Gold For Duck

The Queen laid her staff on the ground near the fire. She leaned over the body, whispering recklessly and spatting incidentally into the ear. When she was done, she rose intentionally and fixed her headdress and jewels. Her nurse helped adjust her hair and brushed the ashes from her shoulders.

“Keep still and listen!” she commanded and looked out of the corner of her eyes, her tongue searching molars for a clue.

Madress, the nurse, spoke quickly and surely, “There is no ghost. You must leave now. The dogs will be coming and you must have heart if we are to make the storm.” She picked up the staff and offered it to the Queen.

The Queen looked through Madress to the stone wall, where moss and lichen crawled down the rocks as ivy crawled up. The hole in the wall exposed dark trees and a green liquid – an unnatural amalgam of earth and plant.

The sky pulsed with contention, on one side violent, with patches of steel blue turning indigo in the dusk. She took the staff and strode coarsely through the hole, stopping midway, “I will call for you when I reach the band.” She turned back and looked at Madress to read her face. “I will expect you to ride. It will turn the tide and quiet the storm.”

With that, she lifted the staff into the hole and parted the dark liquid, which engulfed behind her, leaving her clothes and jewels in a pile on the dirt. Madress picked them up and quickly put them on, replacing her traditional smock with the majestic garb. She could see in the reflection of the dark liquid that they suited her. She was much more beautiful than the Queen. She put her smock into the fire and the flames leapt in commemoration.

From the edge of the wood, there came a sound – a sniffing and rustling of leaves. Madress clicked her teeth and the dog came submissively forth, habitually licking the air and showing its teeth. It sat by her feet, looking up to its master.

Madress began collecting the misplaced stones and replacing them in their former abode. The dog puked a sticky, black phlegm that she used as mortar. The stones fit absolutely and when the moss and vines were replaced, no one would suspect that this was the spot. Never would one believe that the most potent and grand Geolith in all the valley was in the back alley of a busy market, frequented regularly by the King’s chef to trade gold for duck and silver for wine.