“Glad you’re okay, Marianne.” Robin pointed to the tree. “The branches were too thick to see much. Which way do you think we should head?”
The frog at the well began to whistle loudly as he innocently twiddled his froggy thumbs. “Why is he whistling?” asked Robin, eyeing it with growing suspicion.
“Because . . . he’s happy. Some frogs are like that, you know. Naturally cheerful,” Marianne informed Robin, with an air of affected knowledge as she slipped the frog a gold coin. “The important thing is that we must head”—Marianne exchanged a meaningful look with Leo—“to the right,” they said in unison.
Marianne spoke little as they proceeded on their journey. Leo turned back into the dragonfly, and Robin recounted a long-winded story about how he’d once saved an elf from the jaws of an ogre. Marianne listened halfheartedly until Robin began to explain, in detail, the workings of an ogre’s stomach. Then she switched her eyes up to the sky. Someone in the clouds was weaving colors of flamboyant pink and brazen orange into the peaceful blue tapestry of twilight. Will I ever tell Robin about Grimholdt? she wondered guiltily.
“But was he grateful?” Robin’s question ruptured Marianne’s trance. “NO! Glorified goblins! That’s what elves are!”
Marianne gave Robin a laugh, hoping it was appropriately timed. “Marianne,” Robin said, twisting around, “You’ve been awfully quiet. Is something bothering you?”
“I’m a bit tired,” she lied, wishing Robin could read her mind. Yes, I’m keeping a horrible secret from the only person in the world whom I should trust! “Robin, do you ever feel lonely?”
“Not now that I have you, Marianne—”
“No, I mean a longing for someone else.”
“Penelope wasn’t my type. She’d have had my head if I ever displeased her,” Robin said soberly.
“I know, but someone like her,” said Marianne, looking dolefully down at her horse. “Someone you could, well, love.”
“Marianne, you’re fifteen.” Slowing his horse until it was even with Marianne’s, Robin asked, “Haven’t you ever been told that you should be happy with who you are first and then go looking for someone else?”
“No,” said Marianne, taking the lead. “It’s just that sometimes it’s lonely being me.”
Chapter the Fifteenth
Stopping at a clearing, Robin and Marianne retired early. Once during the night Marianne imagined that she was asleep on her large feather bed, and tried to adjust her pillow before crashing her head down onto a distinctly non-downy rock. What a hard cushion! thought Marianne in her delirium. Whimpering as she patted her head, sleep again ensnared her, drawing her into the world of dreams.
Robin and her parents were sitting by a stream, tickling the water with their toes as Marianne swam, showing off her skill. She couldn’t see her parents’ faces clearly, though, and when she tried to talk with them, they moved away. She jumped out of the water and chased after them. Her parents fled up a flight of stairs and Marianne followed, climbing to the top where they disappeared. Someone pushed Marianne, and she toppled down the steps. At the bottom a tall man with haunting green eyes appeared and threw a shoe at her.
“Marianne! Breakfast!” Before opening her eyes, Marianne vainly tried to make sense of the fleeting nightmare that was blowing away like sand in a windstorm.
Getting up groggily, Marianne rubbed her eyes. Robin was recklessly frying sausages. “Ouch!” he said, shaking his hand after a drop of oil sprayed out of the pan. “Marianne, you’re finally awake! I’ve had time to head over to the carnival and back.” Robin held up a wrapped package. “I bought you—”
“An apple tart,” Marianne blurted, before realizing her blunder. “I . . . I could smell it.”
“Good guess. And raisin scones, too. Do you mind if I have a slice of your tart?” asked Robin, his mouth full of Marianne’s pastry. “Why doesn’t this meat cook faster?”
“I had the weirdest dream last night,” said Marianne, kneeling down and looking around for a knife to split the scones. Robin reached into his boot and pulled out a thin dagger. There was a green stain on it. “What’s this?” asked Marianne.
“Goblin juice,” said Robin, as he finished the tart. “Haven’t the faintest how it got there,” he continued innocently.
Marianne rolled her eyes and handed the knife back to Robin who stuck it into his boot. “Anyway, our family was sitting by this stream . . .”
“Your dreams aren’t very accurate; I wouldn’t have been there. Can’t swim a lick,” said Robin, shaking his head as he devoured the warm scones.
“How can any brother of mine not swim?” asked Marianne.
“How can any sister of mine?” replied Robin, in the same shocked tone.
Marianne continued her story, but left out the ending with Grimholdt. “That’s the last time I let you sleep on a rock,” Robin responded.
Marianne’s mood had lightened by the time they’d finished their satisfying breakfast. “Oh! I cannot wait to see the carnival!” she exclaimed.
“Marianne, the only way I’m getting to that carnival is if you roll me,” he said humorously, before belching. “I beg your pardon, Marianne.”
“Robin, I’ll absolutely die if I have to wait any longer! Please, can’t you just let me go by myself?” Marianne entreated.
“I would feel like the most irresponsible brother ever if I allowed you to go running around unchaperoned with my blessing.”
“I promise I’ll meet you anywhere you say in half an hour. Pleeeeeeeeeaaase?” begged Marianne, her voice rising a few decibels.
“Fine. Tell you what. You can have the rest of this gold,” said Robin, counting out a few pieces. “Go have some fun, but I want you to BE CAREFUL. There are many marvelous people there, but there are also a few characters I wouldn’t trust in a strange forest.” Robin faced her somberly as he tucked the coins into a sack. “I’ll meet you in front of the acrobats in half an hour.” Marianne tugged at the money; Robin held on tightly. “Understand?”
“Understood,” she said reluctantly, and Robin let go. “You are the best brother ever!” Marianne called, running down the path.
Robin began to dismantle the campsite. “Sure,” he muttered, “What could happen?”
Marianne skipped down the road, occasionally breaking into cheerful song. To her, the sky seemed bluer when carrying some gold. After a few minutes she crested a hill and was met with a fan of colors. The carnival workers had set up tents of every imaginable shade, and Marianne raced down the hillside to investigate them. As she drew closer, cheerful shouts from the pleased masses reached her ears. Determined not to look like some sort of uncultured vagabond, Marianne assumed an indifferent air as she meandered through the main alley. Her enthusiasm was hard to contain as she arrived at a beautiful pink and gray wagon labeled:
Melusine’s Manuscripts:
a Bookstore in Operation Since
Before You Can Remember.
A bronzed woman with bizarre amber eyes materialized as Marianne examined the extensive selection. “May I asssssissst you?” she hissed in a foreign accent.
“Yes, I was looking for a book by Royal Mabel. She wrote Famous Fairy Flum—”
“Flummoxessss, of courssse, I have a sssection devoted to Missss Mabel right here.” The serpentine woman presented an entire side of the wagon. “If there’sss anything elssse I can help you with, jussst let me know,” she added, slithering