Sheriff Falshed of Welkin, a stoat, cursed every living thing and especially weasels. Sylver the outlaw and his bandits managed to escape justice again. Moreover, Falshed was wounded with their new invention – darts made of hardwood and sharpened bones. The wounds were actually light, but they did nothing to improve the Sheriff's mood.
He was going back to Castle Rayne and thinking just how enraged Prince Poynt would be. It depended on the monarch's mood. Hopefully Pompon had cheered him up since morning. But what if – what if?.. – the prince got angry at the jester and forbade him to appear in the throne room?
Only one person besides Pompon could influence Poynt, and it was Princess Sibiline. But, unlike her idiot of a brother, she clearly understood what was going on on Welkin, including Halfmoon Wood. There was practically no way of softening her. Perhaps Falshed could try assuring Sibiline that the outlaw weasels weren't much of a problem. The stoat princess could be quite careless, although less so than the prince.
Falshed was thinking about all that, and his wish to return to Castle Rayne was subsiding with every moment.
Though when he entered it after all and almost immediately bumped into the joyful prince, hope rose in him again. Poynt was in an excellent mood. Maybe everything would turn out alright.
"Falshed!" Poynt exclaimed. "How wonderful! We are just preparing to play chess. By the way, it was your servant Spinfer's idea. We are going to be the pieces ourselves! We're white and weasels are black.
"Er, Your Highness," Falshed began.
"Well? Which one for you – a bishop or a knight?"
"Your choice, prince... I wanted to say that... well... I failed to arrest Sylver. I chased him all over Elleswhere, but his group vanished in the thick Dusk Forest."
"Wha-at?" cringed the prince. "Why are you always spoiling my day?"
"I'm sorry. I will catch them, of course, I only need a larger group of soldiers..."
"You won't get one!" Poynt cried. Then he thought a little and gracefully added:
"In the nearest future. But now you will be neither a bishop nor a knight! You'll be a pawn!"
Falshed sighed desperately. As usual, the prince thinks of nothing but his foolish games. He'd better think of Lord Haukin of Elleswhere, who is almost certainly protecting that damned Sylver and his weasels. Or else they would have been caught much earlier...
"Fine, I'll be a pawn," the sheriff said aloud with obedience. "And you're the white king?"
"I change the piece's name to 'prince'", Poynt informed him. "You know very well that I'll never call myself King. Well, pawn, march to the throne room! The game will begin there!"
Poynt hurried away, choosing other chess pieces. The Sheriff went to the throne room. So he would have to play chess (according to Poynt's own rules), and his wounds wouldn't be treated until evening, and he wouldn't have time to think properly.
In the room there stood Princess Sibiline in an elegant white-and-yellow dress and Pompon in some old black shawl.
"Oh, good day, Sheriff," nodded Sibiline. "Have you heard about my brother's idea?"
"Yes," said Falshed. "He told be to be a pawn because I didn't catch Sylver."
"And I'm the white queen," said the princess. "Poynt said some gobbledygook about me not being fit for a queen. I made him sorry for it all right! And Pompon is the black king. So what about Sylver?"
Falshed told her about his failed campaign.
"Well, naturally, if three lazy stoats are sent against ten forest weasels, no other result could be expected," snorted Sibiline. "I think that ferrets should be sent to fight Sylver. They could do something. You know, for a change."
That moment, the prince rushed into the room, surrounded by courtiers and servants.
"Let's start!" he shouted excitedly. "We stand on the black and white tiles of the floor. In the beginning, the white are here, the black... er... the black..."
"In the kitchen," Pompon suggested.
"In the kitchen! Well done, Pompon! Alright, everyone goes to his place!"
Everybody knew what would happen now. For a few hours they would be running to and fro in the castle, then the prince would get tired and announce checkmate.
Falshed ran with everyone else for a while, trying to forget about his wounded paw. Although, Poynt unknowingly helped him when he cried:
"Hey, Falshed! You're making a mistake! Pawns' steps are tiny."
With tiny steps Falshed moved away from the widest hall. He went out to one of the balconies to wait there for the game to end.
The balcony was already occupied by Sibiline.
"I've got tired of it all too," she confessed when she saw Falshed. "If we play, we could at least play normal games! I've asked Poynt countless times to organize the game of Happy Families. No, he said."
The princess looked charming, in her White Queen costume, with her fur golden under the sun rays. Falshed thought that it was a suitable moment for him to bring out his old idea: to flirt with Sibiline and thus secure himself as a courtier. If Sibiline helped him, he would have all the chances at least to catch Sylver's band at last. And the princess – no one could doubt it – was good-looking.
Falshed took a deep breath and spoke:
"Thank you, Your Highness..." he stopped, remembering that Sibiline doesn't like the title. "Thank you, princess, for agreeing with my opinion about catching the Halfmoon Wood outlaws."
"It's nothing, Falshed," the stoat lady smiled.
"You're very kind."
"Fine, enough, tell me straight what's it that you want," ordered Sibiline. She wasn't the one to be tricked in such an easy way.
"I only want to remain here until Pompon gets his checkmate from your brother," Falshed replied quickly.
"If you please," Sibiline shrugged.
For a long time both remained silent. Sibiline looked down, and the Sheriff was thinking what to say next. His boldness could be fatal for him.
"Indeed, had it not been for the dreadful bone darts, I would have brought Sylver's head to you today," he complained for the second time.
"To me? Why do I need it?" laughed Sibiline.
"It's a custom to bring the enemy's head to the beautiful lady," said Falshed. "I know no beautiful ladies but you."
He tried to speak with feeling. But Sibiline seemed to ignore him, and the Sheriff continued:
"No stoat girl could compete with your beauty and loveliness, Sibiline."
The princess jumped up. Her black eyes gleamed dangerously.
"Well!" she said in an icy voice. "Sheriff, you are given many favors at court. But I see you're growing very impudent!"
That's my end, thought Falshed. Now she'll tell Poynt, and he'll be at least thrown out of Castle Rayne.
"Do you hear, Falshed? It's an unforgivable impertinence for a simple stoat like you!" repeated Sibiline.
"Forgive me," Falshed said with genuine guilt. "I understand, madame. I'm very sorry, and it won't happen again."
"Why not, after all?" thought the princess at that moment. "It had been in my head for quite a time. Almost every other stoat I know is a complete fool, like my dear brother. Sheriff Falshed is one of the few who do something. I've already started to feel old in this stuffy castle... And I'm not old," Sibiline glanced in her pocket mirror. "I'm a very young and, dare I say it, beautiful stoat. Well, if he's asking for it himself..."
Meanwhile, Falshed had already disappeared – as always in such awkward situations, he preferred to hide in the dark until the monarchs' rage cooled.
He sat in his room and waited for Spinfer to bring the salve for the wounds. Spinfer came and brought not only the salve and bandages, but also a sheet of paper.
"From the princess," he explained. "She said it was about a state affair of the highest importance."
Falshed took the sheet, his hands trembling. Luckily Spinfer couldn't read! The letter read:
It was stupid of you to start the tirade where everyone could her you. Come to my rooms after sunset. Poynt thinks I decided to spend the night in the garden. Your Sibiline.
Oh, and I can't promise anything about sending ferrets to Halfmoon Wood. My brother won't hear of his guards leaving the palace.
"What's it about?" asked the servant.
"I need to go to the nearest villages in the evening," Falshed said. "It is suspected that Sylver and his band are there."
"It's awful!" Spinfer was shocked. "How can they do it? Besides, it's suicide for them..."
The Sheriff listened to his servant's chatter and thought about the black-eyed beauty, her silky brown glossy fur... For the first time he allowed himself to dream about Prince Poynt's sister.