scratched at the ragged sleeve—twice.
Not two miles, that was for sure: The wizard knew everybody around here and there were no Princess Rosalies. "Two hours away?" he asked hopefully. He had a magic spell that could transport him at a moment's notice, but it only worked for places to which he had already been. Because he didn't know who or where this princess was, he would have to follow the crow she had sent. He'd need to walk—or go by horse. Horses, with their big yellow teeth and enormous, clumsy-looking feet, were not his favorite animal. "Is this princess two hours away?" he repeated.
The crow hopped to the scarecrow's head and pecked at one of the button eyes.
The wizard sighed. "Two days?"
The crow ruffled its feathers and took off in a northeasterly direction, then circled back and relanded on the scarecrow's head.
The wizard sighed again. There was so much to do to get his garden in order. He tried to concentrate on the problems, on the reasons he shouldn't go—like the rabbits, who were no more intimidated by the scarecrow than this crow was, and who were making themselves at home in the wizard's garden. But he found himself looking at the pink-and-lavender note again. "Please, please,
please,
help me," he reread.
After yet another sigh, he muttered the spell that transformed his appearance into that of a man a hundred years older than he really was and that changed his practical work clothes into the star-sprinkled robe and conical hat he always wore in public, because otherwise nobody ever seemed to believe he really was a wizard.
He held his arm out for the crow, which landed on him with a flutter of black wings. Then it lifted its tail and made a mess on his sleeve.
"Bird brain," the wizard muttered.
But by then they were already transported to Farmer Seymour's barn, where there was a particularly bad-tempered mare that the farmer would rent out for an exorbitant fee whenever the wizard had need of a ride.
After two days of riding, the crow led the wizard to a small castle surrounded by a country town, all situated in the center of an especially green and peaceful valley.
And there, strolling down the wide avenue that led from the castle, was the wicked stepmother (he was sure it must be her) and the ugly stepsister.
The mother was a tall, thin woman dressed all in black. Her eyes, the wizard thought, were ferret-mean. And they were constantly moving—glancing this way and that—watching and evaluating all that went on around her.
Her daughter was a younger version of the same, except that her clothes were garishly colorful and she had a loud laugh that reminded the wizard of a pig oinking.
He did not want to make a formal entrance into the castle, for there was no telling how the wicked stepmother would react—wicked stepmothers can be unpredictable. Better to circle the castle and go in the back way. So with what he hoped looked like an expression of disinterested boredom, he rode by the group of townspeople that had gathered around the two women.
However, Princess Rosalie's messenger crow apparently did not reason the way the wizard did. Seeing him miss the turnoff to the castle, the crow rose up from its riding place on the horse's rump and began circling the wizard's head, cawing frantically.
"Shhh!" The wizard brushed his hand in front of his face to keep the frenzied bird at a safe distance.
It swooped at his head, pulling up only at the last moment with an angry screech. Then it
climbed back into the air for another pass. And then another. And another.
People watched: The wicked queen and her daughter, passersby on the street, merchants at their outdoor stands—all stopped what they were doing to stare. A street juggler, distracted, dropped one of his clubs, then tucked them all under his red-and-green satin sleeve, unwilling to compete for the attention of the rapidly growing crowd.
"Stop it!" the wizard hissed at the crow.
He rounded his shoulders and slouched down into
Not two miles, that was for sure: The wizard knew everybody around here and there were no Princess Rosalies. "Two hours away?" he asked hopefully. He had a magic spell that could transport him at a moment's notice, but it only worked for places to which he had already been. Because he didn't know who or where this princess was, he would have to follow the crow she had sent. He'd need to walk—or go by horse. Horses, with their big yellow teeth and enormous, clumsy-looking feet, were not his favorite animal. "Is this princess two hours away?" he repeated.
The crow hopped to the scarecrow's head and pecked at one of the button eyes.
The wizard sighed. "Two days?"
The crow ruffled its feathers and took off in a northeasterly direction, then circled back and relanded on the scarecrow's head.
The wizard sighed again. There was so much to do to get his garden in order. He tried to concentrate on the problems, on the reasons he shouldn't go—like the rabbits, who were no more intimidated by the scarecrow than this crow was, and who were making themselves at home in the wizard's garden. But he found himself looking at the pink-and-lavender note again. "Please, please,
please,
help me," he reread.
After yet another sigh, he muttered the spell that transformed his appearance into that of a man a hundred years older than he really was and that changed his practical work clothes into the star-sprinkled robe and conical hat he always wore in public, because otherwise nobody ever seemed to believe he really was a wizard.
He held his arm out for the crow, which landed on him with a flutter of black wings. Then it lifted its tail and made a mess on his sleeve.
"Bird brain," the wizard muttered.
But by then they were already transported to Farmer Seymour's barn, where there was a particularly bad-tempered mare that the farmer would rent out for an exorbitant fee whenever the wizard had need of a ride.
After two days of riding, the crow led the wizard to a small castle surrounded by a country town, all situated in the center of an especially green and peaceful valley.
And there, strolling down the wide avenue that led from the castle, was the wicked stepmother (he was sure it must be her) and the ugly stepsister.
The mother was a tall, thin woman dressed all in black. Her eyes, the wizard thought, were ferret-mean. And they were constantly moving—glancing this way and that—watching and evaluating all that went on around her.
Her daughter was a younger version of the same, except that her clothes were garishly colorful and she had a loud laugh that reminded the wizard of a pig oinking.
He did not want to make a formal entrance into the castle, for there was no telling how the wicked stepmother would react—wicked stepmothers can be unpredictable. Better to circle the castle and go in the back way. So with what he hoped looked like an expression of disinterested boredom, he rode by the group of townspeople that had gathered around the two women.
However, Princess Rosalie's messenger crow apparently did not reason the way the wizard did. Seeing him miss the turnoff to the castle, the crow rose up from its riding place on the horse's rump and began circling the wizard's head, cawing frantically.
"Shhh!" The wizard brushed his hand in front of his face to keep the frenzied bird at a safe distance.
It swooped at his head, pulling up only at the last moment with an angry screech. Then it
climbed back into the air for another pass. And then another. And another.
People watched: The wicked queen and her daughter, passersby on the street, merchants at their outdoor stands—all stopped what they were doing to stare. A street juggler, distracted, dropped one of his clubs, then tucked them all under his red-and-green satin sleeve, unwilling to compete for the attention of the rapidly growing crowd.
"Stop it!" the wizard hissed at the crow.
He rounded his shoulders and slouched down into
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