Tatterhood by Margrete Lamond Page B

even further away.
    The king in that land was a widower. Although he had a son, he was lonely, as there was no one sensible to talk to, either on his estate or off it. When he saw the strange ship sailing up his fjord, he sent messengers down to investigate.
    But when the king’s men reached the shore there wasn’t a living soul aboard – except, that is, for Tatterhood. She was riding about the deck, backwards and forwards on the goat, bouncing and jigging till her hair stood up on her head.
    The king’s folk were stupefied.
    â€˜Are there any more of you?’ they asked.
    â€˜Oh yes,’ said Tatterhood. ‘I have a sister.’
    And around she clattered, jiggety-clack, until the deck thundered.
    â€˜Is she as rare a sight as you are?’ the king’s people wanted to know.
    â€˜Rare, and rarer still,’ said Tatterhood. ‘But she’s not for the likes of you to be looking at, until the king comes and has a look for himself.’
    The servants ran back to tell the king.
    â€˜The ship’s captain is a matted troll-hag,’ they said. ‘Half-buck and half-woman. Her sister is shaggier still – so hideous that only a king could bear to clap eyes on her.’
    The king set off at once.
    When he arrived, Tatterhood led her sister out from under the deck. The sister looked so beautiful, so petal-fine and golden, that the king was smitten, right where he stood on the shore. Of course, he wanted her for his queen at once, and proposed to her then and there. But Tatterhood had other ideas.
    â€˜You can’t marry my sister, no matter what,’ she said. ‘Unless, that is, you let me marry your son.’
    Now the king’s son was a feeble young man, and sulky besides, so the king agreed.
It will do him good
, he thought to himself, and everyone else thought so too.
    The prince, however, was horrified.
    â€˜She’s an ugly troll!’ he shrieked. ‘You can’t make me!’
    But make him they did. The king – and all the others – plagued and pestered and nagged at him so long and so hard that in the end he gave in.
    And so the wedding was prepared, with boiling, brewing and baking, and when it was done they rode to the church, all four.
    For the prince, it was the gloomiest trip he had made in his life.
    Tatterhood’s sister, driving along with the king, looked so shimmering, gold and delicious that everyone along the road gaped after her for as long as they could see her, and then some more. But Tatterhood rode beside the prince on her buck, as matted and shaggy as ever.
    The prince’s face was as long as a paddle.
    â€˜Why don’t you speak?’ said Tatterhood, when they had ridden some way in silence.
    â€˜What is there to talk about?’ answered the prince. His face grew longer, his head hung lower and his bottom lip looped over his chin.
    â€˜You might me ask why I ride this buck,’ said Tatterhood.
    â€˜Why
do
you ride that ridiculous goat?’ asked the prince.
    â€˜Which ridiculous goat?’ said Tatterhood. ‘Isn’t this the noblest mount a bride could wish for?’
    When the prince looked over, he noticed that Tatterhood was astride the most stately stallion he had ever seen. Even so, he rode on as cross as two sticks and hadn’t a word to say.
    After a while, Tatterhood asked him again why he didn’t speak. The prince replied again that he didn’t know what to talk about.
    â€˜You could always ask why I carry this dipper.’
    â€˜So, why do you cling to that freakish dipper?’
    â€˜What freakish dipper?’ asked Tatterhood. ‘This is the finest thing ever carried by bride-to-be.’
    With that, the dipper caught the sun and gleamed so bright that the prince had to squint and look away – but not before he saw it turn into the most glittering sceptre imaginable.
    Then they rode on, with the prince as sour as two lemons and uttering not a word.