Debra L. Rollins - Revenge For the Huntsman

The Deeters afternoon soirée went off without a hitch. Mrs. Deeter, a small unobtrusive woman, but rich as sin, was delighted with the meal, especially the bacon wrapped dove breasts and meatballs made with fresh lamb in a delicate mint sauce. The petite custard tarts Virginia had created for the event were light and velvety in texture, melting in the guests' mouths. They left the event with a fat check in their pocket and promises of more business from Mrs. Deeter.

Wolf bounded joyfully around Virginia as they packed the empty serving trays into the van her grandmother bought for their budding business.

“We did good, let’s go out tonight and celebrate, Virginia.”

“I don’t know, Wolf.” She slid in the last of the trays and shut the back door of the van. “I’m pretty tired and still have loads of shopping to get finished today. Maybe some other time.”

“Oh…but we need to celebrate our good fortune, Virginia.” He scratched his temple and gave her an imploring look. “Please? Something quiet but romantic, I promise! I’ll even plan the evening. You can just sit back and relax. Please say yes!”

“I remember the last time you planned a romantic evening. It cost us the mirror and ten thousand gold Wendells.”

“Well, yeah…” His face brightened after a few seconds. “But look what you got in return. A rare singing ring, a grrrreat evening out in Kissingtown and of course, me!”

“As I remember correctly, things didn’t end up well that evening.”

“True, true…but, huff-puff! All’s well that ends well, right my succulent sweetie-pie?” He grabbed her around the waist and nuzzled her soft neck, drawing goosebumps from her. He whispered provocatively in her ear, delighting in her aroma. “Please say yes, Virginia.”

“Oh, all right,” she caved in to the deep pleading look in his eyes. “It would be good to get out and have some fun. Maybe some dancing would be nice.” She hesitated for a moment. “You do dance don’t you, Wolf?”

“Do you want to dance?”

“I’d love to go dancing.” She grew excited at the thought. “There are some great nightclubs not far from here.”

“Then dinner and dancing it is, my corky, cream puff.” He picked her up and sat her in the driver’s seat of the van before she could protest. “One of these days you’ll have to teach me how to steer this wagon.”

“It’s a van and you drive it, not just steer it. Maybe…someday soon.” Not too soon, she thought, crossing her fingers. The thought of Wolf lose in New York City in a motor vehicle didn’t sit well on her nerves.

“Cripes! I can’t wait!”

Wolf grew excited. So many things to see and learn in the Tenth Kingdom. Driving, dining…now all he had to do was learn how to dance before this evening.

How hard could it be?

“You were magnificent! Good teeth…so clean and sharp! Trolls like strong teeth.”

Burly pushed through the tree limbs and weeds barring his way, following Cierce as best he could. She had a dexterity that he lacked. Not that he was jealous, not by any means. He truly appreciated her swift skills and instant reflexes. She moved with a cunning grace that any Troll would be proud to possess. Neither he, nor his sister nor brother had such skills. It wasn’t their fault really. They had been born that way. None of their Dad’s unions had produced what Relish considered the perfect Troll to take over the Troll crown. Bumbling oafs were all that he spawned, infuriating Relish to no degree. No amount of apologies from his children ever made him happy. When he was murdered, Burly was frustrated by the fact that now neither he nor his siblings could ever prove their worth to him. The little witch had seen to that! Time for planning her capture, he thought.

A little clearing in the trees appeared, the same one Burly had shared with Jake the previous night. Here they stopped… the sounds of the screaming crowd dying out in the background so they felt reasonably safe from detection.

Cierce turned around a few times then flopped on the ground, stretching her legs. The human appendages worked well, but as a wolf she could run longer without strain. She looked up in the sky at the sun shining over the Tenth Kingdom. Nearly noon she surmised by its position. Back home she would be laying down for a midday nap out of the heat of the day. She smothered a yawn. The large meal made her groggy on top of the early morning activities. She felt more alive at night, better to save her energies for after dusk and rest now. She closed her eyes and drifted off.

Burly, on the other hand, was keyed up, ready for action and adventure. He glanced over at Cierce several feet away curled up, sleeping soundly. She would be hungry when she woke up. Best he hunt for their next meal and avoid the humans as much as possible. There were many available game animals to capture for their supper here in the forest. He crouched down before Cierce and stared, searching her features, taking care to keep his distance or he would never get any hunting done. She should be safe here in the thick grove of trees until he got back.

With one more backward glance, he disappeared into the woods.

“Dammit, Wolf! You stepped on my toe again!” Tony was none too thrilled at becoming Wolf’s dance teacher. What was worse, he wasn’t even able to lead. Wolf had to do that in order to learn the correct steps, so inevitably Tony’s feet were being brutalized.

“Ooohhhh, cripes, Tony!” Wolf stopped moving and stamped his foot in frustration instead. “How am I going to be able to impress Virginia shuffling around on a dance floor?”

“Breaking her toes will leave a great impression, trust me!” Tony shot back. “Why don’t you have Marjorie show you how to dance? She danced ballroom for years before her husband died. Maybe she wouldn’t mind her foot broken by her “dear, little Wolfie”.”

“Grrrrrr…huff-puff! You’re just jealous Grandma likes me more that she does you!”

“Jealous…hell, no. But what I don’t understand is how in the world you get away with nearly eating her, scaring her out of her wits then waltz back in here with all forgiven as if nothing happened. What is that anyway?”

“Cripes!” Wolf yelped. “I forgot about the waltz. No night out on the town is complete without at least one waltz. I don’t suppose…”

Tony threw up his arms, stopping Wolf in mid-sentence.

“There’s no way in hell I’m going to teach you how to waltz.” Tony thought for a moment then grabbed Wolf by the arm and led him towards the front door.

“Come on.”

“Where we going, Tony?”

“To the public library.”

Thirty minutes later, Tony and Wolf walked out the door of the library with an armload of tapes on learning how to dance. Wolf grinned happily. He had them all! Swing, fox trot, cha-cha, waltz, rumba, disco, tango and something called “dirty dancing”. He didn’t know what that was, but it sounded enticing.

He was still watching the tapes, trying to mimic the couple’s steps on the picture box Virginia called television (an unbelievable marvel) when Marjorie walked in, a stack of boxes in her arms from a glorious day of shopping.

“What’s Wolf trying to do?”

Tony looked up from the Sunday paper, peering at her from over the top of the sports section then over at Wolf twisting and turning in no real pattern that even looked like the rhythmic dance steps the couple on the tape was trying to teach to their audience.

“He’s learning to dance. He and Virginia are going out tonight. He wants to take her dancing but doesn’t know any steps. Isn’t Virginia supposed to be with you?”

“She’s still out with my gold card.” She answered then asked, “How do you expect him to learn without a partner?”

“I was hoping his fairy godmother would show up and magically transform him into Fred Astaire. Look…” he explained, sighing heavily at his mother-in-law’s hard stare. “I tried, I’m just not a good teacher, that’s all!”

“Not very good at much, are we, Anthony. Don’t you worry your little brain. I’ll teach him to dance in no time.”

“Good for you, Marjorie.” Tony answered, not at all perturbed by her sarcasm and resumed reading.

Marjorie sniffed loudly, sat down her packages and turned towards Wolf. She rubbed her hands together and placed a determined look on her face. She had a lot of work ahead of her and very little time before evening.

“I have been thinking, Bluebell,” Blabberwort entered her younger brother’s quarters and sat down cross-legged before the fireplace hearth with her palm resting on her chin.

“About what?” He scratched his head, plucking the offending louse from his hair, then flicked it into the fire. The pair watched as it sizzled in less than a microsecond.

“About our brother, Burly,” she answered. “I miss him.”

“Me, too!” he agreed, straightening the crown on his head for the thousandth time.

“I wish we could have gone with him. He is our brother after all. Why didn’t we go? We have always been together. Three for one!”

“Yeah! It takes all three of us together to think better than one!” he replied. “Why, he’s probably out there somewhere in trouble, maybe even in prison again!”

“Or worse!” Blabberwort suggested. “He may be dead like Dad. Killed by that little witch!”

“She is powerful…” Bluebell rubbed his chin, thinking. “And sly. She got away from us more than once. She’s good, that one.”

“Ahhh…she’s just lucky, that’s all!” She fell silent for a moment before large tears welled up in her dark eyes and spilled over her cheeks. “Do you think she may have killed our brother?”

“Stop crying, Blabberwort. You’re staining your leather jacket! Burly wouldn’t appreciate you ruining good leather crying over him.”

Blabberwort dried her tears, wiped her nose on her shirttail and replaced sorrow with determination.

“You’re right! I say we leave and find our brother and bring him home, the Troll Council be damned!”

“Good idea!” Bluebell agreed.

“Bad idea and one I forbid.”

Both Blabberwort and Bluebell jumped, turning to see Bork, too late, entering the room.

“You both know the terms of Burly’s quest. Do you wish to see him die?” he asked, staring hard at both of them.

“He is our brother,” Blabberwort explained. “We cannot allow him to die in some distant land alone. What would he think of us?”

“Yeah!” Bluebell seconded.

“Nothing, if he were dead.” Bork sighed, exasperated with the pair. “Blabberwort, I forbid you to go and you, Your Highness,” he turned to Bluebell. “Unless you wish to join your father in the hereafter, then I suggest you follow the Troll laws and follow the orders of the council. That is all I have to say.”

With that, he walked out, leaving the two siblings to mull over his words.

“What are we going to do now?” Bluebell agonized.

“This is one of the worst messes…” growled Blabberwort. “If only the law was different, we could go after Burly and bring him and the witch home together as a threesome again. If only…hey, wait a minute!”

“What?” asked the temporary king.

“Are you not Troll King?”

“Yes, I suppose…at least for the moment.”

“What good is being a king, unless you make new laws?” Blabberwort asked.

“Make new…” A light went on over Bluebell’s head. “Goody-good idea, I get it! I am king, thus I can make or change the laws.”

He backed away from Blabberwort, stood in the middle of the room, raised a sword and declared: “From this moment forth, the Troll Council has no power to execute myself, Blabberwort or Burly for any reason by order of the proxy Troll King, Bluebell the Bold!”

“Bluebell the Bold?”

“Hey, it sounds good, doesn’t it?” he grinned. “We had better write this down so there will be no misunderstandings about it being a new law.”

“Yes! Sign it in blood. It’s better that way,” Blabberwort exclaimed.

Bluebell took the sharp end of the sword, pricked his finger and spelled out the new law on a blank parchment. He finished by signing his name with flourish, Blabberwort signing as witness.

“There, finished!” he stated.

“Now we need a plan of action,” Blabberwort said, pleased that the issue of finding their brother Burly had been settled. Now all they had to do was figure out how to leave the Troll Palace without detection by Bork and the other Trolls.

“I know!” said Bluebell, overwhelmed by his genius today. “I will give a huge party, get all the Trolls of the palace drunk, then we can sneak out the dungeon gates. Wait! What do we do about Bork? He does not drink. He is the worst Troll to fool. We will never get by him.”

Blabberwort thought about it for a moment and smiled wickedly. “Do not worry about my husband. I will take care of him.”