In a Weary World

Chapter XXVIII: More Trouble

King Severin looked suitably ashamed. "I beg your pardon."

Solvej smothered a laugh as she thought of some of the things she had heard over the years. Her mother had used a good few stronger words when particularly exasperated with someone, and many other witches did not feel the need to censor their language when something went wrong. The Magician had thrown a few choice epithets at her on occasion, as well. If the King thought "bastard" was the worst she had ever heard, he was badly mistaken.

"Now," the Queen was saying in a brisk, business-like tone, "the first thing we must do is tell the Magician -- and, er, the parasite? Is that what you call her? -- that you have solved the third challenge. I do not expect him to be a graceful loser..."

You can say that again, Solvej thought.

"...so I foresee a great deal of trouble ahead of us. And in all likelihood there will be some violence. We must plan ahead. We must be prepared for -- well, not for every eventuality, but for as many as we can think of."

"That might be harder than you think, your Majesty," Solvej said. "Things rarely happen the way anyone expects them to, especially when magic is involved."

The words were hardly out of her mouth when the door flew open. Everyone jumped. The footman bumped into a footrest and knocked it over. The Queen gripped the edge of her chair, all colour suddenly drained from her face. Solvej stifled a groan. She knew who had just arrived even before she turned round.

She was right. It was the parasite.

"Good morning!" the parasite chirped, its mouth distorting into a literally ear-to-ear grin. The sight was so wrong that it sent chills down Solvej's spine. "Am I to understand that you have solved my third challenge?"

"Yes, we have," Solvej said, holding up the apple. "And here's the proof."

The parasite's smile contorted into a snarl just barely hidden by a smile. "Oh, but you could have got that apple anywhere."

"You can visit the tree it grew from if you don't believe me. But it's a long journey, so perhaps you'd rather just ask the queen of the merfolk for confirmation."

The parasite convulsed suddenly, as if it were having a fit. Solvej eyed it warily. What was that about? As abruptly as it started shaking, it stopped and stood up straight.

"So you think you have beaten me," it said in an oddly high-pitched, wavering voice. "Well, you're wrong! My mas-s-s-ster will des-s-s-stroy you!" Its voice grew shriller and more frantic, and it drew out its "s"'s like an angry snake.

"I'm sure he'll try," Solvej said in the most flippant tone she could manage. Inwardly, however, she was unnerved. What was wrong with it? Was it having some sort of nervous breakdown?

The parasite shrieked. It was a terrible sound, far higher and louder than any noise human vocal cords could produce. Everyone in the room winced and covered their ears. The windows seemed to rattle, and downstairs the servants stopped in their tracks and looked at each other in amazed horror.

Then the parasite's entire body began to shake. It twisted in strange and impossible ways, its arms and legs bending in ways that human bone was not supposed to bend. Finally, with another deafening shriek, it fell to the floor and lay silent.

Everyone stayed frozen in place, staring at it.

Is this a trick? Solvej wondered. Is it about to spring up and attack us?

Minutes ticked slowly by without a sound from anyone in the room. The parasite lay as if it was dead. The thought sent a cold chill down Solvej's spine. If the parasite had killed Rigmor's body, then Rigmor herself was dead.