When things go wrong, you'll find they usually go on getting worse for some time; but when things once start going right they often go on getting better and better. -- C. S. Lewis, The Horse and His Boy
Strange to relate, animals made of fire wandering around one's sitting room had a tendency to make one believe that the woman who claimed to be a witch was in fact a witch. There wasn't a peep out of either King or Queen on the subject of whether Solvej was a fraud or not. Hjalmar wondered -- rather uncharitably, it must be admitted, not to mention unfairly -- if this was only because they were afraid the lion might attack them.
"What do you want?" the King asked, sounding much more respectful than he had a minute ago.
"To help your daughter, and to get revenge," Solvej replied.
"Revenge?" The Queen raised an eyebrow.
"The Magician who cursed Rigmor also killed me."
Hjalmar could see the royals attempting to wrap their minds around that statement. He took pity on them and explained, "She's a ghost."
Oh dear. Now it looked like they were having panic attacks. Hjalmar couldn't find it within himself to blame them, considering his reaction to first meeting Solvej had been to faint.
The Queen turned to Rigmor. "You've met some very strange people on your travels. Tell me, are these all or are you about to introduce us to a dryad or a gryphon next?"
Rigmor laughed, a hint of nervousness in her voice. "No, nothing like that, just these two."
The King gave Hjalmar a dubious look. "And what are you? Another ghost?"
Hjalmar didn't know if he should be amused or insulted. "No, I'm as alive as you are."
"He's my friend," Solvej said helpfully. "He can be a bit of an idiot at times, but he's still my friend."
Now he didn't know if he should be touched or insulted. This was turning out to be a terribly confusing day.
"Your Majesties?" The question drew everyone's attention to the guards who had captured Hjalmar and Solvej. One of the guards was staring at the scene before them with his mouth hanging open. The other, the one who had spoken, was glancing nervously from Solvej to the King and Queen. "What should we do, your Majesties? We thought these were intruders."
The King waved his hand dismissively. "You can go back to your normal duties."
"Yes, your Majesty."
The poor guards still looked all at sea. Hjalmar gave them a smile of commiseration. He wasn't the only one having a confusing day.
~~~~
"Now," said the Queen in a business-like tone. "You say you know how to break the curse, Miss..."
"Solvej will do, your Majesty."
The Queen raised an eyebrow, but let this pass without comment. "You say you know how to break the curse. How, may I ask?"
Hjalmar felt a sudden sense of foreboding.
"It's really very simple," Solvej said. "The Magician wants to marry Rigmor, doesn't he?" The King and Queen nodded mutely. "And he has cursed her to set impossible tasks for any other man who wants to marry her, hasn't he? Well, then, the solution is obvious. All we have to do is find a way to fulfill the tasks, and the curse will be broken."
The King snorted. "Easy, isn't it? How do you expect to find a way to grow crops in the middle of the sea?"
Hjalmar had no idea what the man was talking about, but Solvej didn't seem to realise there was anything odd about such a question.
"That would be ridiculously easy, with a little inventive thought and some magic," she said. "The problem with the Magician is that he never expected anyone with magic to defy him."
"What tasks?" Hjalmar interrupted. "What are you talking about?"
~~~~
"No."
"But, Hjalmar!"
"Don't you 'But, Hjalmar' me. I'm not going to propose to Rigmor."
Really, this entire situation was so embarrassing that Hjalmar wanted nothing more than to curl up in a corner somewhere. It would be bad enough if it was just him and Solvej, but Rigmor and her parents were looking on with expressions of mingled bafflement and outrage.
"Now wait just a minute--" the King began.
"Marry him?" Rigmor pulled a face at the mere thought. "No offense, Hjalmar, but you aren't really the sort of man I'd want to marry."
Solvej took a deep breath. Hjalmar wondered why she did that when she didn't need to breathe. Force of habit, perhaps?
"You wouldn't have to marry him. All that has to happen is he proposes to you, you set him tasks, I help him complete the tasks, and voilà, the curse is broken and we can kill the Magician."
"Simple, isn't it?" Hjalmar said sarcastically. "And what happens if you can't complete the tasks?"
She grinned. "Never underestimate a witch."
As far as he was concerned, that was just a way to avoid admitting she didn't know.
~~~~
"I must say, I have some reservations about this plan," the Queen said delicately. "The possibility of something going wrong is far too high for my liking. And then, of course, there is the fact that it involves Mr. ...Dalsgaard, was it? proposing to my daughter."
Solvej watched in amusement as Hjalmar's face went through a series of complicated expressions as he tried to work out if he should be insulted or not.
"What everyone seems to be forgetting is that I have a say in this," Rigmor interrupted. "Solvej, are you sure you can complete any task I set Hjalmar?"
Really, why did everyone insist on doubting her? She was a perfectly capable witch, and more importantly she had taken the precaution in life of staying on good terms with as many powerful beings as she could. Most importantly of all, she had a damn good reason to want the Magician dead. Hate and wrath, properly controlled and channelled, were the most powerful forces of all, and few things could stand against them. Every witch knew that.
"I know I can," Solvej said.
Hjalmar snorted. The ghost gritted her teeth. There were times when that boy really tried her patience.
"That's very interesting," the King said. His tone didn't so much suggest he thought the exact opposite as outright state it. "But what if the Magician decides to become personally involved? He won't like a witch interfering."
"I hope he does." Solvej grinned. "I really hope he does."
~~~~
"The people will not accept a commoner even pretending to be engaged to their Princess," the Queen said thoughtfully. "We'll have to create some fictitious noble title for you. Say... Duke Hjalmar of Gøbiilå."
There was a dumbfounded silence as everyone present attempted to wrap their minds around that tongue-twister of a name. Then there was a cacophonic outburst as four people tried to express their opinions all at the same time.
"You can't be serious--"
"Mother, what are you thinking--"
"Me? A Duke?"
"Where is this Gubby place--"
The Queen held up her hand for silence. All talk ceased. "Gøbiilå is a dukedom in Ivarfell, currently held by my cousin. I am sure he wouldn't mind us using his title in a good cause."
"Which one of your cousins are we talking about?" the King asked. He looked suddenly horrified. "Tell me you don't mean that twit Eivind."
The Queen frowned at him. "No, I do not mean Eivind, and please don't call him a twit. He's eccentric, not an idiot. Anyway, I mean Gjurd."
"Oh. That's all right, then." The King did a double take. "Gjurd? But isn't he the one who let a flock of chickens loose during our wedding?"
"Severin. He was four at the time. Surely you can't still hold that against him."
Hjalmar looked at Solvej. Solvej looked at Hjalmar. Both of them looked at Rigmor.
"Do you have any idea what they're talking about?" Hjalmar asked in an undertone.
Rigmor sighed. "It's a long story. Actually, I don't think I know half of it. All I know is that Mother's relatives have a habit of embarrassing themselves at family gatherings."
Solvej grinned wryly. "So not even royals are spared embarrassing relatives."
The King and Queen had by now settled their disagreement and were ready to return to the subject at hand.
"As I was saying," the Queen said, "we will need to create a fictional history for Mr. Dalsgaard, and he will have to take history and etiquette classes if he wishes to pass as a Duke." Hjalmar made a choking sound at this proclamation. No one took any notice of him. "We'll also need a plausible reason for why he would want to propose to Rigmor when everyone knows about the curse."
Hjalmar could have made a smart remark about how not everyone knew about it -- he certainly hadn't, until Solvej dragged him into this -- but he was still reeling from the thought of history and etiquette classes.
"You could say he saw the Princess one day and fell in love at first sight, your Majesties," Solvej said with a mischievous grin playing around her mouth.
Hjalmar's mouth dropped open. "What?"
To his horror, the King and Queen appeared to be giving that suggestion serious consideration.
"It would be romantic enough to make the people forget to ask awkward questions," the Queen said thoughtfully. "There's nothing the average person likes better than a real life fairy-tale."
Hjalmar spluttered for a moment. "But I don't love Rigmor! Love at first sight or otherwise!"
The King snorted. "Haven't you been listening, boy? This whole thing is just a sham."
"But if we say Hjalmar's in love with me, and if we do break the curse, how will we explain him not marrying me?" Rigmor wondered.
Her parents looked briefly worried.
"It would start all sorts of gossip," the King said, frowning.
"We'll have to cross that bridge when we come to it," the Queen said. "Perhaps we could enlist Gjurd's help."
The King snorted again. "He'd probably think the best way to deal with any situation is to set a flock of chickens free again."
Hjalmar wondered what on Earth Duke Gjurd had done.
~~~~
"We've done all we can," the Queen declared at last. "Now we just have to announce the engagement, and everything after that is up to the Magician."
Solvej grinned. Hjalmar noticed this, and felt a dreadful sense of foreboding. The only good thing about this was that so far, no one had mentioned etiquette classes again.
"...And before we make the announcement, we'll have to arrange etiquette classes for that boy."
Well. Damn.
~~~~
The King and Queen went to the trouble of providing their guests with rooms of their own and a fine dinner. There were all sorts of delicious dishes on the table -- chicken soup, veal cutlets, steak pies, and more. The only trouble was that Hjalmar felt sick at the mere thought of eating.
"So. We're engaged." Somehow that didn't capture the seriousness of the situation. Hjalmar tried again. "We're engaged, and the Magician is bound to show up at any minute."
"He won't show up until we've publicly announced the engagement," Rigmor corrected. She propped her chin on her hands and gave him a thoughtful look. "Why are you so against the idea of getting engaged? Is it just me you don't want to be engaged to?"
"I'm nineteen. I'm too young to think of getting engaged to anyone at the moment." Hjalmar steadfastly ignored Solvej's snort. He'd be damned if he let a ghost's opinion influence his thoughts.
Rigmor frowned. "Too young? My parents were married when Father was fourteen and Mother was eighteen."
Eighteen? Fourteen? Hjalmar could scarcely believe his ears. "But-- but they were only children when they married, then!"
"Royalty. It's another planet," Solvej said helpfully.
Rigmor pretended not to hear. After a moment's thought, so did Hjalmar.
~~~~
Why Hjalmar had to take etiquette classes was beyond him. Rigmor had attempted to explain -- something about ensuring he could pass for a Duke without raising suspicions. Whatever the reason for it, the fact remained that he now spent almost his entire day learning how to bow, what were the proper forms of address for various people he'd never heard of before, and how to speak with a "posh" accent.
This was much worse than Rigmor's attempt at teaching Hjalmar and Solvej to be "proper". That had been mostly for something to do. This was in earnest.
Hjalmar's etiquette teacher was a battleaxe of a Grand Duchess who happened to be the King's sister. Grand Duchess Dorthe appeared to have a personal grudge against any man who dared to think himself good enough for her niece.
"What are you doing, you little fool?" she bellowed at him from across the dinner table. It was the evening of Hjalmar and Solvej's second day in the palace, but the Grand Duchess had taken it upon herself to make it feel like his second year. "Why are you holding your fork like that?"
Hjalmar looked down at his cutlery. He couldn't for the life of him see what he was doing wrong. His knife was in his left hand and his fork was in his right; his dessert spoon still sat on the napkin beside his plate.
"Like what?" he asked.
Grand Duchess Dorthe cast her eyes heavenward. "By the saints, are you an idiot as well as a peasant?"
It was with extreme difficulty that Hjalmar restrained himself from saying something very rude. There was absolutely nothing wrong with how he was holding the cutlery. The Grand Duchess, he thought, was just trying to make his life miserable. And to make things worse, the eyes of everyone else at the table were now fixed on him.
"You. Are. Holding. Your. Fork. In. Your. Right. Hand." The Grand Duchess spoke in a tone that most people would reserve for speaking of the most horrific crimes.
Was that all?
"That's how I always hold it," Hjalmar protested.
"Dorthe, let the boy have his dinner in peace," the King interrupted. Hjalmar could have kissed him in that moment. Well, maybe he wouldn't have kissed him, but certainly he felt very thankful to him.
The Grand Duchess gave her brother a betrayed look. "But, Severin, everyone who sees him will know he's a fraud if he keeps eating like that."
As the argument continued, Hjalmar looked despairingly across the table at Solvej. She shrugged and mouthed, "Grin and bear it" at him.
Grin and bear it, indeed. Easy for her to say that.