A dappled light fell on Elfbones as he opened his eyes. His head was a wet sack stuffed with slop and one arm felt as though it had vanished overnight. Despite this, it had been a most satisfying night’s sleep. Once fully awake, he felt like he might have the drive to free himself. Yes, in fact, he will free himself! Despite the events of the previous evening, he found himself in a positive frame of mind. He even let out a laugh when he noticed the mess of broken twigs and stems above him.

  I did sleepwalk, he thought, testing the range of his legs’ movement. Freer, but still constricted. Still, they may have made it easier for him to free himself.

  He stretched as far as he could, given the restrictions, and life fizzed into his limbs. The hedge’s many tiny knives could not pierce this happy cocoon Elfbones had awoken in. He was probably still a fugitive, but that was a problem for future Elfbones. When hatching from this cocoon, he would have to dry his wings in the morning's chilly breeze. But said breeze did not currently penetrate where Elfbones hung. Ah, there was no finer feeling than the warmth of the morning sun on —

  Claws dug deep into Elfbones’ shoulder. A crushing pressure sent a bolt of lightning down his arm. Briefly, he empathised with the seed pod from the previous night. Then, a litany of drawn swords dragged across his exposed skin as he left the hedge backwards.

  The claws released him. Upright, his legs coiled beneath him. The only thing that seemed to hold him up was his head, which felt lighter than air. A substantial force attached itself to his chest. Yet more sword strikes pierced his back as he was pushed up against the hedge. Elfbones looked down and saw not a claw, but a huge hand - his dress shirt balled up inside its fist.

  “You spook my hippo-cows?”

  The voice seemed to come from both above him and from the stones beneath his feet. It rumbled his insides and made his stomach forget which way was up.

  “Yeah, you spook them. Admit it.”

  Elfbones’ tongue stuck to the top of his mouth. He angled his head, raising his gaze. Elfbones saw a rather childlike face - like balls of clay rolled together. It was a face akin to a baby’s - ignoring the thick black stubble that peppered the chin - only much larger. The face was far from friendly.

  With some effort, his tongue became unstuck. Whatever bung had prevented the free flow of thoughts in his mind popped loose.

  But, before he could talk: “All they milk soured. From here to there, not a good drop,” the face moved closer to Elfbones, sniffed, then recoiled. “Milk’s not the only thing sour here.”

  “Well—” started Elfbones.

  “Don’t try no weasellin’. You’ve been caught, you have,” said the voice, “These my beasts, this my business you spoiled. An’ more’n that, this royal land. You spoiled kingly business.”

  “Of course I have.”

  Positivity fell away from Elfbones like dying petals.

  “Look, I’m honestly very sorry that your produce spoiled, but I have an excellent explanation for all of this.”

  “And I’ll hear it,” said the farmer. He let Elfbones go. “My name is Onslow Hartmann. You?”

  “Elfbones.”

  “Elfbones?”

  The cadence of Onslow’s voice suggested he found this name humorous. His face remained set-in-stone serious.

  “That’s your name? Your whole name?”

  “Well, it’s what people call me,” said Elfbones.

  “So what’s your name?”, asked Onslow.

  “What does it matter?” Elfbones prickled. “You can call me Elfbones, can’t you?”

  “Suppose I can.”

  Onslow produced two lengths of course rope from a pocket. He bound Elfbones’ hands and feet.

  “What’re you doing?” Elfbones spluttered.

  “Can’t have you runnin’ on the way to the citadel.”

  “The citadel? What’s the citadel?”

  Elfbones gasped as Onslow tightened the rope around his wrists.

  “Got to take you see the guards. Sure you got a good story to tell, but it’s on them to tell whether there’s punishment to be met. Me animals’ll be fine in a day or so, but this is kingly business like I said, so…”.

  Onslow picked Elfbones up, and in a single motion, flung him over his shoulder. In this way, he walked to a hay cart nearby.

  “You can tell all you want to tell on the journey up there.”

  Elfbones found himself airborne for a moment before landing in a great pile of hay. A yellow avalanche half buried him, preventing Elfbones from seeing anything of his surroundings.

  The cart tilted as the mountainous farmer climbed aboard. With a crack of the reins and a call like a seal’s bark, they were moving.

  “Afore you get started I have to ask: where you get a name like Elfbones?” asked Onslow.

  “Well, it’s really—”

  “You’ll want to raise your voice some. I got fantastic hearing, but what with the clippin’ and cloppin’ and rollin’ and all that hay…” said Onslow.

  Elfbones started again. “It’s really quite a boring story.”

  “Should get it out of the way quick before you tells your other one then,” said Onslow with a chuckle.

  The cart trundled along the dirt track.

  ***

  Elfbones held the paper down against the rock as a gust attempted to whisk it away. The little black square labelled Riiktigendslig aligned with the small town that lay a mile or so away at the bottom of the hill. The road to town was straight on the map but, in reality, it snaked down the hillside. Elfbones erased the line representing the road and replaced it with a more accurate representation.

  This was the last part of the journey. He had followed the map, adjusting and updating on the way, for three weeks. Journey’s end lay below in the bustling port town where he was a guest of the Brottleheims. The Brottleheims were friends of the dean of Kern Academy. They agreed to put Elfbones up for a night before his return trip.

  Reviewing the map at the side of the road, two blank spaces drew his eye. A large unmapped expanse lay to the north, beyond the mountains. There was no chance of being able to fill in any of that part of the map on this trip. What was of greater interest was the smaller space next to his current position. There, on the opposite side of the road, lay woodland. A small but well-maintained fence ran along its perimeter.

  Cartographers rarely left woodland blank. A collection of symbols - a pair of inverted V’s stacked on top of each other - would normally fill such a space.

  Looking at the map, Elfbones saw that the road to town merged with another road that skirted the blank area. This road appeared to have truncated tributaries at various points. Elfbones guessed that these were roads that lead further into the blank space. He measured the distance roughly by eye. Cutting through the wood to one of these roads could avoid the long-winded back and forth of the main road. This would cut a decent distance out of the walk to town.

  “Said for you to tell me how you gets in my hedge,” said Onslow, “not bore me with map talk.”

  “Well, I’m getting to that,” said Elfbones through the mound of sweet-smelling hay.

  “How’d you end up in me hedge?”

  “Well—”

  “Is a simple question.”

  “I just wanted to provide some context.”

  “How. You. End. Up. In. Me. Hedge?” Onslow was not a patient man.

  The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

  “I fell in,” said Elfbones.

  “You fell in? You just takin’ a stroll along the hedgerow, were you?”

  “No. No, I was running. Well, being chased—”

  “Chased by who?”

  Elfbones wished he’d been able to provide more context to the story. “The Royal Guard.”

  “Oh! So you're a criminal.”

  “No no. Not a criminal…”

  “The Guard don’t usually chase them who’s abidin’ by the law.”

  “I’m not a criminal, I’m a student,” said Elfbones, trying to steer the conversation back to his story.

  “Could be both,” replied Onslow.

  “But I’m not. I’m a student from the Kern Academy. You’ve heard of it?” Elfbones crossed his fingers.

  “Nope.”

  “Ok. Well, look, I was on an assignment from school—”

  “Schools’ closed, ain’t they? It’s summer,” said Onslow.

  “It was a special assignment. Something to occupy my summer break.” Elfbones was getting exasperated.

  “Most’ll spend their summer with family, friends.”

  “Not me.”

  Onslow fell silent. Elfbones dove back into the story. He hoped to have a chance to justify his actions before they arrived at their destination. But he had no idea how long the journey would take.

  “I was to follow the map to Riiktigendslig, with a couple of detours, updating it as I went.”

  “Not the map again,” said Onslow. “Why the guards after you?”

  “It was a mistake.”

  Onslow made a mocking grunt.

  “Truly. They thought… Well… I was attending a ball up at the palace—”

  “The palace? Sprigs like you don’t get to go the palace,” said Onslow. He thought for a second, “Oooh, that’s it. You was trespassing.”

  “No, I was invited,” said Elfbones, aware of how unconvincing he sounded.

  “Buttock slush!” Onslow scoffed.

  “Really, I was. I was a guest of Professor Longview.”

  “Who’s that when he’s at home?”

  “Sorry, yes, so… well… he and I met in the woods. We were both taking a shortcut,” said Elfbones. “Though I was heading for town and he was heading to the palace. He got into a bit of trouble investigating fungi and twisted his ankle. By the time I’d helped him to the palace gate, he’d taken quite a shine to me, I suppose. He said that, as a Kernian himself…”

  “…I would like to repay your kindness to me,” Professor Longview spoke between breaths. He rested on the low wall that bordered the road up to the palace gates. “I am invited to a ball here tonight. Though the invitation includes a guest, I am here alone. Would you care to join me?”

  This took Elfbones aback. “A ball?”

  “Fine food, music, dancing, a great many interesting people. All in the most decadent of surroundings.”

  All Elfbones had to look forward to that night was a home cooked meal and an early night. Dried mud covered his clothes and shoes.

  “Do you have a change? Your academy uniform?” Said Longview.

  Elfbones nodded.

  “Splendid! You will fit right in.”

  “They showed us to the guest quarters,” said Elfbones, trying to spit out a piece of hay that had fallen into his mouth. “I washed and changed, then they took us to the ballroom.”

  It was the biggest room Elfbones had ever seen. Its domed ceiling seemed to reach an impossible height. Murals covered it, but they were too high to make out. One hundred marble pillars held it aloft. On every other pillar there was a faucet, spraying a fine mist of water onto the throng of people below.

  “They was gettin’ sprayed on?” said Onslow.

  “They were mostly High Akalodgians.” Elfbones waited for a hint of recognition from Onslow. None came. “From the Akal archipelago?” Nothing. “They’re a rich and fancy people, live in swamps and mangroves. That is, their homes are a part of them. They live in a perpetually moist state; to dry out is taboo - it would bring great shame upon them.”

  “Tha’s odd,” mumbled Onslow.

  “Eh, it’s just different. Anyway, the ballroom had been setup to accommodate the High Akalodgians and everyone else. Just moist enough, but not too moist.”

  “You might want to skip to the good bit. There’s not too long to go.”

  “Right,” said Elfbones, trying to remember the most salient parts of the story. “So, I’m there taking it all in. The professor was mingling. I think he was trying to secure funding from some of the well-to-do types. Everyone was much older, fancier and more important than me.”

  Onslow gave a disapproving grunt.

  “Then I saw a girl. Well, a young woman. But not that much older than me. She was skulking about behind one of the great pillars.”

  “A girl. I coulda guessed it. I s’pose you went over to her.”

  Elfbones sighed, “I went over to her.”

  The young woman wore a modest evening dress in dark blue. The colour blended with the shadows and gave the impression that she and they were one. A mask obscured the upper half of her face. Made of fine lace, it resembled the face of a fox. Many other guests wore masks as well. Not to hide their identity - it was fashionable to attend such balls in an extravagant mask. Hers was far less extravagant than the other guests’.

  Elfbones approached from the opposite side of the pillar. He observed the woman for a short while as she observed the crowd. There was an interest in her stare. She was watching a specific group of people several pillars further around the room.

  “Some party,” Elfbones said, having moved closer.

  The young woman was startled. She drew her gaze away from the other guests. Acting out of politeness, she regained her composure. “Yes, the royal balls are always a lavish affair.”

  “So, this isn’t your first?”

  The woman hesitated for a moment. “No. This one certainly sets itself apart from the others, though.”

  “How so?”

  “Much… damper.” Her mouth bowed, forming the most perfect smile Elfbones had ever seen.

  “Suppose it can’t be helped if the High Akalodgians need it.”

  The woman’s gaze had drifted back to the group across the room. “They don’t need it. It’s a cultural thing.”

  “Still, nice of the king to indulge them like this.”

  “Hmm.”

  Elfbones couldn’t tell if the woman agreed or was too distracted to put any effort into her reply.

  Past the woman, a rather grand looking gentleman was holding court. A crowd surrounded him. They seemed to hang on his every word. His slicked down hair and pearl-white complexion showed he was a high akalodgian.

  “Seems like an important fella,” said Elfbones.

  The woman turned back to Elfbones. Glancing at the crest embroidered on his dress coat, she asked, “What year are you in?”

  Elfbones flushed, “I’m coming into my final year.”

  “And you don’t recognise him?”

  Elfbones’ eyes fell under the weight of the embarrassment.

  The woman’s voice softened. “His cousin is the dean at Kern. I had heard from many alumni that the dean would never waste an opportunity to bring up their relation. Understandable, given his cousin’s position in Akalodgian society. A very influential man, you are right.” The way she spoke the word ‘influential’ caught Elfbones’ attention. It seemed to turn the woman inwards, as though caught in a daydream. “Perhaps the dean has become humble in his later years.”

  “Not likely,” replied Elfbones with a regrettable snort.

  The woman’s gaze had returned to the influential Akalodgian.

  Elfbones continued regardless. “This one time a few months back—”

  “Would you mind doing me a favour?” the woman interrupted.

  “Of course. I mean, no! No, not at all,” Elfbones fumbled.

  “Despite the atmosphere, I am absolutely parched. Could you fetch me a drink? I would be eternally grateful.”

  There was that smile again.

  Without even thinking, Elfbones agreed and trotted off without considering asking what she wanted. Not that she seemed bothered.

  Elfbones returned several minutes later with two drinks in hand - a glass of wine and a glass of water - so the young lady would have a choice. However, she was no longer there. He worried he had returned to the wrong spot. Several pillars along, the important gentleman was still in place. Elfbones searched the area and found the woman once again - ensconced in the shadows behind another of the giant pillars. This time, it was the pillar next to which the most important man was standing.

  “Here’s your drink,” said Elfbones, popping his head around the pillar.

  The young woman jumped out of her skin. A small piece of folded paper fell from her hand. Elfbones did not notice, and held the glass out, smiling. Sensing a change in the room, his smile faded. Silence surrounded them. All the other guests were staring in his direction. The bottom of his stomach dropped and he looked back at the young woman in the hope of some reassurance. Or, at least, an explanation of what was happening. However, her wide-eyed gaze was over his shoulder.

  “My dear, you said you didn’t feel well enough to attend. Are you better?”

  Elfbones turned to find himself mere feet from King Jasper.

  “I—” began the young woman.

  “Had you informed me of your improved constitution I could have accompanied you,” the king’s eyes fell on Elfbones. The drink still in his hand, held out to the young lady. “All the better to deter the foolish advances of young interlopers. Who is this?”

  “I don’t know. But—,” said the woman.

  “Of course not.” The king noticed the paper on the floor and picked it up. “What is your interest in my wife?”

  Elfbones crackled with fear, his eyes bounced between the young woman - the queen - and back to the king. His faculties failed him.

  The king unfolded the paper. “3am, the rose garden, east entrance.” After reading the words aloud, he stood stone-still, eyes glued to the paper. After what felt to Elfbones like an hour, a murmur from the crowd roused the king. He angled his head towards the sea of eyes. All eyes darted this way and that to avoid meeting the king’s furious gaze.

  Elfbones could see the king’s skin blooming red. Starting at the neck, it spread across the face and emphasised the snow-white eyes that were now trained on him alone.

  “Are you stupid, boy? You thought you stood a chance with such a specimen of woman? You think she would attend your sordid little rendez-vous?” said the king.

  Elfbones willed himself to speak, to defend himself, to deny that the note was his, but fear clasped a hand over his mouth.

  The king continued, “She is the wife of the king. You think so much of yourself?” The king’s neck throbbed as his pulse quickened.

  The queen stood silent. Elfbones longed for an intervention. She stood silent and with a practised poise. But there was a suggestion of fear in her eyes.

  “You are done for,” said the king. “You are done for!” He repeated it several more times with increasing intensity, then turned and called to the guards nearby to come forward and arrest Elfbones.

  In that moment, as the king’s attention was elsewhere, the queen ducked forward. She whispered in Elfbones’ ear, “The open window three pillars over, straight across the physic garden, east along the wall, a tall tree stands with branches across its border.”

  Elfbones’ head swam, his fingers tingled and time seemed to stand still. That was until the queen jabbed a finger under his ribs. “Run!” she snapped before her husband turned back to face them.

  “She told you how to escape?” said Onslow.

  “She did. It was bloody close, though,” said Elfbones.

  “An’ you ran all the way down to me farm an’ squirr’ld yerself away in my ‘edge?

  “I didn’t mean to. But yes.”

  “Quite a tale, for sure.”

  “It’s the truth, I assure you. I did nothing wrong.”

  “King thinks yer did.”

  Elfbones didn’t know what else to say. He’d made his best case. There was nothing more to add.

  “Then again, the king’s a whopper of a dung splat.” And with those words, Onslow drew the cart to a stop. “I don’t care to help him terrorise a good youngun like y’self.”

  The cart lurched as he hopped off. Then Elfbones felt his world move. The cart tipped up and the hay, along with Elfbones, tumbled from it. Now on the ground, the small hill of hay still concealed him. Elfbones awaited the tree-trunk sized arms of Onslow to pull him free. They did not.

  “Might be best you stay ‘ere buried for a few. Saw a couple royal guards ‘ere about as we got in,” said Onslow. “Wouldn’t wait too long, else you’ll be introduced to a pitchfork or two come time to load this all up.”

  Elfbones lay still and tried to figure out what was happening. There were people nearby. It sounded like many people. And there was a smell. He couldn’t place it - the sweet hay baffled his nose.

  “Must be off,” said Onslow. “All the best, young fella. Stay outta trouble.”

  Elfbones heard the cart trundle away. He was alone again and wondering how long it would be before the pitchforks came calling.