Mary-Cade Mandus - Skin Deep

Crispin spent the next four days drifting in and out of sleep - the lack of light and heat as much as his injuries created a state of lassitude. He’d often awaken to find Filch seated beside the bed, invariably with Crispin's uniform jacket across his lap. The little man seemed to have developed an odd fascination for the piece of clothing and his delicate fingers were forever stroking the worsted fabric, never hesitating in their caressing even while Crispin plied him with questions.

Crispin was naturally interested in the Wilderness and its inhabitants - where they came from; how they had come to be there - and Filch seemed only too happy to satisfy his curiosity. Despite the apparent openness with which they were given, Crispin suspected that his answers might not be entirely trustworthy, for the little man took his time deliberating before replying.

Elena was cleverer. She came twice a day to check his wounds and change the dressings. While there she would deftly sidestep his queries with those of her own. Since there was no way in which he could counter her move without appearing bad mannered he always complied, therefore she unearthed far more than he did.

As would be expected, her interest lay in learning what was occurring beyond the Wilderness' borders. When he'd first recounted the events that had led to his ill-fated mission - how the evil queen, Christine, had escaped from Snow White Memorial Prison and how, under her influence, the troll king had gathered his army and was laying waste to the Fourth Kingdom - she had listened gravely, dismay darkening her eyes. When the recounting had caused him to fervently reiterate his determination to recoup his strength quickly and complete his assignment she’d made no comment but had gone about her task and departed. Her unresponsiveness had left him with a cold feeling that had nothing to do with the icy temperature.

But for a majority of the time he had to make do with his own company. Denied visual distraction by the location of the window - across the room behind the bed - he was left to his thoughts and those invariably drifted to what he managed to glean from Filch.

Besides the little man and Elena, there were two other adults - Mutch, the group’s huntsman and protector, and Hyacinth, a maid/cook. Rounding out the group was an adolescent boy, Amadeus [his sullen meal bearer] and a child, Mutch's six- year-old son Toddy. To Filch's knowledge they were the only inhabitants in their corner of the Wilderness, perhaps in the entire forest. When asked how they had come to be there the little man had somberly replied that the Wilderness afforded Elena sanctuary from the machinations of a powerful witch. While this was a common enough motive, Crispin was skeptical that that was all there was to it. Of course, if a curse was involved that was something else entirely. But it would have to be a very dreadful one indeed to cause the others to stay within such a place of everlasting cold and shadow. Surely, the hunter Mutch wanted more of a life for his young son. And the querulous teenager, Amadeus, did little to hide his dissatisfaction. Only Filch and Elena seemed altogether content with their lot.

The days passed at a terrapin's pace, so concocting theories about his new acquaintances helped to pass the time. Although most of his conjectures were farfetched, the exercise served to distract him from envisioning all manner of trollish atrocities being committed in the Fourth Kingdom. He knew that fretting about it would not hasten his injuries' healing but that rationalization did not alleviate the sense of urgency and guilt. Just the other day, in an effort to ease his mind, Filch had helpfully suggested that perhaps King Wendell had already deployed reinforcements to Candlewicket. After all, the little man pointed out sensibly, it was more than likely that his horse had headed home after the ambush and assuming that it had made its way safely, Captain BeNimble would have been immediately alerted by its riderless state that his mission had failed and would have dispatched another rider posthaste to Castle White. Although he tried to find some measure of comfort in that feasible scenario he still chafed under the yoke of his injuries.