The Ogre of Oglefort

But it was no use. Mirella fought and argued and threw tantrums but one day she came back from a walk and found that the little dog was gone.

“We’re doing this for you,” said her parents. “So you can become a proper princess.”

It was then that Mirella realized just how helpless children really are.

When she was very unhappy, Mirella used to climb out of a window on the top floor of the palace and crawl along the battlements to a place where she could watch the clouds and the wheeling birds, and after a while she usually felt better.

The day after the little dog had gone, Mirella clambered onto the roof and lay there.

She had always found it easy to follow the birds with her eyes and feel as though she was one of them, but today, because she was so wretched, the feeling was so strong it overwhelmed her.

A seagull mewed and whirred over the chimneys, and the sun caught its dazzling plumage. A pair of terns in from the sea swooped so low that she could see the pupils of their eyes—and high among the clouds a kestrel was hovering.

And as she lay there, Mirella felt as though she, too, was winged and completely free—a white bird in a pale blue firmament, not thinking or worrying or afraid, just feeling the wind currents beneath her wings and flying on and away . . . on and on . . .

It was in so many of the stories, the magic birds who flew high above the earth, seeing the silly worries of people below dwindle away. The wild geese who carried the boy Nils on their backs across the whole of Sweden . . . the Great Roc who bore Sinbad away to the Valley of Diamonds . . . the swallow who took Thumbelina to Africa.

Except that if she were a bird she wouldn’t carry anyone in her claws. She would fly away higher and higher, as far as she could go—but alone. Always alone and free.

After an hour her old nurse became worried and the palace was searched and a page boy fetched her off the roof.

As soon as she saw the princess, the nurse began to scold.

“You know you’re not supposed to go up there. You’ll fall to your death gawping at those dratted birds. The way you carry on you’ll become a bird yourself one of these days.”

Mirella never really listened when her nurse started to scold, but now she said, “How could I? No one can become a bird.”

“Oh, can’t they just,” said the old woman. “There’s sorcerers and monsters enough in the north to turn people into worse than birds.”

“What sorcerers?” asked Mirella. “What monsters?”

But the nurse wouldn’t say any more—she had been forbidden to frighten Mirella with stories of what went on in the far north of the island.

“What sorcerers? What monsters?” repeated Mirella. “You’re making it all up.”

“I am not,” said the nurse angrily.

That was all she would say—but it was enough. All the next day and the day after, Mirella was very quiet and absentminded.

And on the third day, the servants found her bed empty—and not a trace of her in the length and breadth of the palace.

CHAPTER7THE JOURNEY

The small, black-painted boat sailed over the dark water. The old man in oilskins who steered it was grumpy and silent. Occasionally he looked at Ivo and shook his head.

They had reached the last stage of the journey. They had followed the Norns’ instructions and everything had gone as it should. The ferry had taken them to the most northern port in Ostland, and after a night in a boardinghouse by the quayside they made their way to Pier Number Three, where an old man in his clinker-built fishing coble seemed to be expecting them.

When they were clear of the harbor the old man began to mutter.

“You’d best say your prayers,” he said. “There’s some dangerous ogres along this strip of coast but the one where you’re going’s the worst. There’s no one comes out of that place the way they went in.”

Ivo knew he should be afraid. What they were trying to do wasn’t just dangerous—it was probably impossible—but the only thing he’d been afraid of all along was that the Hag would find a way of sending him back.

The north shore of Ostland is famous for its rough seas. As they came out of the shelter of the harbor the boat started pitching and tossing and first the Hag, then the troll turned green and leaned over the side, ready to be sick. From time to time bursts of spray came over the side but they were too wretched to care. Ivo and Dr. Brainsweller did not feel ill; they sat back in the stern, hypnotized by the rise and fall of the waves,

They had traveled for more than two hours when there was a sudden gasp from the wizard.

“L . . . look,” he stammered, clutching Ivo’s arm. “Up there! It’s Mother!”

And it was. High above the heaving boat there floated a long, pale face. A pair of rimless spectacles clung to its pointed nose—its lips moved and formed a single word.

“Bri-Bri?” said Mrs. Brainsweller above the noise of the wind, and vanished.

The wizard was terribly shaken.

“You did see her?” he asked. “I didn’t imagine it?”

And Ivo had to admit that he had indeed seen Mrs. Brainsweller’s worried face.