Page 42 of Disenchanted

Sage gave him a short, sharp elbow to the ribs. She had been resistant to using her own magic in any capacity since her one very necessary compromise of the concealment spell against the coven. But with that enchantment in place, a life-or-death matter was probably a good reason to drain her system and flex her finger, even if it was for an unbearable, cheating buffoon.

“Fine,” she said reluctantly. “But if he ever, ever dares to con us out of points again, I won’t be held responsible for my actions.”

Sage threw out her left hand and sent a simple but sparkling displacement spell to hold back the flow of the stream that had swallowed Patrick, temporarily dropping the water level to the depth of a puddle. Hardly enough to make a dent in the magical landscape, she reasoned, given everything else that had unfolded around the town. With a gurgle like a drained bathtub, the water disappeared. Patrick collapsed in muddy exhaustion. For a short while, he didn’t move.

“Pat…? You all right?” Casimir called, craning over the stream to get a closer look. Patrick startled, as though he may have in fact fallen asleep behind his knight’s helmet after all of the effort to stay afloat. Sage concluded that he was truly the most hopeless, insufferable man that she had ever encountered. Patrick sprang to his feet—or at least tried to, buckling under the weight of his armour and stumbling forwards in their direction. Sage managed to throw her hand out in time to catch his before he fell flat on his face and bashed his head. With Casimir hoisting his bottom half up by the waist, they yanked him as hard as they could onto the riverbank.

“Unhand me, miserable hag!” Patrick clambered to his feet and drew his sword, pointing it directly at Sage’s chest. Her mouth fell open. The audacity of this man.

“Oi!” Casimir shouted and stepped in front of her, reaching for his own sword to bash Patrick’s out of the way with a clang. Sage wasn’t entirely sure that was the formal way of handling a duel, but it did the job.

“Excuse me, you oik,” Sage yelled from behind Casimir. “I just saved you from drowning! Don’t you know what happens to stupid men who are lured to their deaths by mermaids? And who do you think you’re calling a hag?”

“Well, you are, aren’t you?” Patrick faltered for just a moment, straightening himself up awkwardly with a metallic rattle from head to toe. “You’re the witch.”

Sage recoiled. It was so jarring to hear someone she knew spell it out in black and white. Everything that she had been fighting against and hiding her whole life.

But, she supposed, there wasn’t a lot of point in pretending otherwise. Maybe the revelation carried a lot less weight when everything and everyone was calmly encased in magic. In fairy-tale circumstances such as these, the existence of the witch was actually widely accepted by everyone in the town. “Yes, I suppose that’s correct,” she said, straight-faced. Oddly liberating.

“Right…Exactly…” Patrick hesitated. “And aren’t you miserable? You certainly look it whenever I see you around.”

“He’s got a point there,” Casimir said.

Sage shrugged defensively. “It’s just my natural resting face. And not all the time—only when people are thoroughly annoying to me.”

Patrick pointed. “Aha! Such an answer would never be delivered from a fair maiden. A damsel of good honour and a righteous heart has patience for all; she would never admit to such a darkened soul. Good women are always ready to present a smile to lighten the darkest of days!”

“Oh, shut up.” Sage scowled. “You don’t know anything about my darkened soul. You’re the berk who didn’t recognize a siren call for what it was.”

“She’s right. It’s not very chivalric of you,” Casimir laughed. “Given the whole knighthood thing, aren’t you supposed to be fair and true, not chasing after mermaids?”

“He’s neither of those things in a pub quiz; he’s not going to be either of them for the realm.”

“I couldn’t help it,” Patrick whined. “They were…They were really pretty! Their voices…And their hair was doing a nice, swishy thing in the water. Before I knew it, they’d pulled me in, and I couldn’t stay afloat in my suit.”

“Pathetic,” Sage sneered, enjoying the tragic, soggy sight of him. “What were you even doing parading around in full armour before you were distracted by the seashell bras and shiny tails?”

“Good question, Specs. And do we know where said mermaids went, Pat, just out of curiosity?” Casimir asked. “You know, for thorough research purposes, more than anything. It would be good to get to know them, find out what makes them tick. And if they are interested in a drink with m—”

Sage gave him a well-earned shove.

“I was on my way to the dell,” Patrick said, straightening up to puff out his chest. “ ’Tis my duty to vanquish the monster that lies within.”

Great. Sage thumbed her brow and clenched her jaw. “Monster, Patrick? Care to tell us any more than that?”

“It’s actually Sir Gamble of the Port’s Tower, if you don’t mind.”

Casimir snorted. “Only if you call me ‘baby.’ ”

Patrick stamped his foot with a loud clash of metal from his suit of armour. “You heathens mock the sanctity of knighthood! I shall have no further part in these childish guffaws.” He pushed between them to get past, starting a determined robotic walk in the direction of the dell.

Sage sighed. “We’re going to have to follow him, aren’t we?”

Casimir nodded miserably. “Plenty of great characters around, but we are seriously short of villains thus far. It’s not improbable that there is indeed some form of monster present, given the way everything else is unfolding. Could even be the giant from your garden if we’re really unfortunate.”

“Giant might be one of the more favourable options, considering the possible alternatives. Bloodthirsty evil queens? Malevolent tricksters? Dragons?” Sage said, summoning the strength. “Come on, then. Better be ready; unsheathe your sword.”

“Steady on, Specs. At least take me for dinner first.”