The Magic Tree
‘Where is he?’ the young woman declared, swinging the door to the Prince’s Foot open on a chilly autumn evening. Crisp leaves of red and gold swirled around her feet, caught up in the breeze. ‘Where is Manuel? I need to see him at once.’
It had been a quiet afternoon at the Prince’s Foot; only the regulars sat strung out along the bar. Heads down, focused on their ale.
‘And what would you want Manuel for, eh? He’s at home with his wife.’ Elora’s uncle, the owner of the pub, asked the woman. Now that she’d taken her hood down, Elora saw was no more than a girl. A thin and pale-looking one at that. The arms that poked out of her cloak were like those of a sparrow.
‘I must tell him that I love him so. Honesty is the best policy in matters of the heart. I’ll tell him that we’re soul mates, that there’ll never be a love like ours. He must feel the same way, there have been… signs. His wife, she doesn’t understand him the way I do.’
Elora’s uncle cast her a glance, and she poured the girl a cup of water.
‘Let me guess,’ she said to the girl who had now begun to wail so loudly for Manuel that some of the regulars were looking her way from rickety barstools. The Prince’s Foot saw all manner of chaos and catastrophes; it took something unusually loud to draw their attention from their ale. ‘You’ve been drinking with the Magic Tree.’
The girl, now searching the bar for Manuel, looking under tables and behind doors, didn’t hear her.
‘He’s not here, lass.’ Her uncle shouted, loud enough to cut through her frantic searching.
The girl righted herself and blinked at him.
‘This is what happens when you drink with the Magic Tree.’
At this she frowned. Elora knew that her uncle was right.
One of the regulars, Bald John, pulled out a stool and gestured for the girl to sit. ‘We’ve all been there,’ he told her. ‘If someone is here, about to make a fool of themselves, you can bet your life the Magic Tree told them to do it.’
The girl slid onto the stool, hiccupping but no longer crying, joining the line of men there. Elora went back to wiping the jugs behind the bar. Nothing in the tavern ever stayed clean.
‘But the tree is so beautiful,’ the girl said. ‘I’m Emmy by the way. And it really seemed to know what I was thinking. I do think I should tell Manuel how I feel, about how deeply I love him.’ She put a bony hand over her heart. ‘He saw me in the fields this last week, went past me on his horse, and he slowed and tipped his hat to me, and I just knew. The Tree said that it can happen. She said that sometimes you just know.’
Bald John laughed, but turned it into a cough when he saw that Emmy’s eyes were filling with tears again.
‘Manuel is happy with that bonny wife of his.’ He tried to say kindly. ‘The tree just likes to stir things up. Trust me, I should know.’ Bald John gestured to his shiny head.
‘What did she advise you?’ Emmy asked. Elora had heard this story many times before, she had schooled herself not to laugh.
‘Well, you see, she’s alright, through the day, like. Gives out some good advice. That’s why I thought I could trust her.’
Bald John took a drink.
‘But later on, when she’s had too much sap, she’ll say just about anything that’ll cause a ruckus. Told me I’d suit a perm.’ He ran a hand over his shiny head. ‘I didn’t.’
‘Wow, that is, that is really bad advice.’ Emmy said. At least she wasn’t crying anymore.
‘She told me I’d look good with a face tattoo. Said it would work well with my bone structure.’ Sammy, whose face was covered in thick swirling dark lines, leaned around Bald John. Elora knew that Sammy wouldn’t harm a fly, but to a stranger, with his menacing lines, he was quite frightening.
‘So you’re saying that the tree gives bad advice? What sort of a magic tree does that make it?’
‘One that makes you feel good about yourself for a short while. But if you listen to what she says, come the evening. She’ll ruin your life.’
‘She told me to be honest with my wife about the fact that I can’t stomach her pottage.’ Little Simon said. ‘Now, I sleep in the stables with the horses.’
Emmy laughed.
‘Advised me to try skinny dipping in the dead of winter. I got frostbite in some…uncomfortable places.’ Annie Rose added.
‘So you’re saying that I shouldn’t tell Manuel that I love him?’ She asked them all. As one, they shook their heads.
‘Magic or not, that tree gives terrible advice.’
The door to the Prince’s Foot opened once more, an old man, with a shock of white hair barged in. ‘Does anyone have a needle? I want to pierce my eyebrow, I think it’d really suit me.’ The man’s eyebrows were white and wispy. To Elora’s surprise, Emmy patted the empty stool next to her. ‘Sit down, friend. Let us tell you about the Magic Tree.’
The Magic Tree
‘Where is he?’ the young woman declared, swinging the door to the Prince’s Foot open on a chilly autumn evening. Crisp leaves of red and gold swirled around her feet, caught up in the breeze. ‘Where is Manuel? I need to see him at once.’
It had been a quiet afternoon at the Prince’s Foot; only the regulars sat strung out along the bar. Heads down, focused on their ale.
‘And what would you want Manuel for, eh? He’s at home with his wife.’ Elora’s uncle, the owner of the pub, asked the woman. Now that she’d taken her hood down, Elora saw was no more than a girl. A thin and pale-looking one at that. The arms that poked out of her cloak were like those of a sparrow.
‘I must tell him that I love him so. Honesty is the best policy in matters of the heart. I’ll tell him that we’re soul mates, that there’ll never be a love like ours. He must feel the same way, there have been… signs. His wife, she doesn’t understand him the way I do.’
Elora’s uncle cast her a glance, and she poured the girl a cup of water.
‘Let me guess,’ she said to the girl who had now begun to wail so loudly for Manuel that some of the regulars were looking her way from rickety barstools. The Prince’s Foot saw all manner of chaos and catastrophes; it took something unusually loud to draw their attention from their ale. ‘You’ve been drinking with the Magic Tree.’
The girl, now searching the bar for Manuel, looking under tables and behind doors, didn’t hear her.
‘He’s not here, lass.’ Her uncle shouted, loud enough to cut through her frantic searching.
The girl righted herself and blinked at him.
‘This is what happens when you drink with the Magic Tree.’
At this she frowned. Elora knew that her uncle was right.
One of the regulars, Bald John, pulled out a stool and gestured for the girl to sit. ‘We’ve all been there,’ he told her. ‘If someone is here, about to make a fool of themselves, you can bet your life the Magic Tree told them to do it.’
The girl slid onto the stool, hiccupping but no longer crying, joining the line of men there. Elora went back to wiping the jugs behind the bar. Nothing in the tavern ever stayed clean.
‘But the tree is so beautiful,’ the girl said. ‘I’m Emmy by the way. And it really seemed to know what I was thinking. I do think I should tell Manuel how I feel, about how deeply I love him.’ She put a bony hand over her heart. ‘He saw me in the fields this last week, went past me on his horse, and he slowed and tipped his hat to me, and I just knew. The Tree said that it can happen. She said that sometimes you just know.’
Bald John laughed, but turned it into a cough when he saw that Emmy’s eyes were filling with tears again.
‘Manuel is happy with that bonny wife of his.’ He tried to say kindly. ‘The tree just likes to stir things up. Trust me, I should know.’ Bald John gestured to his shiny head.
‘What did she advise you?’ Emmy asked. Elora had heard this story many times before, she had schooled herself not to laugh.
‘Well, you see, she’s alright, through the day, like. Gives out some good advice. That’s why I thought I could trust her.’ Bald John took a drink. ‘But later on, when she’s had too much sap, she’ll say just about anything that’ll cause a ruckus. Told me I’d suit a perm.’ He ran a hand over his shiny head. ‘I didn’t.’
‘Wow, that is, that is really bad advice.’ Emmy said. At least she wasn’t crying anymore.
‘She told me I’d look good with a face tattoo. Said it would work well with my bone structure.’ Sammy, whose face was covered in thick swirling dark lines, leaned around Bald John. Elora knew that Sammy wouldn’t harm a fly, but to a stranger, with his menacing lines, he was quite frightening.
‘So you’re saying that the tree gives bad advice? What sort of a magic tree does that make it?’
‘One that makes you feel good about yourself for a short while. But if you listen to what she says, come the evening. She’ll ruin your life.’
‘She told me to be honest with my wife about the fact that I can’t stomach her pottage.’ Little Simon said. ‘Now, I sleep in the stables with the horses.’
Emmy laughed.
‘Advised me to try skinny dipping in the dead of winter. I got frostbite in some…uncomfortable places.’ Annie Rose added.
‘So you’re saying that I shouldn’t tell Manuel that I love him?’ She asked them all. As one, they shook their heads.
‘Magic or not, that tree gives terrible advice.’
The door to the Prince’s Foot opened once more, an old man, with a shock of white hair barged in. ‘Does anyone have a needle? I want to pierce my eyebrow, I think it’d really suit me.’ The man’s eyebrows were white and wispy. To Elora’s surprise, Emmy patted the empty stool next to her. ‘Sit down, friend. Let us tell you about the Magic Tree.’