PART IV: Subtle Inquiries

Midwinter's day a mere fortnight away, the castle resembled a bustling, anxiety ridden hive of stinging ants. The wedding preparations progressed speedily, unstoppable like the very worst of winter storms, and nobody, least of all the wedding planner himself, seemed to be overly concerned that there was still the small matter of nonexistent groom. After sixty-three tedious, horrid or plain absurd dinners, the queen was no closer to finding a suitable consort than when she had started the formidable endeavor. Secretly, the counselors were beginning to think that their most beloved Majesty was, well, a bit finicky. How hard could it be to find a suitable consort among the very best the kingdom had to offer? After all, no one expected the queen to find true love.

However, no one but the very few knew that there were more worries in the queen's mind than finding someone to marry before the planned ceremony and before Duke Hammond and Lady Sonia managed to bludgeon each other to death. One matter above all was in Snow's mind, day and night: Eric was still a wolf and showed no signs of changing back into his human form. Every morning she woke, hopeful again, just to be disappointed as hundred pounds of warm, panting wolf leaped to her lap. Patiently waiting for the change to occur spontaneously had ceased to be an option weeks ago; since then Snow had tried everything she could think of to break the spell.

Snow had raided the most forgotten corners of the castle's cavernous library for musty, nearly illegible tomes on sorcery and legends to the consternation of the teetering, muttering librarians. After several evenings and nights spent reading faded texts and looking at old pictures (that were sometimes very disturbing and surprisingly often quite explicit), she had only got a few farfetched ideas that she nonetheless tried. Rolling in hay, naked, under the full moon and howling like a wolf didn't work. Circling the wolf, all the while cursing in four languages and brandishing a bunch of fir twigs also proved ineffective. So did kissing the wolf (thrice). Snow declined to try the fourth piece of advice which instructed to skin the wolf and to bury the bloody skin of the animal – after first wearing it for a fortnight. Eric was undoubtedly relieved.

Not all knowledge can be found in books however. Therefore Snow had sent the Captain of the Queen's Guard to the villages near and far to make subtle inquiries, without his uniform, just the queen's seal as proof of the sovereigns approval should he need it. If one asked the Captain himself, being discreet was his middle name, so the queen's task posed him no difficulty. Moreover, he had always wanted to be a secret agent, a spy in the shadows. His careful inquiries went something like this: Hypothetically, if one would need the help of a magically talented individual – a witch for example – or someone who knows something of, let' say animal transformation or how to break one especially, where could one find this person? All of this is of course just hypothetical. And I most certainly don't work for her Majesty. Whatever gave you that idea? Alas, the discreet questions yielded no promising answers, just the usual offers of guaranteed boil removal and love potions.

At the end of her tether, Snow was starting to truly fear that her best friend would be cursed to be a wolf forever. And although there were some, who, if they had knowledge of the situation, would have smirked and remarked that the wolf wasn't that big of a change from the man, Snow still felt the Huntsman's loss more keenly each passing day.

-o-

Duke Hammond was trying very hard not to show the queen how vexed he really was. Her Majesty trusted the Duke to manage the royal wedding preparations, and he most certainly was not going to disappoint her. Not even when certain individuals were ready to sabotage him at every turn and sent their spies and charlatans to spread chaos among the Duke's highly competent and experienced staff. The last ploy had only been revealed that very morning; somehow someone had managed to order almost a hundred pigeons (he had counted) and half a dozen swans in the Duke's name. The mess had been incredible. And that was before the queen's wolf (Einar? Edgar?) had decided to have a feast.

The Duke took pride that the queen had absolute confidence in his skills as a wedding planner; no one could claim he wasn't held in high repute. However, Duke Hammond had noted that Her Excellency had seemed a little distracted of late, a little half-hearted as she listened to the weekly reports of how the wedding preparations were progressing. It seemed impossible – he didn't even want to contemplate it – but maybe those devious demon spawns had finally succeeded and their dastardly plans had cast some doubt in to the queen's heart.

No, it was impossible. Her Majesty would not fall for such obvious tricks. But – it was true that the queen looked quite downcast. She was sitting on the settee, her fingers absently petting the wolf, hardly listening to Duke Hammond as he assured her that despite small problems, the wedding preparations were on schedule. It's the freaking birds, the Duke thought despairingly. Birds are never anything but trouble.

"Your Highness," the Duke continued hesitantly, "I can assure that despite some…recent troubles, the preparations are progressing splendidly. I myself am overseeing everything personally and I take full responsibility – nothing will go a miss on The Big Day."

"Oh, I'm sure of it," the queen said, but to the Duke's worry she didn't sound very convinced. The wolf yawned, baring its huge, sharp teeth. There were still a few feathers stuck to its fur.

The Duke tried to suppress his wince. The beast unnerved him; always its oddly blue eyes followed him intently, and there was almost humanlike intelligence and malice in its gaze. One time, the Duke could have sworn that the wolf had rolled its eyes. But there were no escaping the wolf, if one wanted to have an audience with the queen, for the beast seemed to be always at her side. Still, it could have been worse; Duke Hammond remembered King Lucas' ferrets quite well, and he still bore a scar on his left thumb from one of them. He always told the curious that it was an old battle wound – and it was, in a way.

"Was that all?" The queen asked, sounding more eager than before. The Duke felt heartened. Maybe the queen had just been feeling a little under the weather. The usual winter flu afflicted quite many castle residents and had made Lord Budgy bedridden.

"No, Your Majesty," Duke Hammond said, gathering courage. "There is still a few matters…like the small thing with the…with the birds."

"Ah, the birds," Queen Snow grimaced. "I'm sorry, if it disrupted your plans. That was terribly done –" The queen turned to look at the wolf. "Bad wolf!" The beast grinned and seemed very pleased with itself. "You're a very bad wolf Er – Earnest, that was not funny." But the queen didn't sound very upset or angry.

"No disruption!" The Duke was quick to assure the queen. "The mess has already been cleaned. And I most certainly did not order the birds – there are not going to be any birds on Your Highness' wedding – this was an obvious ploy by those infernal plotters."

"Then what is the matter?"

"Those saboteurs must be punished!" Duke Hammond squawked. He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. His pulse always rose when he thought about Gherkin and his hellish bride. "It's just not the birds, Your Majesty. There is also the spying and the bribery; that woman has tried everything to get the royal tailors to make her the dress they have designed for you. And some of the orders for wedding decorations were quite inexplicably lost. Not to mention the whole wedding menu debacle." The Duke was full of righteous indignation. "And somehow the wedding invitations vanished from my chambers – I know they took them!"

The wolf flashed its sharp teeth. It looked like the animal was laughing.

"I'm not sure what you want me to do, Duke Hammond," the queen said. "There is very little proof, and all in all these things are not very serious."

"But Your Highness! They are trying to sabotage your wedding!" The Duke exclaimed, appalled. "Surely they can be named enemies of the kingdom?"

"I…I understand your concern and I appreciate the effort and time you have spent in planning the wedding." The queen's voice was firm and kind. "You have always been a trusted friend and I know you have this kingdom's best interest in your heart. You are a man of integrity, so let others play their silly games – accusing them would not be right. And it would only take away attention from the wedding." Queen Snow smiled and the Duke felt himself agreeing. Of course she was right. But there was one thing he had to correct.

"My Queen, it's true that I will always think of what is best for this kingdom," the Duke confessed. "But I also have Your Majesty's best interest in my heart. I hope you know that. I'll always want what is best for you." He meant that. She was his late King's and friend's daughter; she was his Queen.

The wolf snorted, somehow managing to convey disgust and disbelief. It's only an animal, the Duke reminded himself, but still turned red from mortification.

"Oh, be quiet Edbert," the queen retorted and rose from the settee. She came to stand before the Duke and took his hand.

"I feel very honored and grateful," she said smiling; her gentle smile made his heart soften. Duke Hammond had always thought that if he had been blessed with a daughter, he would have wanted her to be like Snow. He wanted to say that to her, but the words stuck in his throat. He only managed to give a low bow as he croaked, "My Queen."

"Now, was there still something else than the birds?" The queen's eyes were twinkling with mirth.

"Nothing of importance," the Duke conceded. "Just the seating arrangements…where to place Baron Beaver and other problematic guests."

"Baron Beaver?" The queen asked, an odd note to her voice.

"Yes, he still has the unfortunate habit of scrunching his teeth. Rather distracting to those sitting next to him."

"Baron Beaver! Of course!" The queen seemed enthused; she twirled around to face the wolf and then again towards the Duke. "I have yet to have dinner with him, isn't he on the list?"

"Well…" the Duke hesitated. "He is…that is…we felt that giving his experience as a…beaver, we felt that he is perhaps not the best candidate for…"

"I'll have dinner with him – tonight," the queen said.

"Really?" The Duke sputtered. "I mean…surely there are others…"

"I'll have dinner with him tonight, if the Baron is agreeable to it." There was steel in the queen's voice.

"Of course," the Duke was quick to agree. "I'll arrange it." Duke Hammond resigned himself to the task, already imagining the consternation of his fellow counselors. Baron Beaver would most certainly agree to have dinner with the queen – who would not? And if the queen had set her eye on the Beaver…how could the Duke disagree?

"Splendid!" The queen said, her mood changed utterly from the listless misery of before.

"I'll arrange it at once," the Duke promised, bowing to leave. The queen's elated countenance affected his own mood; he felt somehow lighter than he had in days. Duke Hammond turned to go, but then halted, remembering the other unsolved matter. "Just one thing, Your Highness. Is the Huntsman going to attend the wedding? And if so, where can we send the invitation?" The Huntsman hadn't been seen for months and no one seemed to know where he had gone.

"Oh, he most certainly is going to attend," the queen said, grinning almost madly. "I'm going to make sure of it."

-o-

Eric lay in front of the hearth, his legs sprawled every which way. He looked relaxed and sleepy, almost harmless, like a big lazy dog. That, however, was a deadly misconception. The wolf was alert and ready to spring into action at the smallest sign; although his eyes were half-closed, the two people sitting at the dining table were perfectly in the wolf's field of vision. His ears tensed as he listened intently, and sometimes he couldn't help but grimace, as the grinding and scrunching of teeth sounded even more loud and annoying to the wolf's sensitive ears than to the inferior human sense of hearing.

As he had promised, Duke Hammond had arranged a dinner for Queen Snow and Baron Beaver. Normally Eric, who had had to watch as the queen had dined with some stuck-up moron – sixty-three times –, would have protested yet another dinner that was sure to raise his hackles and lead into screams and some moderate violence. (Those bites hadn't really been bites – the puncture marks had hardly bled at all!) However, this dinner was different from the others for three reasons. Firstly, it was vastly more entertaining to watch Baron Beaver grind his food with his huge front teeth, his small nose twitching, than to monitor some jerk trying to woo Snow. Secondly, it was hilarious to see as the queen tried to very subtly and carefully inquire about Baron Beaver's transformation into a beaver, only to fail time and time again as the poor man was too oblivious and dense to take the hint. Thirdly, it was clear that this time Snow was only trying to dig up information and not trying to find a barely tolerable husband.

"Baron Beav – Barmel, I have always been interested in the unusual and the supernatural," Snow was saying, a slight pleading note in her voice. The Baron nodded his head and continued eating. Snow sighed and tried a more direct approach, asking, "Has anything unusual ever happened to you?"

The Baron paused mid-bite, his small beady eyes looking reflectively into the distance. His nose twitched. "Hmm, I can't think of anything. I'm sorry Your Majesty, but exiting things hardly ever happen to me," he said very earnestly.

Eric snorted and scratched his belly, ignoring Snow's murderous glare. He was nicely warm and still quite full from his unexpected breakfast feast. The wolf grinned hugely as he remembered Duke Hammond's appalled face. It had been worth it, even if the birds hadn't been meant for the blasted wedding; the ensuing chaos and mess had still given the Duke's army of wedding planners and makers a pause. Eric recalled other incidents with satisfaction – stealing the wedding invitations had been a particular masterstroke and he was immensely proud of himself for executing it without any opposable thumbs. Duke Gherkin and Lady Sonia had gotten the blame for that, but it didn't bother the Huntsman – the pair had done plenty of other good mischief, for which he wholly intended to reward them.

"Nothing exceptional has ever happened to you Baron?" Snow sounded incredulous. "Surely that cannot be true."

"My Queen, I'm afraid I am just an ordinary man and I lead a common life," the Baron gave a little laugh, abashed. His enormous front teeth glinted in the firelight.

Eric yawned, stretched his hind legs and rolled over, seeking a more comfortable position. He hadn't been this entertained in a long while.

"Egmont!" Snow snapped, her small foot prodding the wolf's side quite sharply. "Could you enjoy this little less?" Eric grinned, unrepentant. The Baron looked from wolf to queen and back again, confused.

"The beast is a menace," the queen griped, gripping her fork and staring at her untouched dinner darkly. "And to think of all the trouble I go for him…I should just leave him like that." Snow raised her glistening eyes and stared at Eric, fierce. "How would you like that – Erastus?"

Eric yawned again lazily, closing his eyes.

"Unbelievable!" The fork hit the wall with a loud bang. "Eric! You haven't been of any help at all, it's like you don't want – I've had enough of this!"

"Oh, is that the Huntsman?" The Baron wondered, amazed but strangely accepting. "What a marvelous transformation!"

Both the queen and the wolf swiveled to look at the Baron, who blushed. "That is the Huntsman, isn't it?" Baron Beaver fidgeted on his seat, wringing his napkin. "I wondered before…Forgive me, Your Highness, if I am being terribly impertinent."

"Not at all!" Snow was quick to retort, hastening to add, "In fact, I have been meaning to ask you…that is, you are right, the wolf is Eric and I need to know –" Breathless, the queen stopped herself short, visibly composing herself. Eric stood up, heart hammering. Suddenly the fire in the hearth was too hot and the air in the room too thick. The restless nature of the wolf, which Eric had been battling against for weeks, was almost overwhelming; he needed fresh air, open skies, wilderness. He wanted to go hunting.

"Baron Barmel, everything I say, I say in the strictest confidence," Snow sounded serious and authoritative; every inch the steadfast queen she could be.

"Of course, of course," the Baron was frantically nodding, his eyes alight with curiosity and joy. "I swear on my life, on my mother's life, that I won't breathe a word of this to anyone. Not even on pain of death!"

"Well, I doubt it will come to that." The small glimmer of humor on Snow's face was lost too soon. To Eric, she looked far too serious and rigid when she said, "The Huntsman was transformed into a wolf almost three months ago. I have no idea how that happened and he hasn't exactly been forthcoming for obvious reasons. I have searched for a way to break the spell – nothing has worked." Snow looked intently at the Baron, her focus absolute. "What I want to know is how you were changed back, when you were a beaver? How did you manage to end the spell?"

Eric stood beside the hearth like a statue, unmoving except the small tremble that shook his frame. He wanted to hear the answer, and yet – he didn't want to hear it.

"Well, Your Majesty, I don't…it's difficult to explain," the Baron said, evasive.

"Surely you can tell me what you did to end the transformation." Snow's voice was hard as nails, but Eric knew her well enough to hear the frustration and desperation simmering just underneath the surface.

"That's just it," the Baron confessed. "I didn't really do anything. One day, I just didn't want to be a beaver anymore. I think that when I finally wanted to be human badly enough, I turned back. I just had to really want it."

The ensuing silence was oppressive and uncomfortable. The Baron fidgeted, clearly nervous, and ventured to say, "I'm sorry, Your Highness, that I can't be of more help."

"No." Snow stood up suddenly, the dishes on the table clattering. "You have been a great help. Excuse me; I'll have to cut our dinner short." Without waiting for the Baron's reply, she strode out of the room.

For few agonizing seconds Eric was unusually hesitant, still petrified to his spot. Then, as if a great fog had lifted, his mind cleared and he realized that Snow had gone and he scrambled to follow, leaving Baron Beaver staring at his half-eaten dinner – lamb stew with vegetables and a side dish of freshly baked bread – very confused indeed.

-o-

Author's note: No birds were harmed during the writing of this story.