Chapter Three:

The Mad King's Capers

King Sarrolus stormed down to the laboratory of his chief alchemist who was also the assistant chef. The King tromped through the door and looked daggers at the alchemist.

"Hail Sarrolus!" saluted the alchemist, a skinny man of average height, hazel eyes, and wire-rimmed glasses.

"She is not a troll yet. How long is it going to take you? How many times have you tried?" complained the King bitterly.

"Now, now King Sarrolus. It seems the Queen is not destined to be a troll. I tried to get the potion to her three times. The first time in a lovely black broth, and I do not know why that did not work. I put enough potion in it to turn ten Queens into trolls. The second time I put it in her cheese, but the rats got it. Did I have a time killing those rat trolls! The third time I put it in her wine, but the chef used the wine in a white sauce and boiled out all of the potion. So what am I to do? But never mind, never mind."

"Well, I want her to turn into something!"

"Of course, your Majesty! And so she will be! How about a nice gnome?"

The King cackled, "Excellent. Her Majesty Queen Tettra the Gnome. That will teach her."

The alchemist giggled. He had dimples In his cheeks. On his right cheek he had a small scar that looked like ithad been received in a duel. "Just look what I have here, your Majesty!" The alchemest held up a small test tube filled with an orange liquid. Yellow sparks shot out of the glass vial.

"Is that it? Will that turn my know-it-all Queen into a gnome?"

"Yes, it will!" sang the alchemist with glee.

"How will you do it?" The King gazed rapturously at the vial of orange, blazing liquid.

"The chef is making croissants for her breakfast tommorrow. I will just brush this on the dough instead of butter. One bite of a croissant and the Queen will be a gnome!"

"You shall have her pearls."

"Thank you, my King."

The King left singing happily. As he sauntered down the passaqeways he saw a rat. He took a sling shot out of his pocket and shot it. The King was a good shot. The rat was dead. The King kicked the dead rat. "What do gnomes eat?" he shrilled, "They eat rats!" On his way down the hall the King met some guards escorting an old man down to the dungeon. "What did this subversive do?" demanded the King.

The guards stopped, raised their fists and roared, "Hail Sarrolus! Hail Sarrolus! Hail Sarrolus!"

This display of loyalty made the King feel very good. He nodded for the Captain to approach him and speak.

"Your Majesty, he sang the `Lament for the Dead'."

Sarrolus was appalled by this report; "Subversive! There will be no singing! There will be no telling of tales! There will be nothing but praise for King Sarrolus who delivers his people from the whims of the Queen's sorceries!"

The guards cheered. They dragged the old man to the dungeon. The King went to bed that night a contented madman.

The chef led Elayne down the passages and through the halls in the dark. Elayne held Keen by the hand, and the troll, with his cat's night, vision prevented Elayne and the chef from stumbling over things in the dark.

"Wait," said Elayne, stopping as they left the Great Hall and were about to go left down a corridor.

"What?"

"I sense a group of people beneath us. They stand in the center of a ring of white light and they are chanting. They seem to be in a prison. They are mostly women, though some are men. They need food. They are chanting for food and fresh water. The ring of white light protects them from the pestilence but they need food to keep up their energy and to maintain the protective circle."

"You are a seer, Lady Elayne? That is the Queen's retinue. They have been imprisoned in the dungeon. And they do perform magic to keep the sickness away. Oh, I must get you out of here!" They came to the outer door of the building. "Now, Lady Elayne, we must cross the courtyard. There is a door in the city wall directly across from this one. If we can reach it and open it without being seen, you will be free. This is the southeast door of the city wall. The Heatherlands are southeast."

"Let's send Keen out first. We will be able to tell by his reactions if anyone is out there."

"Very well, my Lady." The chef cracked open the door and Keen happily ran out into the courtyard.

Keen stopped and looked at Elayne as if to say, "Coming?"

"I think it is all right," said Elayne, "He isn't nervous or looking at anything." The chef nodded and the two raced across the courtyard. They reached the door in the wall. The chef unlocked it and Elayne slipped out. Keen would not come at first, and it was a nerve-wracking few minutes while the chef and Elayne tried to coaxe him through the door.

Watching from a window was the King's alchemist. The alchemest was intrigued to see a damsel from one of his recuring nightmares. He watched the dream damsel, the chef, and the troll. He formed a plan. He smiled. He, too, would be able to get out of this city of pestilence, plus he would get a nice reward.

Elayne said, "Maybe Keen won't come because you are between the door and him. Get back a bit, so he will feel free to go by,"

This worked. The troll ran through the doorway when the chef stepped back. Elayne and Keen ran from the city of disease. The chef reported back to the Queen that her spell had protected the stranger, Elayne, and the stranger troll from being sighted by the guards. The Queen went to bed with her confidence renewed. The chef was not able to turn in. It was time to make the breads for the next day. He was exhausted, but finally he had hope for his Queen's and his city's deliverance. Nor did Elayne get to a warm, soft bed that Halloween night.

Here, too, in this fantastic land, the moon overhead was full and exterted its preternatural influence on Elayne's senses. Elayne ran full tilt along the poorly beaten track which swirled like a dry river bed through the tall, sharp, stalks of grass. The stalks, gray in the moonlight, were as tall as Elayne's head. The piano beating of her steps on the debris of beaten down dried-up stalks matched the pulsing stillness of the night. Here and there a blade of tall grass rustled; the occassional large winged insect buzzed softly by; a single toad, or was it a fish, splashed once in an unseen pond. Elayne ran until she was out of breath. She stood gasping, and then walked on as quickly as her shortness of breath allowed. Keen thought the silent race through the field a fine game. He bounded along in high spirits. He was infected with Elayne's fear, but he enjoyed the thrill of fright, the sense of danger. His cat's eyes blazed red. As a troll he did not have his feline speed, but he did have greater endurance. Still, he could meet Elayne's running pace,and he could keep running when she grew tired. When Elayne came to a complete halt, her chest heaving, her breath steaming, and her strength failing, Keen bounded ahead of her along the parallel and barely discernable path he had chosen.

Elayne crouched and regained her breath. Two small goblins darted in front of her and leered at her with their great, orange eyes. Elayne shrieked before she succumbed to their spell. Keen heard her, and ever attentive to the screeches of cats in the night, he now as a troll was interested in any kind of scream. He trunddled back to Elayne and saw the backs of the two goblins. This was what he had been hoping for--prey. He pounced on one goblin and bit its neck, feline fashion. The other goblin he smashed into a green oozing mash with his club. Keen happily played with the corpse of the goblin whose neck he had broken. He bit the dead goblin several more times. He batted at it with his club. He picked it up and threw it over his head. Throwing it over his head was so much fun he did it twice again. He wanted to show off his kill to Elayne, so he carried the goblin carcass up to her crouching figure. Elayne sat entranced and did not flicker an eyelash. This behavior on her part did not seem adequately adulatory. Keen dropped the dead, mawed goblin at her feet, squatted before her, and stared at her expectantly. Still, he got no praise from her. He meowed somewhat testily--still no response. He poked at the goblin with his foot to get her attention. Elayne remained a senseless statue. Keen rumbled his terrifying troll purr and butted his head against Elayne. This knocked her over. She lay on the ground in her crouch. Keen forgot why he wanted her attention, but now she was obviously taking a nap. He gently clawed at her mouth. Even this, the tactic that always worked, failed. There was nothing to do but cuddle up beside her and tenderly licked her face. The bad breath of the troll outpowered the goblins' spell. Elayne awoke gagging at the putrid stench. She saw the mawed goblin and the mashed one. She petted Keen, told him he was a good kitty, and hurried away from the nausous scene. She did not see the goblin corpses turn into smoke and congeal into eggs. Nor did she see Keen gleefully smash these eggs with his club before he trotted after her.

Elayne and Keen wandered six miles that night through fields. At last they came to a scraggy wood, the trees growing between the crevices of boulders. Keen nipped down into a small cave. Elayne gathered sticks, branches, and some dried stalks from the adjacent field. She made a small lean-to out of these. When the walls of her lean-to were a yard thick she climbed in it and fell asleep. It was snug and warm. She awoke to bright sunlight filtering through the leafy walls of her lean-to, and to cheerful men's voices calling, "Witches, witches, witches! Come out, come out, wherever you are!"

Curious, Elayne stuck her head out of the lean-to. She saw first a lithe and leathery looking, sunburnt man. The fellow said, "Aha! We found one!"

The fellow's companion moved into view, and he, an older but shorter version of the same stamp, gestured for Elayne to come out of her shelter. Cheerfully he called to her, "Come on out of there, Mistress. The hamper's packed with dainties for you, and the fair is a good hour's ride away."

The third, and youngest of the three good natured men, said, "Say, you're not holding out for a fancier wagon and better eats, are you?" By this time, Elayne had crawled out of her bed of branches and leaves and regarded, with some shyness, the three farmers. The older man had bushy gray hair and was clean-shaven. He wore brown linen pants, high-button boots, and a white chintz shirt. The tall man had straight brown hair which was tied neatly back in a short pony tail. He wore a light gray linen shirt, dark gray linen trousers, and black high-button boots. He had a pale blue embroidered handkerchief neatly folded in his breast pocket. The youngest had light brown hair, which was also tied back in a pony tail. He wore a white linen shirt, light gray linen trousers, black, high-button boots, and a light gray embroidered handkerchief in his breast pocket. These men were definitely dressed in their best. The oldest one smiled with twinkling eyes, the tall one grinned, and the youngest one smiled shyly. Each of them had weathered faces and calloused hands. They were what they appeared to be, farmers dressed up for a holiday.

The tall one spoke again, "Shoot, she's not holding out for a better looking wagon, she's holding out for better looking men!" The three sun-burnt men guffawed. Elayne did not know what to make of all of this. Keen clambered out of his nook in the boulders.

"AAAAHHHH!" shrieked the youngest farmer, "A troll!"

Elayne hoped her pet would stay put until she hadassured the men of Keen's loving nature. "Don't worry," she said to the men who were now clinging to the highest branches of the nearest tree, "Keen won't hurt you. He is perfectly tame."

Keen's eyes glowed red. This did not encourage the men to come out of the tree. "Really," said Elayne, "the troll is quite docile. He's my pet." The men looked at Keen warily. Elayne decided a demonstration of troll obedience was needed. Using a sugary voice she coaxed the troll to her, "Keen! Come on! Come on, Keen." Keen took his sweet time, walking sedately with his stubby club. At last he reached her side, and rubbed his forehead on her shins, feline fashion.

"Well, look at that," drawled the oldest farmer, "That troll came right over to her when she called it. Come on everybody, let's get to that fair."

The three farmers jumped down out of the tree and strode over to the ramshackle wagon which was pulled up nearby. A pair of shaggy-haired horses were harnessed to it. Elayne was not sure she should get into the wagon. Keen squatted in front of her and stared at her. This was his custom when he wanted her to do something for him. In this case he was signalling his hunger. Just then there was a rustling of branches and a woman sprang out of the scraggily woods.

"Hello!" sang out the woman who was quite fat. Leaves and twigs stuck to her short wavy hair and baggy blue, flannel clothes. Her jacket and pants had pockets everywhere: at her sides, at her hips, at her shins, at her calfs, on her sleeves, and on her hindside. She also had about a dozen pouches tied to her with long leather cords. She reminded Elayne of someone, but Elayne could not quite put her finger on whom.

The tall farmer said, "Are we in luck! Two witches!"

The old farmer said, "Well, hello there Mistress! We were just leaving for the fair. Come on and get into the wagon."

The youngest farmer said, with some anxiety, "Your familiar isn't a troll, is it?" T

he fat woman whooped with laughter. "Oh no! My familiar is just a cute little lizard." So saying, she reached into a pocket and pulled out a pink lizard that was only three inches long. "Look, isn't he cute?" she asked sticking the lizard into the young farmer's face.

"Hee, hee, hee," laughed the tall farmer and the old farmer.

After the farmers and Elayne had each in turn agreed the pink lizard was very cute, the hefty lady put it back into her pocket, and climbed agilely into the wagon, "Well, let's go," she chirped. "Aaaahhh, there's a troll in the wagon!"

Keen commenced the terrify rumble which was his purring. He jumped into the chubby woman's lap.

"Why, he's tame. He's a tame troll," the woman said grunting under Keen's weight. "Aren't you? What pretty blue eyes you have. You're very strange looking for a troll, but you're cute. I like you."

Once everyone was settled the young farmer started the horses up with a clicking of his tongue.

"Get these damsels the food," instructed the old man, and the tall man pulled a hamper from out under the hard bench. He opened the lid of the hamper and wonderful aromas assailed Elayne's nose. Bread, roast duck, cheese, a noodle salad filled with vegetables, and yes, grape juice were lifted each in turn from the hamper.

"We are accustomed to witches having a cat or a small dog as a familiar. We never saw one with a troll before," said the old farmer.

"And a strange looking troll that is, too," added the tall man.

Keen, aware that he was being admired, sat erect and shut his eyes in contentment.

"We have a tin of fish, some dog biscuits, and some dry cat food, but we didn't pack any mushrooms," continued the tall farmer, fishing the items he mentioned out of the hamper.

Elayne smiled. "Thank you very much. This is very kind of you. Keen will eat the cat food."

The tall farmer filled a small metal bowl with cat food and set it beside Keen on the floor of the wagon. Keen opened his eyes and saw the bowl. He leaned over the bowl and stared at it intently.

Elayne stroked the troll saying, "Yes, yes," as she did so.

The farmers and plump woman stared at this unbelievable behavior of a troll awaiting permission to eat (of all things) catfood. The young farmer craned around in the driver's seat to watch. His mouth hung open. The horses sensed his inattention and stopped.

Still petting her troll, Elayne continued murmuring in a sugary voice, "Yes, yes." Keen stuck his stubby, clawed hands into the bowl, and stuffed the cat food into his mouth. Catfood crumbs and powder slipped between his long fangs and dusted the wagon floor.

The farmers were goggle eyed. The chubby witch fell into a prolonged spell of snickering. The young farmer shook his head at the bizarre scene he had witnessed and turned back to his horses. He tugged on the reins and clicked his tongue. He didn't realize it, but the clicking sound was of interest to Keen. For a moment Keen's eyes shone yellow. Elayne, aware that that look meant that Keen was thinking about pouncing on the maker of that attractive-to-a-cat-turned-troll sound, chastized her pet with a warning, "Velllll--cccrro!" Keen heeded her warning and resumed eating. The wagon jerked along through the tall grass as the tall man blithely pulled food, condiments and napkins out of the hamper. The things jiggled and clattered dangerously near the edge of the bench. Suddenly, the wagon pulled free from the inhibiting stalks onto a granite road. The horses now trotted along at a good clip.

The hefty lady ran out of snickers and asked in her vigorous, friendly voice, "I'm Frithlynn. Who are you?"

I'm Elayne." "Kulain," nodded the tall farmer, "and that's Marban driving."

"I'm Lew," said the old farmer, "Would you like some lunch, Frithlynn, Elayne? There is plenty of food here."

Frithlynn answered, "Don't mind if I do," and plunged both hands into the hamper. One hand resurfaced with a leg of duck, the other hand with a piece of bread. Frithlynn proceeded to eat these very daintily. "I'm a herb witch. Elayne, are you a dowser, a sorceress, a seer, or a mid-wise?" she asked.

"I'm a seer," answered Elayne, accepting a cup of grape juice from Lew and a duck sandwich he had just put together.

Lew commented importantly, "My sister is a seer, and she says she has seen the Queen locked up in a high tower, and King Sarrolus dancing a crazy jig while he threw darts at the Queen's door. Have you seen anything like that?"

Elayne swallowed her bite of sandwich, nodded, and said, "I have seen the Queen in her tower room where she is imprisoned by Sarrolus."

Lew shook his head at this ugly state of affairs, "I feel sorry for the Queen locked up in the tower. I hear Sarrolus still ignores her counsel and the whole city is sick and dying."

Kulain said, "A band of griffins carried off all of a neighbor's sheep just last week. I wish Sarrolus would do his Kingly duty and fight off the griffins rather than pick fights with the Queen. You ask me, I think he has gone stark raving mad."

Frithlynn spoke up, "I hear the garbage is piled in the streets and there is a plague of rats. That's what makes the city sick." Frithlynn daintily wiped her fingers clean on a linen napkin she found in the hamper.

Marban called from his driver's seat, "Sarrolus has formed a band of elite men of action. I bet he is just waiting to finish training them before he goes after the griffins. I would sure love to be one of those men of action and help free the countryside of the griffin plague."

The older farmer, Lew, said, "Well, I hope you're right. I hope that's why he's training them, but some of those men are mean. I saw one of them harrassing a story-teller. The man told the story-teller only glorification of Sarrolus was worth hearing about. The story-teller was just an old, frail thing, and she got frightened and scurried away from him. The man-at-arms then threw rocks at her, rocks!"

Marban said, "That's terrible. I'm sure Sarrolus will have that man-at-arm's hide. But you must admit Sarrolus is right about how unfair it is that for the most part only women get to go to college, begging your witches' pardon. I had the same grades as my cousin and I don't think it's fair that I can't be both a man-at-arms and a scholar. The college turned me down because they said that I'd be hunting griffins instead of studying and they want only serious students. I'm serious, but I can study and chase away the griffins, too."

Lew responded, "Men are strong in their bodies. Women are strong in their minds. No use complaining about what can't be changed. Men don't like learning, and they're no good at it. You think you like it, but if you had to do it all day long, like your sister does, you'd get tired of it pretty quick. Somebody has to study the history and the mathematics. Life would be dull without the songs and stories which are taught to damsels in the schools. Let the women learn these things since they've got a mind to. You, yourself, can barely do your sums, what makes you think you could be a scholar?"

Elayne was fascinated by the discussion. Keen was not. He slept through the whole conversation, curled up in a ball on the floor of the wagon. Lew and Kulain, seeing that Frithlynn and Elayne were set with food, helped themselves to the hamper's contents. The wagon rattled on.

Frithlynn said, "I think it would be a good thing if more men went to college. Maybe if Sarrolus had gone to college he would understand how important it is to get rid of the griffins. I understand your village has lost half of its wool profits to griffin bellies."

Lew declared between bites of duck, "The King has got to do something. He is King after all. He can't expect the Queen to hunt griffins."

There was general assent to this.

"You can see the fairgrounds up ahead," called Marban. Sure enough, way down the road, crowds, tents, stages, booths and rides could be seen. Soon the wagon drew up to the fringe of the activity. Lew stuffed the food back into the hamper, and then the three farmers nimbly jumped out of the wagon to assist the two witches.

"Thank you," chirped Frithlynn as she bounded out of the wagon, only lightly touching tall Lew's arm for balance. The wagon's sides did not have a door or openings, nor was there other than a few stirrups fastened to the sides to facilitate disembarkment. The bottom-most stirrup was a long way from the ground. Elayne nervously took a firm grip of the side, intending to climb out, but her flashlight and a candle fell out of her pocket. She picked them up from the wagon floor and then examined the stirrups before deciding which foot to put in the first one. Lew reached up, took a hold of her waist, and swung her to the ground. "Thank you," murmured Elayne pink-faced.

Keen poked his head over the edge of the wagon and studied the milling crowd of fair-goers. His eyes glowing yellow with the expectation of finding prey, he tossed his club down and leaped cat fashion to the ground.

An old man, much wrinkled, much tanned, with liver spots on his bald scalp, long white hair billowing from his chin and the back of his head, trotted up to them. He wore a tan chintz shirt with brown linen trousers. "Ah young man, how I admire your deftness with the damsels. And you have brought two witches, no less, to the fair. Your New Year is auspiciously started. It must be those linen shirts you young fellows wear, all the damsels get excited about how the linen contains rippling chest muscles. See the truth of it; their blushes prove me correct." At this the old fellow winked at Elayne. He could not catch Frithlynn's eye because she was hiding her scarlet cheeks in a pouch she pressed to her face. "Now in my day, and in your uncle's day, the witches would not come out of hiding unless a man wore a chintz shirt. The shimmer of it drove them wild."

As if to prove his point a passing matron threw a coy kiss at the old man. "But you, my young grandson," the old fellow said to Marban, "I think this is the year you should give the damsels the kisses that are seal and sign of the perfect harmony which is man and woman, King and Queen, action and thought, plough and spell."

Marbon had gone quite red himself.

"Hee, hee, hee," laughed Lew and Kulain.

"Come on now," teased Lew, "the damsels need their kisses!"

Frithlynn pulled her face out of the pouch and beamed at the young fellow. She happily presented her cheek. Marban shyly kissed her right cheek.

The old, old man with the white beard said, "Don't stint now, three kisses to each."

"I know, I know!" snapped the mortified young Marban between bestowing the second and third kisses upon the gleeful Frithlynn.

Elayne would have rather Lew kiss her, but she demurely stood still for her turn in receiving kisses from the youngest of the farmers.

Lew warned Marban, "Don't get too used to that kissing business, or some damsel will surprise you by giving you a kiss back, and the next thing you know her brother, uncle, father, grandfather, great uncle, and cousins will be after you with their longbows."

This only deepened the mortification of young Marban.

Frithlynn tossed her head, "Come on Elayne, we have relied on these good fellows' hospitality too long. Let's go ply our trades. Thank you Lew, Kulain, and Marban."

Lew's leathery face creased into another of his many smiles; "Enjoy the fair and the first day of the New Year, pretty damsels."

Elayne smiled, "Thank you for the ride, the cat food, and the wonderful lunch."

"Our pleasure," grinned Lew.

Elayne hurried after Frithlyn's loping steps.

Frithlynn said, "I hope this village follows the same custom as mine: the witches who spent Halloween under the full moon don't have to pay to use a booth. Does it work that way where you come from?"

Elayne was hesitant to say she was from another world so, thinking how things worked at the spiritual center where she read palms and cards, she answered, "Ah, the witch shares a portion of her profit at the end of the day with the owner of the booth."

Frithlynn raised her eyebrows in appraisal of Elayne, "You must be from one of the big cities then. I've heard the big cities do that."

Thinking of Cambridge, Elayne said, "Yes, the last few years I have lived in a rather large city."

Frithlynn suggested to Elayne, "Let's find booths next to each other; then we can have each other to talk to in between customers. I'm from another place, too. I wanted to see some of the world and that's why I left my home village in the mountains to do my Halloween vigil here."

Elayne smiled. She had a new-found friend. Maybe she could get Frlthlynn to explain more about the customs of this world. The two made their way through the milling throngs in search of free booths where Elayne could read palms, and Frythlynn could sell her magical herbs. Keen tagged along behind Elayne. He was frightened by the crowds and meowed piteously. This pathos was comical, coming from a troll. The two women passed merchants and puppet shows and acrobats, but they could not find the soothsayers' booths. They stopped a woman who carried an infant at her breast to ask directions.

The woman said to them, "The sooth-sayers' booths are up there, just past the merry-go-round." She pointed in the direction; and Frithlynn and Elayne, seeing the merry-go-round, nodded relief and understanding. The woman smiled and spoke gently, "I can see you are from a cosmopolitan land where the women wear trousers for their Halloween in the fields. As soon as you have some money you should buy yourselves some dresses; you will do better business if you do. You will be able to buy any dress or skirt you like from the merchants, and there is even a shower house set up if you need to clean up. I hope you do not find our customs too provincial, but here women never wear trousers. Our city is a small one, and our ruling dynasting follows the old codes of government, so our ways are a bit overly traditional, especially in matters of dress."

Elayne smiled gratefully at the woman, "Thank you for your advice. I am so glad there is a place I can clean up! I do feel out of place with my dirty hair and my old trousers."

The King's alchemist was also at the fair, busily mixing concoctions for his customers: varnish made of precious gems for the violin makers, battery mixtures for those who wanted their amulets electro-plated, polish potions to make brass bedframes levitate so the dust bunnies could easily be swept away, and arrow head paint that would turn griffins into stone on contact. He was very pleased with himself. When he had informed Sarrolus that a dream damsel and troll were escaping the city, Sarrolus had agreed to let him follow her, as long as he did not forget to brush the gnome potion on the Queen's coissants before he left. Blueberry croissants were the King's favorite breakfast food, and he always rewarded the alchemist when he got them. Sarrolus was not such a bad sort as the chef made him out to be. To ensure that the King did not change his mind the alchemest put blueberries into some of the croissants and had them served to the King for his royal breakfast. While stirring the blueberry mixture early that morning, the alchemist had gotten to thinking. King Sarrolus was killing off everybody in the city by quaranteening it and stopping the sanitation practices. Only Queen Tettra and her retinue could save the people who were left. What fun would it be to rule with Sarrolus over a city of corpses? Why not rule with sweet Tettra over a vibrant city? The alchemist did have a legitamate claim to marry her, after all. He had considered Queen Tettra as a gnome. He had considered King Sarrolus as a gnome. He had decided that King Sarrolus would make a much better gnome than Queen Tettra. He thought of all the wonderful potions he could stir if he married Tettra after turning Sarrolus into a gnome. The alchemist did like to stir. He happily stirred varnish while he remembered these reflections.

These reflections proved fertile, indeed, because they sowed a fresh harvest of ideas: he could accomplish his life's ambition if he were King. Three enormous Enchanted Forests would be under his rule. If he burnt down all three Forests, there would be just enough of the special substance found only in miniscule quantities in the hearts of the Enchanted Trees for the Elixir he dreamed of concocting. How he would love to stir Elixir! The alchemist grinned to himself there in the midst of the fairground. This morning he had realized he could achieve his ambition of becoming King if he stirred the gnome potion into the King's blueberries, and had put the contaminated blueberries into the King's croissants. Right now, this afternoon, the alchemist realized he was on his way to achieving his dream of creating the Elixir because of what he had done in the morning. By now Sarrolus must be a gnome. The alchemist giggled. What great ideas and realizations would he come up with this evening? Then he had a terrible thought. The first try at an experiment rarely succeeded. He would have to have more Elixir than three Enchanted Forests could provide. He would have to burn down more Enchanted Forests. The only way do that would be to have control of the Heatherlands' Enchanted Forests, too. The alchemist realized he had better find the Purple Lock.

To Chapter Three