| |
Left Out In The Cold
Alpha and Adamo follow the king and ambassador into the mansion and I’m tagging along behind when Curt grabs my arm and pulls me back.
“Now what?” I snap at him, as the door slams shut.
“They’re about to negotiate,” he whispers, giving me a pointed glare.
“I know that,” I shoot back. “Can we take this inside? I’m freezing.”
It’s then I notice no-one else is heading towards their chalets, with the exception of the tallest snake guard, now shivering directly in front of the mansion’s door, periodically honking like a goose. Thankfully, the bears, wolves and eagles are now clothed and looking comfortable enough. My feet, however, have frozen with all the standing around on compacted snow and I can hear pneumonia calling my name over the hills. All the snakes start up with that coughing. I’d feel sorry for them, if they didn’t still have their noses stuck in the air.
“No, we can’t go inside,” Curt says, annunciating clearly for the slow of mind. “Only the Alpha is invited.”
“Oh. Right. But why are we standing out here? We can stay in our rooms, keeping out of the way.”
“It’s snake tradition that all negotiations take place in absolute privacy.”
“Fine, but can’t we go somewhere warm?” I sound like I’m whining. “The village is full of houses. One of them must have a fire.”
“No. We pledged to stay here, standing on the outside, showing respect for those negotiating.”
“That’s ridiculous,” I blurt.
“Of course it’s ridiculous,” Curt agrees. “But we still have to do it. If we make a move, one of those shivering snake guards will change and swallow you whole.”
“You’re making that up.”
“Maybe. Wings will flatten you, though.”
Now that I believe.
“Aren’t you cold?” I ask, slapping my arms against my torso.
He shrugs. “Not right now. The changing expends a lot of heat and energy. We get tired, but we stay warm. For a bit.”
“Lucky you,” I moan, gazing at the crowd of solemn faces and wishing I could join the children.
They’re chasing each other and hurling snowballs at a frightening velocity. A stray missile smashes against the rump of General Ursid and he doesn’t even flinch. After a swift motherly telling off, they transfer their efforts to the building of a snow wolf, supervised by Wings, of all people. Apparently, he prefers children to obstructive middle-aged annoyances.
An hour later, although it feels like a week, I’m entertaining myself by staring at the human version of the general, who’s even scarier than the bear, being equally wide as he is tall; a solid wall of muscle with fists the size of sledgehammers. A thick pink scar almost bisects his face, stretching from his left temple, crossing his nose and ending below the right side of his lips. A frown makes thick black eyebrows look like a ferret got stuck on his forehead and tells me his mood is even darker than Curt’s. In fact, they look like a matching set of condiments.
Dulcis flounces up with a very unattractive pout, doing a marvellous impression of a landlocked flapping trout. “How long are they going to be in there? I hope it doesn’t go on for days, standing out here. It would be nice to talk to the prince. He seemed nice, for a bear. I’d forgotten he had autumn hair. He’s a spirit bear, you know? How long have they been in there? How long does it take to agree not to kill each other? My feet hurt.”
“Dulcis grow up,” Curt hisses, getting right in her face. “This is serious.”
“Wow, dial it back a notch,” I say, stepping between them. “She’s just a kid.”
“She is the daughter of this pack’s Alpha and has responsibilities,” he growls.
“This from the hermit hiding up his mountain,” I snap.
Wings looms up at me from nowhere, his face turning beetroot as he flies to Curt’s defence. “You have no idea what you’re talking about. You shouldn’t be here.”
“You’ve said the same thing about Uncle Curt,” says Dulcis, grabbing my arm and slamming me into her side. She glares at Wings, daring him to try and move me. “We are going to help build the snow wolf,” she announces in a voice like ground gravel and yanks me after her.
I’ve no idea how long that door remains shut, but shadows cast a moving clock across the snow whilst chilly hands build the snow wolf, leaving the hermit and his bird friend to snap at each other. I’m confused as to why Wings keeps shuffling back and forth around Curt, when an icy puff of wind blows snow in my face and I suddenly realise the old bird is sheltering his pup from the cold. Curt can barely stand on that hip by the time the door cracks opens an inch and the snake guard receives a message through the gap.
“You may now enter,” says the guard and the door closes again.
“Thank the Lord for that,” I mutter under my breath, even though I had fun slapping a pebble onto the nose of the snow wolf.
“You may all...” Curt and Wings announce, simultaneously, then stop abruptly, staring at one another in embarrassment.
“Of course, you should...” says Wings.
At the same time as Curt insists, “I’m sorry, you should be...”
And so, it proceeds.
Wings: “You were Alpha.”
Curt: “I’m not Alpha.”
Wings: “You’re his brother.”
Curt: “I left the pack.”
Wings: “Please go ahead.”
Curt: “No, I’d never overstep...”
“Everybody who’s wolf go home ‘til the feast,” Dulcis bellows, making me jump. “The rest of us, round the back.” And with that unladylike pronouncement she stamps off, heading behind the mansion.
I swear I catch a tiny chuckle coming from the iron bear as he ushers his crew to follow in her wake. The snakes stick their noses in the air and prance after her like it’s a ceremonial ballet, leaving myself, Curt and Wings stranded, since the wolves and their children scarpered back to their homes at top speed.
“Hey ho,” I warble as I plod pass the scowling duo, delivering what I hope is a thoroughly annoying grin.
I’m surprised to find the back door looms three times wider than the front and the heavily carved ivy lintels are a good deal more ornate, as though the whole house is back to front. A gaggle of bears and snake guards pour inside, which strikes me as dangerous, from a security standpoint. I wait for the limping wonderwolf to catch up and beckon him over, making a cross-eyed face at Wings as he flaps past.
“Where’s all the wolf guards?” I whisper.
“Gone home,” he replies, at full volume.
I shush him. “Shouldn’t they be guarding their Alpha?”
Curt stares at me as though I just suggested we get married.
“What? What have I said?”
“No bear will attack the Alpha during royal negotiations,” he announces, staring at the closing door. “Not here, anyway.”
“Really? Why not?”
“Negotiations are supposedly sacred to the host in the presence of the king.”
“That’s lovely,” I comment, noting that errant ‘supposedly.’ “But you’re telling me you rely on that?”
He leans towards me and whispers, “Never, and I, of all people, have reason not to. But if the bears broke trust, the snakes would strangle Adamo, slowly, ‘til his eyes pop out of their sockets.”
“That might do it,” I agree, eyes wide. “Are the snakes really that strong?”
Curt snorts. “Why do you think they’re ruling?”
“I thought you said they were thinkers?”
“Thinkers and strong. Lethal combination.”
“Hmmm. Where are they all going?” I ask, watching the flood disappearing down a narrow hallway.
“There are more than thirty rooms back here where they can wait for the feast and the dance.”
“I’m still not dancing naked round a campfire,” I insist.
“I wish,” Curt replies, then turns a rich shade of puce. “I mean, I wish it were a fire dance. This is very different.”
“How so?” I’m curious now, picturing a snake Argentine Tango or bears doing Irish Riverdance.
Curt sticks his nose in the air, goes limp at the wrists and takes up what I suspect is a version of the waltz position.
“I see.”
“Edi,” bellows Dulcis from the top of a thin flight of stairs. Yeeesh, she can transform from Tinkerbell to Maleficent at the drop of a hat.
“I think I’d better go. See you at the feast?”
Curt half smiles. “The eating I like. Even if it is with bears.”
“Will you get to speak with your brother, before the dance? About the negotiations?”
His face turns grave. “Oh yes, believe me. Whatever I think of the bears, I don’t want it to become a war. Especially for Dulcis.”
“She’d have to fight?” It hadn’t occurred to me. So much for my feminism.
“Of course,” he states. “She’s part of the pack.”
“But she’s so young.”
“She is,” he agrees and looks away, gazing into the past. “I was younger.”
“EDI!!!” ricochets off the walls, making us both grin.
“I’d better go, before she goes into attack mode,” I tell him, heading upstairs. “Best of luck.”
“You too,” he calls after me.
I’m puffing when I reach the top of the stairs to find my sweet pup with a face like thunder.
“I’m here,” I manage to get out.
“We need to dress,” she announces and sweeps around the corner.
I raise my eyes to heaven and follow. The tight corridor opens out to reveal the far corner of the second floor, overhanging the great hall, which swarms with people hauling in more tables, setting out cutlery and placing carved wolf table top decorations. The four negotiators have already vacated.
Sweat breaks out under my bulky layers of clothing. Is it me or am I having a hot flush? Mind you, it could be something to do with the fireplace roaring like a volcano.
“A little warm, isn’t it?” I venture.
Dulcis grabs my hand and hauls me down the corridor, throwing the answer over her shoulder. “The snakes like it hot.”
Ambassador Anguis flashes up in my imagination. No idea why. Ahem.
I’m heading for my new room, formerly the dwelling of Frozen Hell, when Dulcis redirects my route by way of dislocating my elbow and I stumble into the Pink Paradise.
“The ambassador’s in Grandmother’s room,” I’m told. “You’re in with me.”
I’m lowering myself into a chair when I notice two dresses carefully laid out on the bed, with a leaf necklace and ivy headdress, both carved out of wood, resting on each. Someone’s already been busy. I scan the room for anything that resembles make-up, but no, this old, wrinkly face with dark circles beneath the eyes is going au naturel for the foreseeable future. Unless I find a way to get home, that is.
Dulcis moves the jewellery and lifts an emerald green dress from the bed. This isn’t Victorian England and I’ve no idea why I’m expecting the ‘dressing up’ to encompass yards of silk, lace and beading over the top of rib crushing corsets, but that’s not what she holds up to her youthful self. The linen style, full length dress with folded pleating has more of a comfortable country vibe, like the village Sunday best. It’s not flamboyant, but with the colour complimenting her eyes and clear skin, she still looks stunning.
“That’s beautiful,” I tell her and she grins.
“Will he like it?”
I hardly need to ask to whom she’s referring as she crushes the dress to her chest and dances around the room. Adamo has been promoted from Bear Curse to Handsome Prince.
“He’s so gorgeous,” she witters, going revoltingly dreamy eyed. “That bright autumn hair, like the Empber Trees after The Melting.” She delivers the theatrical sigh of the drunken hormone and rubs her stomach. “And those muscles...”
“Oh, pull yourself together, girl,” I fling at her. “You’ve only just met him. Just because he’s pretty doesn’t mean you should leap on him. Take it from me. Some of the greatest little shits are good looking.”
Alright that was a bit harsh, but puleeease.
“Not to mention, you don’t know how these negotiations are going. How about you take things slowly?”
“Yes, Mummy,” she laughs and points at the other dress. “That one’s yours.”
I deign to give it a swift once over. Burgundy red, which is fine, nothing too luminous. No great swathes of lace or parachute boning.
“Was this Granny’s?” I ask, levering myself out of the chair. I hope that creaking wasn’t my knees.
Her face drops. “Don’t you like it?”
“I think it’s lovely,” I quickly reply, holding it against myself and catching a glimpse in the mirror. “Right length, but the neckline’s a bit low. I’m too droopy for a dress like this.” Menopause played havoc with more than just my nether regions and temperature gauge.
Dulcis bursts out laughing. “Just put it on, Edi. Me first.”
It takes an eternity for me to do up all the buttons on the back of her dress, but once she’s in, Dulcis looks like the beautiful young woman she is. I’ve no idea why I feel so proud. It’s not as though I’ve had anything to do with it.
She expertly winds her long hair into a wavy chignon and pins it firmly in place, before looping the leaf beads around her neck. The royal look is finished off with the ivy headdress sitting atop like a tiara.
“Stunning,” is my verdict.
She turns towards me with a smile. “Now you.”
“I’m fine. I can do it my...”
“Now you,” she insists, in the voice of a nanny. “Put the dress on.”
The first few layers are fine, but getting down to my underwear reveals marks and flab I’d rather wasn’t dangling in the wind.
“What’s this?” Dulcis asks, pinging the back of my bra strap like we’re in gym class at school.
“It’s called a bra. It stops me drooping around my knees and I’m not taking it off.” I may sound a little histrionic.
“Fine,” she says, making a goggle eyed face before ushering me into the dress. My back’s already beginning to ache when she finally gets to the top button and I’m grateful when I’m ordered to “Sit.” I glance down to check on the breasts and, surprisingly, they’re sitting quite nicely, neither too exposed nor flashing the big girl’s full cup. It’s about now I’d be slathering my face in make-up in a vain attempt to turn back the clock, but that’s not going to happen here. At least my face is clean and a little pink from the overheated mansion.
Slender fingers wrap around my throat and a string of carved flowers, much like roses, rests just above the neckline. They may be plain wood, but the colour palette sits close to mahogany and they’re gorgeous, as well as lightweight. My head gets yanked back up as Dulcis drags a comb through my grey and white streaked locks. Good luck trying to create a chignon with chin length hair.
I’m trying to get up, thinking she’s finished grooming, when she pushes me into the chair, announcing, “We need the combs.” A few seconds rummaging later and she’s back at my hair, twisting each strand from the root to the nape of my neck, where she plants something with teeth that feels like my hair has been stapled to my neck. Whatever she’s concocted isn’t moving, unless we’re going to a rave. A matching flower tiara appears in front of my nose, before it’s jammed onto my head.
“Done,” she says. “Look.”
I rise and turn to inspect myself in the full length mirror, expecting to experience what I always do when I look at myself – disappointment. What I see reflected back at me wouldn’t win any beauty contests, nor garner thousands of social media likes, but I’m surprised, nonetheless. The cut and colour of the dress suits me and the hair and jewellery are a sweet touch. I can’t remember the last time I looked this good. And I have a long memory.
I catch sight of Dulcis’ reflection; she’s standing behind me, beaming at the transformation. “I like it,” I admit. “Thank you.”
She wraps her arms around my shoulders and gives me a hug. I feel tearful, to my own astonishment. I thought I was past this sort of reaction to rare acts of kindness.
“Let’s go feast,” she says, jigging up and down.
Hmmm, I suspect she’s excited to clap eyes on the redheaded bear. Mummy, she called me. I know it was a joke, but I’m keeping a watchful eye on her tonight, whether she wants me to or not.
Dulcis flings open the door with a flourish and sweeps out onto the landing. I follow a little less flamboyantly, principally because I’m endeavouring not to trip over the hem of the dress. A great wall of heat slaps me in the face, coming from the hall below, a combination of the still roaring fire and the huge quantities of meat and fish arriving at the tables. A swift peek over the banisters reveals the grey head of Curt, staring at one of the portraits, though I can’t see which.
As we float down the stairs – I’m getting the hang of kicking the skirt out ahead of me as I walk – I spot Alpha and Wings already sitting at the central table, facing off against General Ursid and Prince Adamo on the other side. No sign of the snakes.
As I step down, Curt whips around the corner and almost lays me out.
“Sorry,” he growls, yanking me upright.
Once vertical, I get a good look at him. He’s probably borrowed some clothes from his brother because he’s wearing a smart black shirt and trousers with an embroidered waistcoat. The hermit hasn’t completely disappeared, but he looks mighty fine, nonetheless, with his hair neatly tied back. I realise that I’m staring at him when his eyes narrow.
“What?” he rumbles.
“Nothing,” I reply. “Well, you look very smart, actually.”
“Er, thanks,” he mutters, as though I insulted him. “You, er, look... different.”
What a glowing recommendation. All those feelings I know so well come flooding back. Mutton dressed as lamb.
“We can’t all be as lovely as Dulcis,” I snap and march past him, step on my hem, stagger, right myself and move on.
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Dulcis kicking him in the shins on her way past.
“Not what I meant,” he mumbles and punches the wooden banisters.
A horrible searing toot rattles around my head. That bloody awful trumpeter is back.
“His Majesty King Serpen,” announces the return of the snakes, and everyone stands.
