On his way back to the throne room, Steven stopped off to pay his taxes. When he reached the throne room, he was informed that the monarch was in the middle of a royal bath, and could not be disturbed. Since he had already completed the day's tasks, Steven decided to inquire how else he might be of service, at which point he was informed that The Beast needed to be fed.
The Pit Beast was feared by all, and justly so, for it was the Devourer of the Incredibly Wicked, Consumer of the Excessively Lawless, Gulper of the Unspeakably Useless, and All Around Eater of Anyone Lord Spaulding Decided to do Away With.
Town criers were frequently thrown into The Pit for being too noisy at too early an hour, yet this did not seem to at all discourage them from doing both of these things, leading some to suspect that town criers actually craved death.
Steven had ever avoided the Judgment Zone. He was uncomfortable with the stocks and The Pit itself, but more than anything he was appalled by the way his fellow villagers invariably acted, eagerly throwing perfectly good eggs and tomatoes at whoever happened to be locked up for whatever reason, and gleesomely celebrating the demise of anyone unfortunate enough to be cast into The Pit.
But now, at the indirect behest of his monarch, it was there that he went, with much reluctance. Considering what he had just witnessed in the forest, he was mightily relieved not to have to go hunting in the forest for food. On the other hand, he was unhappy to be losing one of his two sizable chunks of bear meat as he was most definitely looking forward to having something besides gruel for dinner.
One of the perks of being a knight was that he was permitted to go hunting in the forest now, rather than having to buy his meat from the village. In fact, it would be among his duties to hunt semi-regularly from now on, and many peasants and commoners would be depending on his haul for their food. Making sure the people had food was a lot of responsibility, but far less intimidating to him than the witch in the forest, or The Beast in The Pit.
Preferring to lose his bear meat rather than take chances with his life with the witch in the forest or Lord Spaulding's wrath by failing to fulfill all tasks he was given, Steven summoned all of his courage to step out onto the plank hanging over the blackened abyss in which dwelled The Beast.
Shaking slightly, he held the hunk of meat out as far as he could, trying not to smell the foul and nauseating stench of The Pit as he did so, and hoping he didn't look too delicious. He then involuntarily dropped the meat as a hideous rumble and a soul-shattering roar foretold the arrival of The Beast, which slewed out of The Pit, snatching the meat in its maw, before thrashing around a bit, and then snapping back into the dark with a noisy belch.
Later on, Steven would remember its unusually constructed mouth, and its bright blue coloration, but in the moment he knew only sheer terror at sight of the creature, and then a profound relief that it had taken the offering of meat in place of a human victim.
A few bystanders applauded, so Steven took a bow. As he did so, he noticed that Lord Spaulding was actually out in the town square, speaking to a pale woman with red hair. Steven thought she appeared vaguely familiar, but because of the distance he was not at first certain where he had seen her. He decided not to interrupt, and instead made his way back to the Throne Room to await the return of Lord Spaulding.
While he was waiting, it struck him that the woman in the square looked an awful lot like the witch in the forest! It had been dark in there, and the horror of the moment had distracted him, but now he'd hit on it, he was more than certain it was the same woman.
Little more than an hour later, Lord Spaulding had returned, though he seemed preoccupied, and did not notice Steven waiting for him.
"My Lord," Steven spoke as Lord Spaulding made as if to leave again.
"Yes, what is it?" Lord Spaulding asked impatiently, "I'm rather busy now, got to choose a woman to be the mother of my child, you know."
"I'm sure that's a difficult choice to make, My Lord," Steven said, "But I have seen something in the forest that might perhaps be a bit more important."
"What could possibly be more important than furnishing the kingdom with an heir, and my bed with a woman?" Lord Spaulding wanted to know.
"Sire, there is a witch in the kingdom. I saw her in the forest today, and you were talking to her in town," Steven answered.
"Nonsense," Lord Spaulding declared, "How could she have been in the forest if she was in town?"
Astonished at the way this conversation was going, and the overwhelming lack of concern being exuded by His Majesty at the announcement of a witch in the forest, Steven fumbled for words.
"I saw her earlier," Steven explained, "You were talking with her later."
"Then how could you be sure it was the same woman?" Lord Spaulding asked.
This was a question Steven had been unprepared to answer. The suggestion that a different locale made it impossible to be sure you'd seen someone before was, he felt, a ridiculous one. And yet... and yet, he did not wish to argue with his monarch.
"She had the same red hair, and-"
"Red hair doesn't make one a witch," Lord Spaulding interrupted, "Why, you have red hair and I haven't accused you of being a witch lately, have I?"
"My hair is brown, My Lord," Steven protested gently.
"Not if I say it's red, it isn't," Lord Spaulding replied reasonably, "And anyway, she can't be a witch. In fact, I just might make her my wife."
"Sire!" Steven yelped in horror, unable to stop himself.
"Oh go bother one of the guards," Lord Spaulding said with a dismissive wave of his hand, "I need to go test which of my potential wives is the most amusing by having her tell me a joke."
Steven, open mouthed and speechless, watched Lord Spaulding stalk out of the castle and down the hill to the town square. He wasn't sure which was more incomprehensible, that Lord Spaulding didn't seem concerned about a witch, or that he thought skill at joke telling was the most important ability to measure in a potential mate.
"The only witch I've seen must've been Minstrel Rhianwen, because she's put a spell on my heart!" declared a guard by the name of Rupert, "I think I'm in love!"
"Yes, it seems that everyone is," Steven mused, then persisted, "What if I describe her to you? Do you think you could remember if I told you what she looked like?"
"The only woman I remember is my Rhianwen," sighed Rupert, at which point he began to sing, "I love Rhianwen with the deep black hair. Carried like fog through the-" he broke off suddenly, "No, that doesn't sound very good, does it?"
"Perhaps you had best leave the song writing to the Bard, and concern yourself with the safety of the kingdom... Rupert!" Steven scolded, for Rupert's attention was straying towards a bowl of pigeon soup that someone had left unguarded at a nearby table, "There is a witch within our borders! Doesn't that concern you at all?"
"Hmm?" Rupert roused himself from his daydreaming of Rhianwen and also his desire for a mid-afternoon snack, "What concerns me?"
Steven had known Rupert for some time. Back when they'd met, they had been just a couple of useless drunks in the tavern. Several drunken brawls later, they had become friends watching a beautiful young lady with talent but no skill attempt to belt out show stopping numbers. Rupert had seemed mightily sane then, and even successful when he'd finally been hired on as a guard. And of course no one could fault him for his infatuation with the beautiful and charming Minstrel Rhianwen.
But the knight was in charge of the guards, their supervisor, manager and trainer. If the guards screwed up, Sir Steven would be held responsible for it. Quite suddenly, Rupert's lovesick puppy act, his eye that wandered constantly in search of his next meal, and his tendency towards drunkenness were not so endearing nor even vaguely tolerable, even if drinking was his excuse to frequently visit the tavern, which was the abode of his lady love.
"Pay attention!" Steven commanded, but Rupert did not seem ready to respect this, so he tried pleading, "Rupert, please."
"Oh alright," Rupert groaned, as if he'd been asked to undertake something truly arduous, rather than merely answering the question, "Describe her to me."
"She's very pale," Steven began.
"That's nothing. So is Lord Spaulding," Rupert replied.
"Stop interrupting!" Steven snapped, his patience by now worn almost razor thin.
He could not argue with his monarch, who must always have the final word, but the flippancy of the royal guards, Sir Steven realized suddenly, was something he not only did not have to take, but which he would be well-advised to put a stop to, if they were ever going to take his leadership seriously. And they must do that, because otherwise Steven could not adequately perform his duties as knight and keep the kingdom safe from harm.
He continued where he'd left off, "She has red hair."
"So do you," Rupert ventured.
"I do not!" Steven had had about all he could take, "Now, either I finish my description, or I thrash you all across the floor of this tavern!"
This made Rupert sit up and take notice. The stocky, blue-eyed blond was no slouch in a fight, but he and Steven had certainly brawled and sparred enough times over the years for them to know just which of them the victor would be. The possibility of being shamefully beaten right in front of the lovely lady for whom he pined was too horrific for contemplation.
"Red hair, you say?" Rupert queried in contrite tone.
"Yes," Steven said, satisfied that he at last had seized Rupert's attention for good this time, "And red eyes, and red lips too. And her dress... well, it was kind of... dark leather, I think, and with swirls of red. High collar too, and a spear-like head adornment of some kind."
He cringed inwardly, expecting some kind of remark, such as, 'What? Like a unicorn?'
But instead, Rupert looked vaguely thoughtful, and nodded, seemingly almost to himself, "Yes, I do remember seeing someone like that in the town square. But surely you must also have seen her? You were out feeding The Beast at the time. I remember because Minstrel Rhianwen was providing a dramatic background accompaniment on her lute."
Steven blinked in surprise. Was that true? He had not paid attention at the time. He wondered if the applause had been for Minstrel Rhianwen's engaging tune, rather than his own daring feat. That thought was a bit of a blow to his pride, but it did seem the most likely scenario.
"Anyway, why ask if you already know the answer?" Rupert persisted.
"I..." Steven struggled for an answer, and found one, "Lord Spaulding told me to ask guards if they had also seen the witch. He... he doubted the voracity of my statement."
"Well," Rupert said with a shrug, "He did hire you sight unseen. You've got to expect him to doubt you a little. He doesn't know you."
"I suppose that's true," Steven agreed, unwilling to rehash the complete illogic he'd been faced with in trying to convince his Lord of the threat, "And he is considering marrying her after all, so I suppose it would feel awkward to court her while believing she's a witch."
"I imagine it would," Rupert replied, but it was clear he felt his part in the matter was concluded and he had no further interest, as he continued, "Do you think Minstrel Rhianwen would notice me if I were a better fighter?"
Steven didn't think Minstrel Rhianwen would notice Rupert if his hair were on fire. But that's not what he said. No reason to demoralize the man by crushing his fantasy.
"I suppose I could teach you a few new moves and we could see," Steven said, then considered the complaint manifesting in his empty stomach, "But not right now. Perhaps tomorrow, when I have more time."
"Sounds good," Rupert said absently, as he slid down the bar to snatch up a bowl of onion soup someone left untended.
"And try doing your job sometime," Steven called after him, "Work can be very rewarding, you know."
Shaking his head in bemusement, Steven got up and headed home. It was a long upward climb to get back to the tower where he lived, but Steven didn't mind. The uphill climb only reminded him of how far he'd come just to get where he was, and how far he still had to go to make Freedonia a safe place to live and raise families such as everyone from the lowliest guard, like Rupert, to the monarch, Lord Spaulding himself, wanted to.
But when he reached home, a nasty surprise lay in store: The witch had discovered his awareness of her, found where he lived, and now stood waiting for him in his own home.
"What are you doing here?" Steven demanded of the witch.
"Waiting for you," the witch replied sweetly, "Because it is clear to me that you and I have gotten off on the wrong foot."
"Which foot would that be?" Steven asked, "The one where I saw you arranging bodies for some sort of evil ritual?"
"Dear, Sir Knight," the witch spoke the title laughingly, "You misunderstand. That was no evil ritual. That was merely me laying the foundation for my hut in the woods."
"That's not better," Steven pointed out.
"Look," she snapped, losing any pretense of friendliness and putting a delicate hand on her hip, "A witch has got to eat, just like everybody else. But at least I don't go around murdering innocent creatures and tearing harmless plants out of the ground to get my meals. At least I confine the suffering to humans, who can hardly be considered innocent or harmless."
Appalled as he was by the witch's declaration, Steven couldn't quite shake off the idea that there was sense to the argument. He shook himself angrily, realizing the witch had been trying to work some sort of mind manipulation on him with her words. Her eyes narrowed angrily when she saw it was not working, and that this knight would not be swayed so easily as others.
"Like it or not," the witch spat, her expression ugly, "I, Witch Celeste, am going to build my hut in the forest, into which I shall begin luring children, and I shall also be marrying Freedonia's monarch, further securing my position. In the end, your kingdom will fall prey to my desires, and there is nothing you, a mere knight, can do to stop it."
"We'll see about that," Steven countered gamely.
Though she had seemed by far the most terrifying thing he had ever dreamed of when he'd encountered her only that morning, Steven's fear of the witch was tempered by recent contact with something far more terrible, The Pit Beast. The Witch Celeste's power paled in comparison with that of The Beast, and Steven knew it. He had fed The Beast with his own two hands not more than a few hours ago, and it seemed as if fighting a witch could not possibly be any more difficult. It was an irrational feeling, but Steven clung to it, for fear his courage should crumble if he did not.
"Yes..." purred the Witch Celeste, her blood-red eyes narrowing, "... we shall."
With that, she turned on her heel and marched out of the barracks, calling something about receiving a "Royal Embrace" from His Majesty, Lord Spaulding the Great, leaving Steven to glare after her in helpless rage. After all, they both knew he could not simply kill her here in the castle. Not without being sent to The Pit for slaying one of his Lord's potential lovers. For the moment, he had no choice but to bide his time. To that end, he decided to fix some dinner. Perhaps a nice steaming bowl of hot bear soup would help take the edge off his nerves.
It didn't really, but it sure tasted better than gruel anyway.
After dinner, Steven spent an hour idly sharpening his sword. He didn't know why he was doing that, since it had already been sharpened before he went out into the forest that morning. But it seemed like the thing to do, and he couldn't think of a good reason not to. Then, for much the same reason, he stalked out to the training yard, and spent some time whacking the most offensive looking training dummy in the yard with his freshly sharpened sword, giving vent to the day's frustrations.
Then, considering how late it was, he decided that he should go home and sleep for the night.
Unfortunately, sleeping proved to be something easier said than done. Steven spent a restless night, tossing and turning, questioning how he could have handled the day's events more effectively, and wondering what he should -or even could- do next.