The Ogre of Oglefort

It was hard to move toward them, but the rescuers forced themselves up to the grating and looked down.

Attached to the groping hands were people—a man and a woman, no longer young. Their faces were turned upward, and when they saw the rescuers their moans became louder and more pitiful.

“When?” they cried. “When will our time come?”

“We must know.”

“You must tell him.”

The Hag’s kind face was filled with pity. Ivo knelt down, peering into the dungeon which held the prisoners. Ulf was trying to pry open the grating, shaking it with his strong hands.

But before they could go to the help of the prisoners, they heard a noise which rooted them to the ground. It was a scream—a bloodcurdling, hair-raising scream from inside the castle. And it sounded as though it came from someone young.

The rescuers turned and ran toward the noise. They raced up a winding stone staircase, along a corridor, and found themselves in the Great Hall of the castle. And there, incredibly, they saw exactly what the Norns had shown them on their screen.

A gigantic ogre with bloodstained teeth and glittering eyes was standing in front of the fireplace. He was roaring with rage; spittle came from his mouth and his enormous hairy fists were clenched, ready to shake or throttle the person who was kneeling before him—a young girl with long dark hair and pleading eyes.

“Please,” she implored. “Please, oh please . . .”

But the slavering beast who loomed over her showed no mercy. He brushed away a cockroach that had crawled out of his ear and raised an arm the size of a tree trunk.

“No!” he roared. “Be silent. Your pleas are useless.” And he reached for his nail-studded club.

In the doorway the rescuers froze in horror. The Norns must have foreseen the future; the dreadful danger to the kneeling girl, her anguished pleas. This was the moment they had shown on the screen—the instant before the girl was destroyed.

They waited no longer. Ivo raised his sword; the troll grasped his rowanwood staff; the wizard mumbled his spells—and they rushed forward.

“Stop!” they cried. “Stop at once! Let go of the princess!”

The ogre turned and saw them. And then an extraordinary thing happened. Over the monster’s hideous face there spread a look of relief . . . of utter happiness. He dropped his club.

“Thank goodness you’ve come,” he said. “It’s a miracle! A minute later and I’d have been done for.”

And he sank back onto a claw-footed sofa and closed his eyes.

Ivo blinked and put down his sword. The troll lowered his staff. Everyone was completely bewildered.

“We’ve come to rescue the Princess Mirella,” Ivo said, looking down at the cowering figure, still on her knees.

And they waited for the grateful girl to rise and come toward them.

Mirella got to her feet. She took a deep breath—and then she let them have it.

“How dare you come in here and interrupt? How dare you try to rescue me? I’ve been working on that wretched ogre for days, trying to make him do what I want—and just when I might be getting there, you come barging in.”

She stood on the bearskin rug and glared at them. Then she took the poker from the fire stand. “If you come any closer I’ll hit you,” she said as the rescuers stood and stared at her. “I suppose my mother sent you. Well don’t come near me, that’s all . . . or you’ll be sorry.”

And she flounced out of the room and slammed the door.

The ogre had been lying limply on the sofa. Now he looked up.

“You’ll have to take over,” he said. “I absolutely can’t go on and you can tell them so. I’m feeling very faint. And keep that dreadful girl away from me.”

And he slumped back onto the cushions with a weary groan.

CHAPTER8GRIEF IN THE PALACE

At first no one at the palace could believe that Mir-ella had gone. They were sure she was playing a trick on them, hiding somewhere close by, and they searched in all sorts of ridiculous places. Inside chests of drawers, or behind curtains or in cooking pots. They called and whistled and begged and entreated her to come out from wherever she was, and her mother even offered to bring Squinter back if only Mirella stopped teasing them.

When this didn’t work a proper hunt began. The police were called and scoured every inch of the palace grounds and went into every house in Waterfield, and the army was sent out to hunt in the surrounding countryside. The sound of bloodhounds baying could be heard all through the night, the schoolchildren were told to pray and sing hymns, and people wept openly in the streets.

At first her parents had thought it might be a kidnap attempt, and they waited every moment of every day for a ransom note but none came.

“She can’t possibly have run away,” said her mother. “Not when she had everything a girl could want.”

So had she met with some dreadful accident? Wells and rivers were searched, the lifeguards put out to sea, the Boy Scouts looked in potholes and caves—but still day followed day and there was no sign of the princess.