!”

“I’m not a lady. Get up!”

“Help me.”

Rosemary shook her head. “I don’t trust you.”

“I am a man of honour,” said the knight. “I will not take advantage. Please, my lady, the mud is blocking my visor — I cannot breathe!”

Rosemary started to say something, but Peter raised a hand. “Do you yield?” he said to the knight.

“It was not a fair fight!”

“Peter’s twelve and you’re claiming you lost unfairly?” said Rosemary.

“Never mind that,” said Peter. “Do you yield, or shall we leave you where you lie?”

“I yield!” shouted the knight. “Just turn me on my back!”

Straining, Rosemary and Peter managed to roll him over. They watched as the knight pulled off his helmet and lay back, gasping. He had a weathered face and a dark, scruffy beard. He looked hard at Rosemary, and his eyes widened. “The Lady Rosemary!” he exclaimed. “So, you have returned after all this time!”

Rosemary jerked back. “Returned?”

“Has it not been six years since you saw me carry off the beautiful princess to the Castle of Doom?” said the knight.

“I saw —” Her brow furrowed. “Wait, I remember! You stole her from the church where she was going to be married. What happened to her?”

“She is still in the Castle of Doom, across the river.”

Rosemary hoisted the sword’s tip level with the knight’s nose. “What have you done with her?”

“Why, nothing, my lady. You left the story at that point. It does not go forward without you.”

“It will now,” Rosemary snapped. “You’re going to let her go!”

“My lady, I —” the Black Knight began.

“We beat you, right?” said Rosemary. “You have to do what we say, right? So, I say you let the princess go, right now!”

The Black Knight sagged. He picked himself off the ground and limped between the chrome jaguars and over the bridge. “This way, Lady Rosemary.”

As Rosemary followed, Peter touched her shoulder. “You okay?”

She shivered. “She just screamed. Screamed all through the forest, and nobody came to save her.”

“She didn’t get away?” asked Peter.

“I don’t know. I — I didn’t read any further.”

Puck gave her shoulder a squeeze. He took the sword from her and swung it up to his shoulder like a swagger stick.

They crossed the bridge and followed the pathway until they came to a clearing in the forest. At the centre of the clearing stood a tall, round tower of stone, barely ten feet across, its peak poking above the forest canopy. Windows rose up the sides, and a heavy oak door blocked the entrance.

The Black Knight stepped to the door and knocked. “Princess Asphodel!” he shouted. “I have been defeated in” — he hesitated, then continued in a grumble — “fair combat. I release you. Come down and meet your rescuers.”

A sound like a snake’s hiss started up from somewhere above them. Rosemary’s eyes tracked up to the second-storey window and she stepped back.

Framed in the window was a tall princess with long golden hair, wearing a pale green dress. The hissing was
coming from her lips, which were drawn back from a toothy snarl.

The hiss became a yell, and the princess leapt from the window, coming down with all of her ninety-eight pounds on Rosemary, knocking her to the ground.

Peter rushed forward, but the princess knocked him aside with the back of her hand. Puck lunged, but the princess punched him in the stomach and chopped him in the back of the neck. Then she rounded on Rosemary.

“Six years!” Princess Asphodel screamed. “Six years I waited for rescue! Six years cooped up in that hideous tower with no decent bath, barely a decent larder, and only that smelly lout for company!” She jabbed a finger at the Black Knight. “If you ever
once
thought of washing yourself, I might have settled for you, but no!”

She pushed Rosemary down. “Do you think you can rescue me after six years and expect me to be grateful? Do you?”

The Black Knight rushed forward. “Princess,” he pleaded, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Please, calm yourself —”

The princess jumped up, grabbed the Black Knight by the arm, and swung him into the castle wall. There was a great clang of metal against stone. “Calm myself?” she screamed. “You kidnap me and leave me to rot, and you tell me to calm myself!”

She swung the knight around again, smashing him back into the castle wall. His helmet clattered on the ground. She snatched it up, jumped onto the Black Knight’s shoulders, and jammed the helmet down, backwards, over his head. He flailed about blindly. Then she jumped down, picked up the sword that had fallen from Puck’s grip, and smacked the flat against the side of his helmet. He yelled and clutched at his ears.

She hit him again with the flat of the sword, this time against the back of his head. She followed up with a kick to the back of his knee and a hard push against his shoulders. The Black Knight toppled face down in the mud. He lay still.

The princess dropped the sword, spat on the knight, and spat on Rosemary. Then she drew herself up, straightened her hair, took a deep breath, and ran, wailing, across the bridge and into the forest.

Peter gaped after her. “She didn’t seem too happy to be rescued.”

Puck was already standing, brushing himself off. “She did wait six years. How would you feel after such time?”

Rosemary sat up, breathing heavily. “Why couldn’t she have rescued herself?”

“It was not in her character,” said Puck.

As Rosemary and Peter rolled the dazed knight onto his back, Rosemary asked, “How many more challenges do we face before we find Theo?”

Puck shrugged. “It depends on the length of our tale. Sometimes we face three challenges, sometimes as many as seven.”

“Seven?” Peter exclaimed in horror. “Why?

“It is the law.”

“The law?” echoed Peter.

“Certainly,” said Puck. “In every story there must be a hero.” He nodded at Rosemary. “And in every story there must be a damsel in distr...” He trailed off. He was pointing at Peter. Peter folded his arms.

Then they heard something on the bridge that made them turn around.

Sniffing at the base of the bridge were the two chrome jaguars, their roughed-in eyes staring blindly. Their noses snuffed the pathway.

Rosemary tensed. What scent could they be looking for, but hers and Peter’s?

The jaguars stopped sniffing. Their heads came up towards Rosemary and Peter. They growled, their bared teeth reflecting the light.

“I told you those things weren’t natural,” said Peter.

Puck pulled the helmet off the Black Knight. “Sir Knight, see those metal animals yonder? How came they to be here?”

The Black Knight staggered to his feet. “I do not know. I have never seen them before.”

The jaguars crouched low and took slow, measured steps towards the party.

The knight picked up his fallen sword. “Lady Rosemary, get your friends down the pathway. That is the way to the next challenge. I shall fend these creatures off.”

“They’re made of metal,” said Peter. “You wouldn’t stand a chance!”

“Do not argue!” shouted the knight. “These creatures are not part of your challenge. Go!”

The jaguars snarled and charged.

Puck grabbed Peter and Rosemary’s wrists and they ran down the path. Behind them, the jaguars roared, and they heard the screech of metal against metal.

A TIGHT SQUEEZE

“I don’t understand.”

— Theo Watson

T
hey ran. Peter stumbled in the bits of armour he couldn’t get off. Puck led them along a streambed to cover their scent, and then along the forest path until Peter begged for rest. Puck left them gasping, and listened to the forest for signs of pursuit.

“I hear nothing,” he said when he came back. “We have left our pursuers far behind.”

Rosemary wiped her face on her brocade sleeves. Her long skirts were soaked and torn.

“What were those things?” panted Peter. “I never read about things like that.”

Rosemary hefted her skirts and marched ahead. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”

They followed the forest path until it suddenly spilled onto a large, well-tended lawn, rolled into hills and dotted with pruned hedges. Roiling clouds covered the sky. The wind picked up.

Rosemary paused, took a deep breath, and stepped out onto the smooth green grass.

She doubled over. “Ack!” She clutched her stomach. “What am I wearing?” She struggled to take a breath.

Blue and green taffeta covered her from neck to toe. Instead of her glasses, gilt pince-nez pinched her nose, attached to a ribbon around her neck. The dress had a bustle, and the waist was alarmingly tight.

“I — I think it’s a Victorian dress,” said Peter. He was wearing flannel pants, a starched shirt, an ascot tie, and an evening jacket.

“What’s it made of?” Rosemary gasped. “I feel like I’m being squeezed to death by a picket fence. I’ve got to get this off!”

“What?” Peter stumbled back.

“Wait here.” She staggered away from Peter and Puck and slipped behind the cover of a hedge. Immediately, the bushes began to quake and rustle as she gruntled and yelled. The dress flew into view, followed by a mound of crinolines, which blew away like white tumbleweeds. Still the grunting and snapping of branches continued.

Peter shivered in the freshening wind. “What’s taking her so long?” He looked up at Puck, who just raised an eyebrow.

Rosemary let out a sound like a large animal straining against its leash. Then she stopped. The quaking bushes
stopped. For a moment there was silence. And then Rosemary rasped, “Help!”

Peter and Puck bolted for the bushes. Peter grabbed a branch to pull himself around the corner, then stopped dead. Puck nimbly dodged him and stood, tense as a gazelle.

Rosemary was on her knees, gasping for air. She was dressed all in white, bloomers and camisole still covering her. From the waist up, she was clamped inside a vicious whalebone corset. She looked up at them, eyes wide. “I can’t ... I can’t get this ... off! I can’t ... breathe!”