Wrede, Patricia C - Enchanted Forest 2 - Dealing with Dragon

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Dealing With Dragons / Book One of the Enchanted Forest Chronicles
Patricia C. Wrede
Copyright 1990 by Patricia C. Wrede
1
In Which Cimorene Refuses to Be Proper
and Has a Conversation with a Frog
Linderwall was a large kingdom, just east of the
Mountains of Morning, where philosophers were
highly respected and the number five was fashionable.
The climate was unremarkable. The knights kept their
armor brightly polished mainly for show—it had been
centuries since a dragon had come east. There were the
usual periodic problems with royal children and un-
invited fairy godmothers, but they were always the sort
of thing that could be cleared up by finding the proper
prince or princess to marry the unfortunate child a few
years later. All in all, Linderwall was a very prosperous
and pleasant place.
Cimorene hated it.
Cimorene was the youngest daughter of the King
of Linderwall, and her parents found her rather trying.
Their first six daughters were perfectly normal prin-
cesses, with long, golden hair and sweet dispositions,
each more beautiful than the last. Cimorene was lovely
enough, but her hair was jet black, and she wore it in
braids instead of curled and pinned like her sisters.
And she wouldn't stop growing. Her parents were
quite sure that no prince would want to marry a girl
who could look him in the eye instead of gazing up at
him becomingly through her lashes. As for the girl's
disposition—well, when people were being polite, they
said she was strong-minded. When they were angry or
annoyed with her, they said she was as stubborn as a
Pig-
The King and Queen did the best they could. They
hired the most superior tutors and governesses to teach
Cimorene all the things a princess ought to know—
dancing, embroidery, drawing, and etiquette. There
was a great deal of etiquette, from the proper way to
curtsy before a visiting prince to how loudly it was
permissible to scream when being carried off by a giant.
(Linderwall still had an occasional problem with giants.)
Cimorene found it all very dull, but she pressed
her lips together and learned it anyway. When she
couldn't stand it any longer, she would go down to the
castle armory and bully the armsmaster into giving her
a fencing lesson. As she got older, she found her reg-
ular lessons more and more boring. Consequently, the
fencing lessons became more and more frequent.
When she was twelve, her father found out.
"Fencing is not proper behavior for a princess," he
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told her in the gentle-but-firm tone recommended by
the court philosopher.
Cimorene tilted her head to one side. "Why not?"
"It's ... well, it's simply not done."
Cimorene considered. "Aren't I a princess?"
"Yes, of course you are, my dear," said her father
with relief. He had been bracing himself for a storm of
tears, which was the way his other daughters reacted
to reprimands.
"Well, I fence," Cimorene said with the air of one
delivering an unshakable argument. "So it is too done
by a princess."
"That doesn't make it proper, dear," put in her
mother gently.
"Why not?"
"It simply doesn't," the Queen said firmly, and
that was the end of Cimorene's fencing lessons.
When she was fourteen, her father discovered that
she was making the court magician teach her magic.
"How long has this been going on?" he asked
wearily when she arrived in response to his summons.
"Since you stopped my fencing lessons," Cimorene
said. "I suppose you're going to tell me it isn't proper
behavior for a princess."
"Well, yes. I mean, it isn't proper."
"Nothing interesting seems to be proper," Cim-
orene said.
"You might find things more interesting if you
applied yourself a little more, dear," Cimorene's
mother said.
"I doubt it," Cimorene muttered, but she knew
better than to argue when her mother used that tone
of voice. And that was the end of the magic lessons.
The same thing happened over the Latin lessons
from the court philosopher, the cooking lessons from
the castle chef, the economics lessons from the court
treasurer, and the juggling lessons from the court min-
strel. Cimorene began to grow rather tired of the whole
business.
When she was sixteen, Cimorene summoned her
fairy godmother.
"Cimorene, my dear, this sort of thing really isn't
done," the fairy said, fanning away the scented blue
smoke that had accompanied her appearance.
"People keep telling me that," Cimorene said.
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"You should pay attention to them, then," her
godmother said irritably. "I'm not used to being hauled
away from my tea without warning. And you aren't
supposed to call me unless it is a matter of utmost
importance to your life and future happiness."
"It is of utmost importance to my life and future
happiness," Cimorene said.
"Oh, very well. You're a bit young to have fallen
in love already; still, you always have been a precocious
child. Tell me about him."
Cimorene sighed. "It isn't a him."
"Enchanted, is he?" the fairy said with a spark of
interest. "A frog, perhaps? That used to be quite pop-
ular, but it seems to have gone out of fashion lately.
Nowadays, all the princes are talking birds, or dogs,
or hedgehogs."
"No, no, I'm not in love with anyone!"
"Then what, exactly, is your problem?" the fairy
said in exasperation.
"This!" Cimorene gestured at the castle around
her. "Embroidery lessons, and dancing, and—and
being a princess!"
"My dear Cimorene!" the fairy said, shocked. "It's
your heritage!"
"It's boring."
"Boring?" The fairy did not appear to believe what
she was hearing.
"Boring. I want to do things, not sit around all day
and listen to the court minstrel make up songs about
how brave Daddy is and how lovely his wife and
daughters are."
"Nonsense, my dear. This is just a stage you're
going through. You'll outgrow it soon, and you'll be
very glad you didn't do anything rash."
Cimorene looked at her godmother suspiciously.
"You've been talking to my parents, haven't you?"
"Well, they do try to keep me up to date on what
my godchildren are doing."
"I thought so," said Cimorene, and bade her fairy
godmother a polite good-bye.
A few weeks later, Cimorene's parents took her to a
tourney in Sathem-by-the-Mountains, the next king-
dom over. Cimorene was quite sure that they were only
taking her because her fairy godmother had told them
that something had better be done about her, and soon.
She kept this opinion to herself. Anything was better
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than the endless rounds of dancing and embroidery
lessons at home.
Cimorene realized her mistake almost as soon as
they reached their destination, for the King of Sathem-
by-the-Mountains had a son. He was a golden-haired,
blue-eyed, and exceedingly handsome prince, whose
duties appeared to consist entirely of dancing atten-
dance on Cimorene.
"Isn't he handsome!" Cimorene's lady-in-waiting
sighed.
"Yes," Cimorene said without enthusiasm. "Un-
fortunately, he isn't anything else."
"Whatever do you mean?" the lady-in-waiting said
in astonishment.
"He has no sense of humor, he isn't intelligent, he
can't talk about anything except tourneys, and half of
what he does say he gets wrong. I'm glad we're only
staying three weeks. I don't think I could stand to be
polite to him for much longer than that."
"But what about your engagement?" the lady-in-
waiting cried, horrified.
"What engagement?" Cimorene said sharply.
The lady-in-waiting tried to mutter something
about a mistake, but Cimorene put up her chin in her
best princess fashion and insisted on an explanation.
Finally, the lady-in-waiting broke down.
"I ... I overheard Their Majesties discussing it
yesterday." She sniffled into her handkerchief. "The
stipulations and covenants and contracts and settle-
ments have all been drawn up, and they're going to
sign them the day after tomorrow and announce it on
Th-Thursday."
"I see," said Cimorene. "Thank you for telling me.
You may go."
The lady-in-waiting left, and Cimorene went to see
her parents. They were annoyed and a little embar-
rassed to find that Cimorene had discovered their
plans, but they were still very firm about it. "We were
going to tell you tomorrow, when we signed the pa-
pers," her father said.
"We knew you'd be pleased, dear," her mother
said, nodding. "He's such a good-looking boy."
"But I don't want to marry Prince Therandil," Cim-
orene said.
"Well, it's not exactly a brilliant match," Cim-
orene's father said, frowning. "But I didn't think you'd
care how big his kingdom is."
"It's the prince I don't care for," Cimorene said.
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"That's a great pity, dear, but it can't be helped,"
Cimorene's mother said placidly. "I'm afraid it isn't
likely that you'll get another offer."
"Then I won't get married at all."
Both her parents looked slightly shocked. "My dear
Cimorene!" said her father. "That's out of the question.
You're a princess; it simply isn't done."
"I'm too young to get married!"
"Your Great-Aunt Rose was married at sixteen,"
her mother pointed out. "One really can't count all
those years she spent asleep under that dreadful fairy's
curse."
"I won't marry the prince of Sathem-by-the-Moun-
tains!" Cimorene said desperately. "It isn't proper!"
"What?" said both her parents together.
"He hasn't rescued me from a giant or an ogre or
freed me from a magic spell," Cimorene said.
Both her parents looked uncomfortable. "Well,
no," said Cimorene's father. "It's a bit late to start
arranging it, but we might be able to manage some-
thing."
"I don't think it's necessary," Cimorene's mother
said. She looked reprovingly at Cimorene. "You've
never paid attention to what was or wasn't suitable
before, dear; you can't start now. Proper or not, you
will marry Prince Therandil three weeks from Thurs-
day."
"But, Mother—"
"I'll send the wardrobe mistress to your room to
start fitting your bride clothes," Cimorene's mother said
firmly, and that was the end of the conversation.
Cimorene decided to try a more direct approach. She
went to see Prince Therandil. He was in the castle
armory, looking at swords. "Good morning. Princess,"
he said when he finally noticed Cimorene. "Don't you
think this is a lovely sword?"
Cimorene picked it up. "The balance is off."
"I believe you're right," said Therandil after a mo-
ment's study. "Pity; now I'll have to find another. Is
there something I can do for you?"
"Yes," said Cimorene. "You can not marry me."
"What?" Therandil looked confused.
"You don't really want to marry me, do you?"
Cimorene said coaxingly.
"Well, not exactly," Therandil replied. "I mean, in
a way. That is—"
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"Oh, good," Cimorene said, correctly interpreting
this muddled reply as No, not at all. "Then you'll tell
your father you don't want to marry me?"
"I couldn't do that!" Therandil said, shocked. "It
wouldn't be right."
"Why not?" Cimorene demanded crossly.
"Because—because—well, because princes just
don't do that!"
"Then how are you going to keep from marrying
me?"
"I guess I won't be able to," Therandil said after
thinking hard for a moment. "How do you like that
sword over there? The one with the silver hilt?"
Cimorene left in disgust and went out to the castle
garden. She was very discouraged. It looked as if she
were going to marry the prince of Sathem-by-the-
Mountains whether she wanted to or not.
"I'd rather be eaten by a dragon," she muttered.
"That can be arranged," said a voice from beside
her left slipper.
Cimorene looked down and saw a small green frog
looking up at her. "I beg your pardon. Did you speak?"
she asked.
"You don't see anyone else around, do you?" said
the frog.
"Oh!" said Cimorene. She had never met a talking
frog before. "Are you an enchanted prince?" she asked
a little doubtfully.
"No, but I've met a couple of them, and after a
while you pick up a few things," said the frog. "Now,
why is it that you want to be eaten by a dragon?"
"My parents want me to marry Prince Therandil,"
Cimorene explained.
"And you don't want to? Sensible of you," said
the frog. "I don't like Therandil. He used to skip rocks
across the top of my pond. They always sank into my
living room."
"I'm sorry," Cimorene said politely.
"Well," said the frog, "what are you going to do
about it?"
"Marrying Therandil? I don't know. I've tried talk-
ing to my parents, but they won't'listen, and neither
will Therandil."
"I didn't ask what you'd said about it," the frog
snapped. "I asked what you're going to do. Nine times
out of ten, talking is a way of avoiding doing things."
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"What kinds of things would you suggest?" Cim-
orene said, stung.
"You could challenge the prince to a duel," the
frog suggested.
"He'd win," Cimorene said. "It's been four years
since I've been allowed to do any fencing."
"You could turn him into a toad."
"I never got past invisibility in my magic les-
sons," Cimorene said. "Transformations are advanced
study."
The frog looked at her disapprovingly. "Can't you
do anything?"
"I can curtsy," Cimorene said disgustedly. "I know
seventeen different country dances, nine ways to agree
with an ambassador from Cathay without actually
promising him anything, and one hundred and forty-
three embroidery stitches. And I can make cherries
jubilee."
"Cherries jubilee?" asked the frog, and snapped at
a passing fly.
10
"The castle chef taught me, before Father made
him stop," Cimorene explained.
The frog munched briefly, then swallowed and
said, "I suppose there's no help for it. You'll have to
run away."
"Run away?" Cimorene said. "I don't like that
idea. Too many things could go wrong."
"You don't like the idea of marrying Prince The-
randil, either," the frog pointed out.
"Maybe I can think of some other way out of get-
ting married."
The frog snorted. "Such as?" Cimorene didn't an-
swer, and after a moment the frog said, "I thought so.
Do you want my advice or not?"
"Yes, please," said Cimorene. After all, she didn't
have to follow it.
"Go to the main road outside the city and follow
it away from the mountains," said the frog. "After a
while, you will come to a small pavilion made of gold,
surrounded by trees made of silver with emerald leaves.
Go straight past it without stopping, and don't answer
if anyone calls out to you from the pavilion. Keep on
until you reach a hovel. Walk straight up to the door
and knock three times, then snap your fingers and go
inside. You'll find some people there who can help you
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out of your difficulties if you're polite about asking and
they're in the right mood. And that's all."
The frog turned abruptly and dove into the pool.
"Thank you very much," Cimorene called after it,
thinking "that the frog's advice sounded very odd in-
deed. She rose and went back into the castle.
11
She spent the rest of the day being fitted and fussed
over by her ladies-in-waiting until she was ready to
scream. By the end of the formal banquet, at which she
had to sit next to Prince Therandil and listen to endless
stories of his prowess in battle, Cimorene was more
than ready to take the frog's advice.
Late that night, when most of the castle was asleep,
Cimorene bundled up five clean handkerchiefs and her
best crown. Then she dug out the notes she had taken
during her magic lessons and carefully cast a spell of
invisibility. It seemed to work, but she was still very
watchful as she sneaked out of the castle. After all, it
had been a long time since she had practiced.
By morning, Cimorene was well outside the city
and visible again, walking down the main road that led
away from the mountains. It was hot and dusty, and
she began to wish she had brought a bottle of water
instead of the handkerchiefs.
Just before noon, she spied a small grove of trees
next to the road ahead of her. It looked like a cool,
pleasant place to rest for a few minutes, and she hurried
forward. When she reached the grove, however, she
saw that the trees were made of the finest silver, and
their shining green leaves were huge emeralds. In the
center of the grove stood a charming pavilion made of
gold and hung with gold curtains.
Cimorene slowed down and looked longingly at
the cool green shade beneath the trees. Just then a
woman's voice called out from the pavilion, "My dear,
you look so tired and thirsty! Come and sit with me
and share my luncheon."
12
The voice was so kind and coaxing that Cimorene
took two steps toward the edge of the road before she
remembered the frog's advice. Oh, no, she thought to
herself, I'm not going to be caught this easily! She turned
without saying anything and hurried on down the road.
A little farther on she came to a tiny, wretched-
looking hovel made of cracked and weathered gray
boards. The door hung slantwise on a broken hinge,
and the whole building looked as though it were going
to topple over at any moment. Cimorene stopped and
stared doubtfully at it, but she had followed the frog's
advice this far, and she thought it would be silly to
stop now. So she shook the dust from her skirts and
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put on her crown (so as to make a good impression).
She marched up to the door, knocked three times, and
snapped her fingers just as the frog had told her. Then
she pushed the door open and went in.
2
In Which Cimorene Discovers the Value
of a Classical Education and Has Some
Unwelcome Visitors
Inside, the hovel was dark and cool and damp. Cim-
orene found it a pleasant relief after the hot, dusty road,
but she wondered why no sunlight seemed to be com-
ing through the cracks in the boards. She was still
standing just inside the door, waiting for her eyes to
adjust to the dark, when someone said crossly, "Is this
that princess we've been waiting for?"
"Why don't you ask her?" said a deep, rumbly
voice.
"I'm Princess Cimorene of Linderwall," Cimorene
answered politely. "I was told you could help me."
"Help her?" said the first voice, and Cimorene
heard a snort. "I think we should just eat her and be
done with it."
Cimorene began to feel frightened. She wondered
whether the voices belonged to ogres or trolls and
whether she could slip out of the hovel before they
made up their minds about eating her. She felt behind
her for the door and started in surprise when her fin-
gers touched damp stone instead of dry wood. Then a
third voice said, "Not so fast, Woraug. Let's hear her
story first."
So Cimorene took a deep breath and began to ex-
plain about the fencing lessons and the magic lessons,
and the Latin and the juggling, and all the other things
that weren't considered proper behavior for a princess,
and she told the voices that she had run away from
Sathem-by-the-Mountains to keep from having to
marry Prince Therandil.
"And what do you expect us to do about it?" one
of the voices asked curiously.
"I don't know," Cimorene said. "Except, of course,
that I would rather not be eaten. I can't see who you
are in this dark, you know."
"That can be fixed," said the voice. A moment
later, a small ball of light appeared in the air above
Cimorene's head. Cimorene stepped backward very
quickly and ran into the wall.
The voices belonged to dragons.
Five of them lay on or sprawled over or curled
around the various rocks and columns that filled the
huge cave where Cimorene stood. Each of the males
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(there were three) had two short, stubby, sharp-looking
horns on either side of their heads; the female dragon
had three, one on each side and one in the center of
her forehead. The last dragon was apparently still too
young to have made up its mind which sex it wanted
to be; it didn't have any horns at all.
Cimorene felt very frightened. The smallest of the
dragons was easily three times as tall as she was, and
they gave an overwhelming impression of shining
green scales and sharp silver teeth. They were much
scarier in person than in the pictures she remembered
from her natural history books. She swallowed very
hard, wondering whether she really would rather be
eaten by a dragon than marry Therandil.
"Well?" said the three-homed dragon just in front
of her. "Just what are you asking us to do for you?"
"I—" Cimorene stopped short as an idea occurred
to her. Cautiously, she asked, "Dragons are . . . are
fond of princesses, aren't they?"
"Very," said the dragon, and smiled. The smile
showed all her teeth, which Cimorene did not find
reassuring.
"That is, I've heard of dragons who have captive
princesses to cook for them and—and so on," said Cim-
orene, who had very little idea what captive princesses
did all day.
The dragon in front of Cimorene nodded. One of
the others, a yellowish green in color, shifted restlessly
and said, "Oh, let's just go ahead and eat her. It will
save trouble."
Before any of the other dragons could answer,
there was a loud, booming noise, and a sixth dragon
16
slithered into the cave. His scales were more gray than
green, and the dragons by the door made way for him
respectfully.
"Kazul!" said the newcomer in a loud voice.
"Achoo! Sorry I'm late, but a terrible thing happened
on the way here, achoo!"
"What was it?" said the dragon to whom Cimorene
had been talking.
"Ran into a wizard. Achoo! Had to eat him; no help
for it. Achoo, achoo. And now look at me!" Every time
the gray-green dragon sneezed, he emitted a small ball
of fire that scorched the wall of the cave.
"Calm down, Roxim," said Kazul. "You're only
making it worse."
"Achoo! Calm down? When I'm having an allergy
attack? Achoo, oh, bother, achoo!" said the gray-green
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摘要：

file:///G|/rah/Patricia%20C.%20Wrede%20-%20Enchanted%20Forest%202%20-%20\Dealing%20with%20Dragons.txtVersion1.1DealingWithDragons/BookOneoftheEnchantedForestChroniclesPatriciaC.WredeCopyright1990byPatriciaC.Wrede1InWhichCimoreneRefusestoBeProperandHasaConversationwithaFrogLinderwallwasalargekingdom,...

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