Emily Wilde's Compendium of Lost Tales (Emily Wilde, #3)(49)

Mona and her new husband knew they had to find the old Macan and kill him properly, for until they did, his curse could not be undone—his bitterness and hatred only fed the magic. Yet they could not work out where the old king was hiding; they found his blood upon the riverbank downstream, but after that he appeared to have slipped back into the river and drifted away. They began by questioning the servants, who were at first loath to be involved in the dispute, having love for neither of the Macans, the first being vain and stingy, the second bloodthirsty and rapacious. But, eventually, they convinced the man who prepared the king’s baths to talk. This servant informed them that Macan the First had a secret castle that he disappeared to when he wished to be alone with his books, for the old king was a great reader, though preoccupied primarily with histories of his family and race. This castle was smaller, and hidden by magic—the servant knew not where it was, but he said that whenever the old king returned thence, he had bees tangled in his hair, which the servant found drowned at the bottom of the bath.

Next, the conspirators questioned the kitchen hands. Finally, one of the servants that stocked the larder confessed that whenever Macan the First returned from his hideaway, he would bring with him a handful of snail’s head mushrooms to cook for his supper.

Mona and her new husband were certain they were close to tracking the old king down, but none of the other household servants could be convinced to speak with them. It was Mona who realized they had not yet questioned the gardeners. These Folk were as disinclined to cooperate as the rest, but one eventually directed them to a boggart[*2] who was living in a folly beside the vegetable patch. The boggart agreed to help, but on one condition: that he be allowed to take up residence in the castle, a request that Macan the First had long denied. To this the conspirators agreed without much thought, for the castle was large and had plenty of space for a boggart, who in any event spends most of its life asleep, like a cat.

The boggart then gave them the final clue they needed: long years ago, an age before Macan the First had married Mona, he had ordered a bridge built over a stream, which was now hidden by overgrowth. The boggart led the pair to this bridge, and once they crossed it they found a winding little path. This they followed, but still they would not have found Macan’s secret castle had they not noticed the patch of snail’s head mushrooms at the edge of the path and followed it into the forest. And still they might have missed the castle had they not seen an immense tangle of honeysuckle filled with drowsy, overfed bees, for once they pushed their way through the vines they found King Macan’s other castle.

Macan the Second told his bride to await him outside, and then he went into the castle and slew Macan the First without a great deal of trouble, for the man was weak from his injuries and the effort of maintaining the curse.

As soon as his life’s blood finally ran dry, the river waters subsided and the castle stopped its ominous shaking, and all who slept within its beds dreamed of gentler things, or as gentle as they had dreamed before. And that is how Macan the Second lifted the curse upon his kingdom.

But, alas—once Macan the Second exited the castle, he was swarmed by the bees, who had formed a friendship with Macan the First. Macan the Second was stung so many times that he died of the venom later that night.

After the death of the Macans, the boggart took up residence in the castle, as was his right under his bargain with Macan the Second. It is doubtful, though, that the man had guessed the boggart’s true aim; boggarts are cunning and cruel, which the old Macan had known well. There being no claimants for the title of King Macan left alive, an event the boggart had doubtless foreseen, he declared himself the owner of the name as well as the castle. Mona continued to reside there with him, fuming over her misfortunes, but after a few years had passed her practical nature reasserted itself, and she agreed to the boggart’s offer of marriage. She and King Macan the Third lived together in relative harmony through the passage of two ages in the world of mortals, and had many children, each more unsettling than the last, for they were half boggart and half human, an unfortunate combination.

This is as much as we have been able to piece together. The story grows entirely fragmentary beyond this point, seeming to turn its attention to the deeds of one of the halfblood children, who likely will be made to suffer for her parents’ sins in some way—I see hints of that familiar pattern. But this is the material concatenation of events, and it is what I will bring to Wendell.

I know how to find the queen.

SKIP NOTES

*1 An ancient faerie custom first documented among the pine dryads of Greece in the early 1700s. While many Folk marry in elaborate ceremonies, not unlike mortals, some of the older tales depict such unions occurring via a simple declaration of mutual regard.

*2 While originating in Scotland, boggarts are the ultimate wanderers and have appeared in faerie stories throughout the British Isles and France, and in several disputed tales from Spain. Yet, as is to be expected with the Folk, they are also full of contradictions; once a boggart has found a home it likes, it rarely stirs therefrom, and many stories depict the bodiless creatures as bound to crumbling ruins, either unwilling or unable to part from their homes.





12th January




I had the most unexpected conversation with Farris this morning. I am grateful to have this time on the train, which bears me back towards County Leane and the cottage where Lilja and Margret are residing, to mull it over. At present I am unsure what to make of it.