In a Weary World

Chapter XXIII: The First Challenge

Author's Note: I've decided to take part in Camp NaNoWriMo this April, so this story will take a backseat again, unfortunately. It won't be put on hiatus, but updates will be slower (not that updates ever have been fast or regular...).

I'll tell you the truth and it's up to you to live with it. -- William Goldman, The Princess Bride

"Why were you sliding down the stairs anyway?" Hjalmar demanded once he stopped complaining about how his ribs were most likely broken.

"I was bored," Solvej said defensively.

Hjalmar shut his eyes. His mouth moved silently. Solvej got the impression he was either praying for patience or counting to ten.

"I was bored, too," he said, opening his eyes, "but I dealt with it by going for a walk, not by wrecking the palace!"

"We didn't wreck the palace," Solvej objected. "We didn't even scratch the stairs. I made sure of it. If you hadn't walked in then, nothing would have gone wrong." She paused, suddenly remembering something. "Why did you walk in? I'd have thought you'd be at dinner."

Hjalmar took the ice-pack away from his eye and set it on the table Solvej used as her study-desk. "I met Rigmor. Or... whatever that thing is."

Solvej sat up straight in her chair. So, the parasite was now wandering around the palace? That was alarming. "What did it do?"

"Nothing, really. She just asked why I trusted you and didn't seem to understand that when I backed away from her it meant I didn't want to be near her."

"The Magician's creations as a rule have difficulty understanding that." So did the Magician himself, come to think of it. Must be a family trait. "It didn't try to attack you?"

Hjalmar frowned thoughtfully. "No, but I didn't stay around long enough for her to try."

That was probably the best way of dealing with the Magician's plots, Solvej mused. "Well, the deadline is tomorrow. We can give her the answer then, and the first part of this ordeal will be over. Let's just hope she stays away from everyone until then."

~~~~

Hjalmar tossed and turned for most of the night. His chest and arms were bruised from his collision with Solvej earlier, and when he took a deep breath he felt a dull pain in his chest. Part of him wondered if he should be worried about that. The rest of him was too busy worrying about the morning.

Is this what condemned criminals feel like? he wondered as he pulled his quilt over his head.

A minute later he tossed it back again. He tried lying on his left side. Then he turned to his right. He lay on his back and then on his stomach.

It's strange but true that the harder someone tries to fall asleep, the harder they will find it to fall asleep. Hjalmar tried lying with his eyes closed. He tried counting sheep. He tried pushing his pillow and quilt aside, but changed his mind after a minute of shivering with the cold.

The sky had turned from black to grey when he finally fell asleep. It felt like mere minutes later that the bells rang for seven o'clock.

It was a very sleepy, grumpy Hjalmar who made his way down to breakfast that morning.

"You look awful," Solvej said when she saw him.

"Thank you," Hjalmar said sourly. "Pass the coffee."

He had scarcely poured himself a cup of coffee when the door opened. It didn't fly open, nor was it opened roughly. In fact he didn't even notice it had opened until Solvej froze, her eyes fixed on something behind him.