At around three in the morning, he woke almost as much from ancient habit as anything. In days past Steven and Rupert had regularly gone to the tavern at this time to listen to a song performed on stage by Minstrel Rhianwen in the tavern. It was a difficult habit to break, as Steven was accustomed to being shaken rudely into wakefulness, or else having a bucket of water (or worse) poured over his head by Rupert, who insisted in those days that he could not go without a wing-man
Those days were gone now. For one, Steven had better things to do than follow his friends into the tavern. For another, Rupert had recently declared Steven much too good looking for a wing-man, asserting that the reason the lovely Rhianwen never favored him with a glance was because she was distracted by his too-handsome companion, Steven. The exclusion suited Steven fine, but it didn't improve his sleep pattern any.
Weary and bleary eyed but unable to return to sleep, Steven stumbled out of bed. For lack of anything better to do, he decided to wander out and see what might be going on in the rest of the castle.
Surprisingly, the Throne Room and its adjoining rooms were active even at this strange hour.
The Royal Adviser and the Build Master were of course around, and seemed deeply absorbed in discussions of military strategy. There were guards around, though they were doing less guarding and more playing cards, reading, and periodically applauding some especially clever battle maneuver suggested by the Royal Adviser.
Steven found himself particularly drawn towards a guard named Rhona, who was seated in the throne room, reading aloud to Lord Spaulding's Sunset Macaw, Birbsy. Birbsy offered a chirping commentary that did not seem terribly related to the book Rhona was reading to him.
"Have you no duties to attend to?" Steven inquired of Rhona.
Snapping to attention at his words and laying aside her book, Rhona stammered, "N-no, Sir Steven. Y-you see... well... um... I'm one of the women Lord Spaulding is considering for his wife. Until he has made his decision, I have orders to make myself available at any time of day or night, and... well... it... uh... it seemed like..." she trailed off, blushing.
Steven's eyebrows had climbed as she babbled, but he made them come back down as he spoke in a voice of understanding, "I see. What better place to await the monarch's decision than his Throne Room? And what better way to curry favor than to entertain one of the royal flock?"
Rhona nodded, "Exactly, Sir Steven," then she paled, "Oh, but I don't mean to misuse my position in order to gain advantage. It's just that... that..."
"You feel you should press every advantage to get what you want," Steven replied, adding thoughtfully, "And you do... want to marry His Majesty, don't you?"
"I-I... I guess I do," Rhona admitted, "At first, I'll admit, I wasn't terribly interested. I feel awful about that. I mean, after all he is our monarch. But... well... he lives as if in poverty. But... he's so kind, and gentle. And he's got a wonderful sense of humor. And... well... now I know where he puts his money," she lowered her voice conspiratorially, "You see... all of us potential wives... we've seen his bedroom. And the bed he has... oh it's just to die for!"
This was a great deal more than Steven wanted to know. However, he realized that the guard Rhona might just be able to provide him with some help concerning the witch. If she could woo Lord Spaulding, perhaps His Majesty would be more open to considering that Celeste was truly a witch. Moreover, Rhona might be able to provide a distraction for Lord Spaulding. If so, then perhaps Steven might be able to lure the witch out into the forest, and put a stop to her evil... maybe, just maybe...
"Well, carry on then," Steven said approvingly, "I'm sure you'd make Lord Spaulding a wonderful wife," he hurriedly added, "If that's really what you want."
"Oh," Rhona exclaimed, surprised and delighted that her boss was not going to rebuke her for shirking her duties in order to curry favor with His Majesty, "Oh it is! It is! Thank you, Sir Steven!"
No, Rhona, Steven thought to himself, Thank you.
The question of how to lure a witch into a forest was not one Steven had ever found himself trying to contemplate. However, nobody else seemed to realize the witch was a threat, or if they did they couldn't be bothered to deal with her themselves. Steven was the knight of the realm, quite literally, and that made it his duty to try and rid the kingdom of this threat... or else die trying. It was a duty he had understood from the start, though he had not expected the true test of his dedication to Freedonia to come so soon.
His first thought was to talk with her and try to convince her that he was interested in some kind of apprenticeship, or that he knew where some rare herbs were in the forest. His second thought, because he wanted to go hunting before he got peckish again, was to strike up a conversation about food and ask her to bring her best soup recipe to him, pretending that he had guard duty at the forest entrance or something. But the obviously fatal flaw in all of those plans was that she didn't like him, and knew that he didn't like her. There was no way that she would buy that he was trying to be nice to her. Not unless she was foolish, which Steven didn't think she was.
After chewing the problem over for a couple of hours, Steven found he was able to go back to sleep.
Steven woke up late, and realized he had to lay the witch problem aside for the moment as he had certain duties to perform. Witch or no witch, the duties of the knight could not go undone.
The day's orders, written in the hand of Lord Spaulding, informed him that Royal Adviser Greta was looking for someone to practice military strategy with (though it was really more like practicing it ON someone, for she seemed to take fiendish delight in treating the other party like an opponent in a game and gleefully smiting them). Her usual partner in this was Build Master Krispin, but it seemed that a Kingball Court was under construction and required the Build Master's supervision today, leaving the Royal Adviser short a victim... er, strategizing partner.
The second order of the day was to deal with an Aarbyville pirate who had been singing particularly noisily on the beach at night. Lord Spaulding had warned him to cease and desist, but the singing had continued unabated. Lord Spaulding declared himself too busy with writing a love letter to the woman of his choice to take time out to sic Firefly the Falcon on the pirate, so he was delegating the task to Sir Steven. Since Steven did not have a falcon, he was being asked to have a brawl with the pirate to hopefully set the man straight.
It seemed to Steven that these tasks were trivial at best, but he knew there was a stiff penalty in the kingdom for not getting things done in a timely manner. Even the monarch subjected himself to this stringent, No-Excessive-Shirking policy. Or perhaps it was the will of the Watcher. Steven wasn't particularly religious, though he did respect the imposing aspect of the newly constructed Jacoban Church. In any case, anyone caught excessively shirking (as defined in The Unwritten Laws to which everyone was subject) was put in the stocks, or possibly even The Pit, depending on how lenient whoever had instituted the policy was feeling that day.
Since he was already in the castle, Steven decided to see if Royal Adviser Greta was available. The Royal Adviser was a tall, angular woman with sharp features and sharper tongue. Her long gray hair was relentlessly straight, and her every physical move was one of stiff formality.
The moment Steven entered the throne room, Greta stuck her head through the door to the right that entered into the study and hissed, "Sir Steven! Get in here!"
Feeling vaguely threatened by her tone, Steven nonetheless obeyed the command.
"What do you know about Advorton?" Greta demanded.
"Well, I-" Before Steven had fairly opened his mouth to answer the question, she interrupted.
"Never mind that!" Greta exclaimed, "We'll probably just annex them by poisoning their champion or something."
This seemed unjust to Steven, but moreover it sounded exceedingly unlikely, being as the kingdom's spy -the only one in the kingdom with useful knowledge of poisons- had fiercely announced that she would not come out of the bushes until she was paid a fair wage and given adequate living quarters. Since no one could find her, no one could force her to cooperate without first meeting her demands.
"Tredony? Do you like it?" Greta inquired snappishly.
"I-" he didn't get to finish.
"Never mind! They're full of worthless gems anyway," Greta continued, her next series of questions rapidly fired as if they were a single sentence, "What about Aarbyville? What about Effenmont? What about boiling an egg in oil and putting that in wine?"
Steven found himself unprepared to answer any of them.
Fortunately, he didn't have to, for Greta interrupted before he could think of anything for her to interrupt, "Never mind! Get out your model horses, we're playing Risk!"
Half convinced she would shout 'never mind' before he should retrieve the models that were used for visual reference on the strategy table during military discussions, Steven was moderately surprised that he was able to set up both sets of models before Greta spoke again.
"You are the dark pieces, representing puny and repulsive invading forces," she explained, "I will maneuver the light pieces, which represent our own magnificent and unconquerable nation."
"Alright," Steven said, agreeably going to the side of the table where the dark pieces were arranged, "Now what?"
He'd never actually looked at a strategy table and he had no idea what he was meant to do with the pieces he'd put on it. He wasn't even sure what all the various models meant, and he wasn't at all clear on how to read a map either, because he'd never seen one up close.
"Well, since it's before noon, the invading forces will be trying to come in from the mountains," Greta said, though she made no attempt to clarify which of the squiggly lines and colors on the map represented mountains, leaving Steven to guess.
"Forgive my ignorance," Steven said cautiously, "But which territories lie in that direction?"
"Oh, probably Yacothia or something," Greta replied with an airy wave of her hand, "It doesn't matter. What matters is making sure they do not breach the castle wall."
Steven figured that made sense for reasons he didn't yet comprehend.
"Now," Greta said, "Put your horses in the ocean and we'll get started."
Steven blinked, "I thought you said the invading forces were coming from the mountains?"
"You can't take horses over the mountains!" Greta objected, "That's what elephants are for!"
"But you said-" Steven's sentence was interrupted by Greta suddenly lunging across the table at him.
For a moment, Steven thought she was trying to attack him, but then he realized that she was actually trying to give him a smooch, which he felt was almost as bad. In fact, it was worse, since he didn't really know how to react to romantic advances. Bar brawls he knew how to deal with, but this was something he was unprepared for. Thus he flinched away and put his hands up to block the advance. Greta looked offended, but slid back off the table onto the floor.
She looked at the table, and said, "Oh, too bad; looks like your point man fell into the whirlpool and was lost forever."
Steven looked at the table, and saw one of the models had been knocked aside in Greta's attempt to kiss him. It had landed in a swirl of dark blue in the middle of what Steven presumed was the ocean. Then he noticed that was one of the light pieces.
"I thought the light pieces were Freedonia," Steven said.
"They are," Greta quickly answered, explaining, "But that particular piece is the obligatory racial diversity for the dark forces," she reached across the table and snatched the corresponding dark piece, "Which makes this the racial diversity piece for the forces of good and righteousness."
"I don't think I understand military strategy," Steven admitted, feeling rather disheartened.
Nothing about this exercise had made any sense at all to him so far. A part of his duties as knight involved strategizing, and preparing to defend Freedonia from possible attack. But he didn't get all these little pieces. Freedonia didn't even have horses, so why were over half the models horses? What did racial diversity have to do with fending off invaders? And how did one just accidentally lose soldiers in a dangerous section of ocean that was completely avoidable, especially when they were supposed to be invading over the mountains? And how were they supposed to invade over the mountains by coming in from the ocean anyway? He also couldn't figure out what significance, if any, kissing had in the context of warfare.
Unhappily, he realized that if he couldn't even grasp these supposedly simple concepts, he couldn't possibly hope to outsmart and defeat a full-blown witch.
Figuring he couldn't get anywhere without asking questions, Steven tried again, "Couldn't a landlocked territory make a deal with their neighbor, allowing them passage to reach the ocean?"
"Is royal custard delicious?" Greta asked.
Steven just looked at her. He had no idea what she was talking about.
"The answer is yes, obviously," Greta told him, and made another attempt to kiss him, this time coming around the side of the table to do it.
Steven again repelled her, causing her to bump into the table and knock one of the dark horse pieces off the board.
"Oh no, a hurricane seems to be decimating your forces," Greta sighed, returning to her side of the table, "I guess that means I'm winning. Would you like to surrender?"
"I can do that?" Steven asked.
"Of course," Greta replied with a sly smile and coy fluttering of eyelashes, "You can always surrender to superior forces. The real question isn't if you can surrender. The real question is, are you willing to accede to the victor's demands?"
For the first time since he'd entered the room, Steven felt like he understood something. In the case of Witch Celeste, she wanted to destroy Freedonia. Steven could surrender and simply let that happen, or he could resist. But, as demonstrated by the way Steven kept losing pieces every time he resisted Greta's romantic overtures, resistance could come with a cost of its own.
"I will not surrender," Steven decided.
It was perhaps the only clear decision he made for the next two hours. Greta kept throwing out rules and then "suddenly remembering" exceptions to those rules. Steven kept losing pieces without really understanding how he'd lost them. Even when they started over, Steven still floundered. Later, it would come to him that Greta actually changed the rules on him several times, but during the session it was all he could do to try and keep all the information in his head.
Inevitably, Greta beat him relentlessly several times in a row, with each victory loudly declaring, "Hail! Hail, Freedonia, Land of the Brave and Free!" while triumphantly waving her piece maneuvering stick in the air.
And so the morning passed.