I am a dedicated fan of the adventures of the apprentice Wuntvor and his master, the wizard Ebenezum, who is allergic to magic. I have reprinted two of their tales in the previous two anthologies, and I don’t apologize for presenting a third. If you want to track down the full corpus of Ebenezum and Wuntvor then you’ll need to find six books: A Malady of Magicks (1986), A Multitude of Monsters (1986), A Night in the Netherhells (1987), A Difficulty with Dwarves (1987), An Excess of Enchantments (1988) and A Disagreement with Death (1989). In An Excess of Enchantments, from which the following episode comes, Wuntvor has travelled to the far Eastern Kingdoms in search of a cure for Ebenezum’s allergy but has fallen foul of the witch, Mother Duck, who robs Wuntvor of his memory and casts him into a series of fairy tales, of which this is the first.
Once upon a time, a young lad named Wuntvor travelled far from his native land, seeing the sights and having many adventures. So it was that he came over a hill and saw a bright and verdant valley spread before him. Brilliant sunlight shone down on green trees and golden crops, and Wuntvor thought that he had never seen a place as beautiful as this in all his travels.
He left the hilltop and began his descent into the valley. But he had not gone a dozen paces before he saw a hand-painted sign hanging from one of the beautiful, green trees. And on that sign, in large red letters, someone had painted a single word:
DANGER.
Wuntvor paused for a moment, and stared at the sign. Was someone trying to warn him? But danger of what? And where could any danger be on such a fine day as this?
So Wuntvor continued upon his way, whistling merrily as he studied the wild flowers that bordered the path on either side. He came to a broad field of wild grass and clover, and saw that on the far side of that field wound a lazy blue river.
Wuntvor looked along the trail he followed, and noted that in the distance it led to a narrow bridge that crossed the wide expanse of water. Well then, he thought to himself, that is the way that I must go. But he had not walked a dozen paces before he found that a giant boulder blocked his way. And on that boulder was painted a single word, in red letters three feet high:
BEWARE.
Wuntvor paused for a long moment to regard the message on the boulder. This was the second warning he had received since he had entered the valley. But what were these messages trying to tell him? What, or whom, should he beware of?
At length, Wuntvor decided that it was much too fine a day to beware of anything. Let the fates do what they must, he thought. On a sunny afternoon like this, he could best whatever was thrown in his path!
And with that, Wuntvor skirted the boulder and continued down the trail to the bridge. He had not gone a dozen paces, however, before a large man stepped out from behind a concealing hedge. Wuntvor studied the newcomer with some surprise, since he was the largest man the young lad had ever seen, being massive in girth as well as height. The large fellow was dressed in a bronze breastplate, which was somewhat dented and tarnished, and wore an elaborate winged helmet on top of his massive head. He raised a giant club above his head, and uttered but a single word:
Wuntvor took a step away, being somewhat taken aback by this new turn of events. Was this the danger that the first sign spoke of? Was this what he had to beware of, as the boulder had cautioned? Yet the large man did not attack. Instead, he simply stood there, the giant club still raised above his massive head.
“Pardon?” Wuntvor said after a moment.
“What?” the large man asked.
“I beg your pardon?” Wuntvor expanded.
“Oh,” the large man answered. “Doom.”
“Yes,” Wuntvor prompted. “But what kind of doom?”
“Oh,” the large man answered again. “Down at the bridge.”
Wuntvor smiled. Now he was getting somewhere! “What about the bridge?”
“Doom,” the large man replied.
But Wuntvor wasn’t about to give up. “At the bridge?” he prompted again.
The large man nodded his head and lowered his club.
“That’s where the danger is?” Wuntvor added. “That’s where I have to beware?”
The large man continued to nod.
“But what is the danger?” Wuntvor insisted. “What do I have to beware of?”
“Doom,” the large man insisted.
Wuntvor began to despair of ever getting any real answers out of the large fellow. He gazed down the path at the distant bridge. It certainly looked peaceful enough. Just what was this big fellow trying to warn him about? Wuntvor decided he would try to gain a definite answer one more time.
“Indeed,” he began, for there was something reassuring to Wuntvor about beginning sentences in this way, “you tell me that my doom waits on yon bridge?”
The large fellow nodded again, smiling that Wuntvor had understood his plea.
“And yet,” Wuntvor continued, “there is no way that you might explain to me what that doom is?”
The large fellow shook his head sadly.
“Doom,” he agreed.
“Why not?” Wuntvor demanded, upset with this turn of events.
The large fellow looked all around. When he was convinced they were all alone he spoke to Wuntvor in a voice barely above a whisper.
“I am here as a warning,” was all he said.
Wuntvor bit his lip so that he would not scream. After he had regained his composure, he asked:
“But can’t you at least inform me what you are warning me about?”
“Doom,” the large fellow replied sadly.
“Why?” Wuntvor demanded.
“Because that is the way fairy tales work,” the large fellow answered.
Wuntvor blinked. Fairy tales? What was this about fairy tales? The lad felt some faint memory stirring at the back of his brain. A word floated toward his consciousness. Mother. Mother what? Of course, now he remem—
“Once upon a time.” Wuntvor’s lips moved, saying words he could have sworn he never thought. “Once upon a time.”
He shook his head violently and stared at the large man again. “Can you tell me nothing about the bridge?”
“Doom,” the immense fellow pondered. “Perhaps I can ask you a question or two. Would you by any chance have a good deal of gold?”
At last! Wuntvor thought, I shall get some information.
“No,” he answered. “I am but a penniless traveller, out to seek my fortune in the world.”
“Doom,” the other responded. “Still, all is not yet lost. Are you good at riddles?”
What was this large fellow talking about? “Riddles?” Wuntvor demanded. “What do riddles have to do with anything?”
“Doom,” the immense one replied, nodding to himself as if he had confirmed something he’d known all along. “I suggest you turn around and go the other way, unless you fancy yourself as troll fodder.”
And with that, the large fellow turned and disappeared behind a sizeable hedge.
“Indeed,” Wuntvor mumbled to no one in particular. Somehow, he did not feel he had gained much information at all.
But after a moment’s thought, Wuntvor decided to go to the bridge anyway. After all, hadn’t he left his native land to seek adventure? He had the feeling that this bridge he was approaching, as small and innocent-looking as it was, might contain so much adventure that he could return home immediately after crossing it.
He was not a dozen paces from the bridge when he heard a voice.
“Ho, young traveller!
We have advice:
If you want to cross,
You will pay a price.”
And with that, a horrible creature leaped from beneath the bridge and landed less than a dozen paces away from the startled Wuntvor. The creature’s skin was a bright shade of yellowish green, but that was nowhere near as startling as the horrible fact that it wore clothing filled with purple and green checks, not to mention that it held a brown, smoking thing between its teeth.
The creature removed the brown, smoking thing (which was quite foul-smelling besides) from between its jaws, and spoke again.
“Now that you’re here
You won’t get old,
Unless you give
This troll some gold.”
“Indeed,” Wuntvor replied. So this, at last, was what he was being warned about. Wuntvor thought, somehow, that he should feel more cheered by finally learning the truth. The truth, though, left something to be desired.
The hideously garbed creature smiled with even more teeth than a creature like that should have, and sauntered toward the lad. Wuntvor decided that what he mostly wished at this precise moment was that the large fellow he had so recently spoken with had been more specific in his details of the danger’s exact nature, so that Wuntvor might be currently pursuing his adventures in an entirely different location from where he was at present.
The creature pointed at Wuntvor. More specifically, its sharp yellow claws pointed at Wuntvor’s belt as it spoke again.
“Gold need not be
My only reward,
I’ll take instead
Your meagre sword!”
Wuntvor looked down at his belt. He had a sword? It came as a total surprise to him. Shouldn’t a person remember if he was wearing a sword?
Well, he reasoned, as long as he had a sword, he might as well defend himself.
“What are you doing?” the sword screamed as Wuntvor yanked it from the scabbard.
The sword spoke! Wuntvor almost dropped the weapon. He definitely should have remembered a sword that could talk. The lad frowned. Something, he thought, is not as it seems.
“I would like an answer,” the sword insisted. “As your personal weapon, I think it’s the least I deserve.”
“Indeed,” Wuntvor responded, wishing to grant the magic sword’s wishes. “I was merely drawing you forth to slay yon horrible creature.”
“Merely?” the sword began, but whatever it had to say next was lost beneath the creature’s new rhyme.
“Ho, young traveller,
Your valour growing.
Sad to say,
I must be going.”
And with that, the garishly garbed creature dived under the bridge.
“Merely?” the enchanted blade repeated.
Wuntvor glared at the sword. “Who are you, anyway?”
“Is that a trick question?” the sword responded, a suspicious edge to its voice.
“Nay,” Wuntvor insisted, although he doubted, under the circumstances, that he would know a trick question even if he spoke it. “I fear I am under a spell of forgetfulness, and hoped that a magic sword might know the truth.”
“Why didn’t you say so?” The sword brightened perceptibly. Wuntvor had to shield his eyes not to be blinded by the glow.
“That’s exactly what we magic swords are for,” the blade continued. “My name is Cuthbert, and I’m a first-class example of sorcerous weaponry. What else do you need to know? Your name is Wuntvor. You do remember that? Good. Do you recall that you are on a quest for your master – Hey!”
The sword screamed as it fell from Wuntvor’s hand, which had gone suddenly numb. But the lad had no more thought for his discarded weapon. All he could think of were the words upon his lips.
“Once upon a time,” he said. “Once upon a time.”
And, as if in answer, he heard a second voice come from beneath the bridge.
“Ho, young traveller,
No need to fiddle!
You’ll simply die
If you miss this riddle.”
And with that a second creature leaped onto the path, less than a dozen paces from Wuntvor, who was nowhere near as startled this time, having come somewhat to expect such occurrences. The second monster was a bit different from the first, a tad shorter and more of a putrid grey-green in colour. Its clothing was more conservative as well, as it wore dark, almost monastic-looking robes that ballooned around its short body in great folds.
“Riddle?” Wuntvor inquired. This must be the second thing the large fellow had warned him about. A riddle that, according to this creature, he could simply die from. Wuntvor suspected the creature was not speaking metaphorically.
The sickly green thing smiled broadly and pulled a piece of parchment from beneath its robes. It read in a clear, high, annoying voice:
“With this riddle,
The seeds are sowed:
Why did the chicken
Cross the road?”
The monster licked its chops, obviously intending a quick and tasty meal. The lad had a difficult time even thinking about the riddle.
Wait a second. Wuntvor stared hard at the riddling horror. A chicken crossing the road? That wasn’t difficult at all. His aged grandmother had told him the answer to that one a thousand times.
“To get to the other side!” Wuntvor shouted triumphantly.
“Get to the other side?” the green thing mused. “Well, I suppose that’s possible. Just a moment.” The creature reached within its voluminous robes and pulled forth a sheaf of parchment.
“No, no, I’m afraid the answer is as follows—” It cleared its throat and announced portentously:
“A newspaper.”
What? Wuntvor thought. What was a newspaper?
“It is not!” the lad insisted angrily. “Everyone knows that chickens cross the road to get to the other side!”
The creature shook its head sadly, reaching within its robes with its free hand to draw out a knife and fork. “Perhaps that sort of thing happens wherever you come from,” it answered as it scanned the sheaf of parchments. “I do remember seeing that answer somewhere. Ah, here it is: ‘To get to the other side.’ I’m afraid though, that it’s the answer to another riddle entirely. Uh – here it is – ‘What’s black and white and read all over?’”
“What’s black and white and red all over?” Wuntvor repeated.
The creature nodded triumphantly. “To get to the other side!” It paused, waiting for some sign of recognition from the traveller. “You see now, don’t you?” it prompted at last. “You see, because it’s black and white and read, it has to cross—” The thing paused and stared for a moment at the parchment. “Well, perhaps it is a little difficult to explain. It has to be correct, though. I assure you, Mother Duck uses nothing but the very latest equipment. So there’s no chance for a mistake.” The thing blinked, as if it couldn’t quite believe what it was saying. “Well, not that much of a chance.”
Mother Duck? The lad frowned. Where had he heard that name before? And why did he have an almost uncontrollable urge to say “Once upon a time?”
“Other side?” the thing said, more to itself than to Wuntvor. “What kind of stupid—” The creature stopped itself and, after a moment, coughed discreetly. “Well, perhaps, in the very slight chance there was an error, we should give you another opportunity. It’s your life at stake, after all.” The green thing riffled through the pile of parchment. “Oh, here’s the old chestnut about four legs, two legs, three legs. She’s got to be kidding. There must be something with a little more verve than that.” The creature turned the page. “Let’s try this one.”
The monster cleared its throat and spoke in a loud, even more annoying voice: “How many elephants can you get into a Volkswagen?”
It paused, staring at the parchment in disbelief. “Where did she get these questions, anyway?” The creature flipped another page, frowning as it quickly read the text. “Let’s see. I don’t suppose you have any idea what a – ‘light bulb’ is? I thought as much.”
The thing crumpled the parchment in its green claws. “I’m sorry, this is ridiculous. What am I doing in a stupid fairy tale, anyway?”
Fairy tale? Wuntvor remembered the Brownie. And that woman the thing had mentioned. What was her name? Mother something. It was on the tip of his tongue. Mother—
He had it!
“Once upon a time!” Wuntvor cried in triumph. Wait a second. That wasn’t the point he was going to make. Was it?
“Once upon a time,” he said again for good measure.
And again, as if in answer, a third voice, far gruffer than either of those that spoke before, came from beneath the bridge.
“Ho, young traveller,
Not yet beaten;
Prepare yourself now
To be ea—”
But instead of completing the rhyme, the third creature began to sneeze.
“Are you just going to leave me here?” the sword demanded.
The sword? The sword! He looked down to where he had dropped it. Somehow, Wuntvor had forgotten all about the magic weapon again.
“Yeah!” the green thing shouted at Wuntvor. “And just what are we doing in this stupid fairy tale when we’re supposed to be on a quest?”
A small brown fellow appeared by the lad’s foot. ‘I couldn’t agree more! Fairy tales! Just think how much better it would be if it were a Brownie tale!”
The green thing had recoiled at the very sight of the little fellow. “Don’t ever agree with me!” he shouted, then looked back to Wuntvor. “There are simply certain things I cannot cope with.”
“I suppose I’m just going to lay in the dust for ever,” the sword moaned, “left here to rust, forgotten by my owner—”
The checkered monster was suddenly in their midst. “Are you tired of your lot in life, enchanted sword? Well, come with me, and I’ll offer you foreign sights, adventure—”
“It’s ruined! It’s ruined!” a woman’s voice called from somewhere far up the hill.
Wait a second, Wuntvor thought.
There was something about all this chaos that was disturbingly familiar. He looked around and remembered that the robed creature was Snarks, a demon who was forced to speak nothing but the truth, no matter how unpleasant that truth might be. And there, in his checkered suit, was Brax the traveling Salesdemon, purveyor of previously owned enchanted weapons, “Every one a Creampuff!” And the sword was Cuthbert, a weapon that was unfortunately a bit of a coward. And he had seen Tap the Brownie during his last fairy tale.
His last fairy tale?
That’s right! He was a prisoner of Mother Duck, who was currently storming down the hill toward them, pursued by a hairy fellow who looked rather like a wolf standing on his hind legs, sporting a green cap. Hadn’t he seen this fellow before somewhere, too? Wuntvor shook his head and wondered what else he didn’t remember.