Twisted Tales

Bippity Boppity Boo

And I wasn't going, at least not until we tracked down the hazel tree that was Cinderella. I didn't want to embarrass myself by suggesting something ridiculous and impossible, unless we at least had the benefit of knowing where exactly Cindy was to give us a starting point for coming up with a plan B.

"But," I said instead, looking up at Alfred in slight confusion, "You don't have to come with us. You wanted to come here to meet the king, right? You can go start fighting for Big Bad Wolf Rehabilitation now that you're here."

Alfred cocked his head to the side, and gave me a doggy grin. "Actually, I'm quite interested in this little quest you're on. I am intrigued to see how it will play out. I would be glad to lend my assistance in this venture. Besides, helping to rescue a maiden from certain doom will look very good for my movement, and for rebranding the image of wolves from 'beasts' to 'heroes'. And, if we do manage to rescue this princess-to-be of yours, then it stands to reason she will feel indebted to us for our aid. Once she marries the prince, she may be able to, how do you say, pull some strings, and grant me a special audience with the king out of gratitude."

I shrugged. "Well, you can come along if you really want, I certainly won't refuse a little extra help. I've got to warn you though, we ended up imprisoned in a dungeon to await our execution the last time we tried rescuing a princess," I informed him.

"Also not technically a princess," Jack coughed lightly.

Alfred gave a sage nod. "Ah, but clearly the situation wasn't quite so dire as it seemed, for here you stand before me now, very much alive."

So that was that: Alfred was now, temporarily at least, an active member of our little band of adventurers. We should get letterman jackets or something.

As we were, more or less, in the central town square, there was a sign post near the announcement board offering vague directions to various important locals around the royal city. There were half a dozen nailed onto it, all pointing in different directions. They read as follows:

Cassel
Tavyrn
Market Plase
Galows
Town Skware (this sign was pointing straight town, indicating our current location)
Gravy Yard

I assumed that "Gravy Yard" was not, in fact, a yard full of gravy, but the cemetery. And that was where we headed.

It took us perhaps twenty five or thirty minutes to walk there. On the way, we managed to get lost; get pickpocketed by a ten year old; get yelled at by the ten year old's grandmother when Erik caught and threatened to beat up the kid; were almost chased out of town on three separate occasions by people who took particular offense to Alfred's presence; and I stepped in a pile of horse shit.

By the time we reached the cemetery built on the edge of town, I was this close to saying "screw it" and abandoning the quest all together, princesses be damned.

"Finally!" I said in relief when we came upon the wrought iron fence that surrounded the overgrown graveyard. It was crowded with headstones, most of them so worn that the names and dates inscribed upon their faces had long since worn away. Many of them were cracked or crumbling, lying in pieces in the dirt right where they had fallen. Further back, towards the rear of the cemetery, stone grave markers gave way to wooden ones, and even fewer of these had survived the trials of time. Weeds and wildflowers were everywhere, doing their part to reclaim this patch of earth to nature. They grew so thick and tall that walking amongst the graves was like trying to wade through shin-deep water. The only clear places were around the bases of the trees—and my god, there were so many damned trees. On any other day, I would have thought it was a somberly beautiful site. But right then, all I could do was look on in horror at the miniature forest that was growing in this graveyard. How the hell were we going to find one specific hazel tree in this mess?