Broad continues: the Castles -- conclusion

The seat of the Bupleurum counts was less fortified than the castles of Briar, Brandyburg and Thunderhall. Its central position led it to rely on its neighbours for defence. Any invaders from outside would have to besiege and defeat one or more of the great fighting castles before they could pose a theat to Bupleurum. If they succeeded in that, the chances were good that they would defeat Bupleurum as well, however many resources were expended on making it defensible. So, the counts had always argued, “Why bother?”

Similarly, if any one of Briar, Brandyburg or Thunderhall threatened the independence of Bupleurum, the other two would immediately come to the aid of the count – none of them would be able to bear the idea that one of their rivals might double in size and resources simply through annexing Bupleurum County.

Thus the counts had built over the centuries a great sprawling palace, with thick walls, small exterior doors, and no windows on the ground floor. They avoided a tendency to gloom by constructing a series of open, airy courtyards. Unfortunately succeeding counts added rooms and wings at random, abandoning those constructed by their predecessors, so that much of the interior was derelict (exterior walls were generally repaired).

The hill on which the palace stood was of the rolling rather than the craggy kind, not particularly defensible. The elevation served merely to make the palace even more imposing, and give its inhabitants a better view.

Villagers with visions of grandeur suggested that their whole village, or even the whole population of the county might move in. Those who knew the palace, who had worked as servants to the royals or minor officials in the court, vetoed that idea as entirely impractical. The place was a tumble-down warren with haphazard plumbing. Kitchens were so far from dining rooms that the food arrived cold if it arrived at all – all to often the servitors got lost on the way, and took days to find their way back. The stables were up-wind of the living quarters. The main tower shook and rattled on a windy day; who could guess what damage it would do if it fell?

A number of responsible groups expressed interest in the palace, but all withdrew after seeing inside. Outlaws and troublemakers of various kinds were reconnoitring; though often enough they got lost inside the castle and if they found a way out, were happy to leave the area alone. Still, there were a few bandits who had the wit to explore the castle as they would a maze – trailing string behind to mark their way. And as that idea spread, local ne’erdowells were getting bolder. It was so unfair! The Brandyburgers and Thunderhallians had made excellent deals with less auspicious properties, while the county, the only one with a real palace, seemed doomed to have to tear it down.

At the meeting to discuss preparations for demolition, a new group appeared. The villagers could now recognize dryads and naiads, and the raven was easy, but who were the others? Human children? Nature spirits of an as yet unknown kind?

“We are were-humans,” they told the villagers. “Bupleurum Hill belongs to us. It was stolen from us many generations ago. We want it back.”

“Were-humans? And what might your other form be, then?” the herb-woman asked.

The little people giggled and twitched, and finally one of them answered, “Rabbits.”

“Rabbits,” said the herb-woman thoughtfully. “Rabbits. Now there was a group of bandits here the other day, and they said the palace belonged to them – said their leader was descended from a lady who was good friends with the Third Count, who died without proper heirs, and the Fourth Count was a usurper, so it should be given back to them. We’ve heard several stories like that. How are we to tell that your claim is any better than the lies we are hearing from those outlaws?”

“The name,” said a rabbit girl, “Bupleurum means ‘hares-foot’.”

“Now that you mention it, that does sound familiar,” said the herb-woman. “It belonged to hares in the old days?”

“No,” said the rabbit-girl, “to us rabbits.” She sighed. “Some of us like to pretend to be hares, more dignified, you know. And some of us thought that Hares-foot Hill sounded a lot better than Rabbit-foot Hill, so that’s the name we gave it. But really we were just rabbits.”

“Well, that’s as may be,” said the herb-woman. “But we are not looking particularly to give the place back to the original owners. We want someone who will make good use of it, add to the prosperity of the county, and someone who can defend it, so troublemakers don’t move in. Can you do that?”

The rabbit-people giggled and twitched, and the rabbit-girl said, “We can, we and our friends.” She looked at the naiads and dryads; they nodded encouragingly. “We’ll open a spa. People will come to bathe in the healing springs, when we get rid of the laundry the counts built over them. And we’ll have mud baths and resting in willow-groves and bird-song and lovely scents to breath and salads to eat. People will come; people will pay us for a lovely day or a lovely week. And they will spend money in the villages too, so you will be more prosperous because of us.”

“People don’t bath in mud,” objected the dray-man, “pigs bath in mud. Pigs won’t pay much.”

“Don’t mind him,” said the baker; “whether people will pay for those things, you’d have to find out. But defence – how would you defend your hill? You didn’t do too well last time – you lost it to the counts.”

“Rabbits defend!” scoffed the dray-man, “a few hawks and crazy weasels find out that you’re there, and feast-time! All you’ll have left to run your spa will be ghosts!”

The rabbit girl grew pink around the ears. “It’s true we lost the hill, through treachery most foul. But then we were alone. Now we have friends who can defend us.” She pointed to the raven. The dryads and naiads nodded.

The dray-man laughed. “Let me wring its neck for you, just so you see what kind of defence your friend there is!” He snatched for the raven.

The raven muttered something. The dray-man stopped in mid snatch, overbalanced and toppled to the ground. Several villagers gathered around him. He was strangely rigid; he was hardly breathing.

“Our raven friends,” said the rabbit-girl, “are the Nevermore Ravens. Maybe I should have introduced the one who came with us, Neville Nevermore.”

“My mother told me stories about the Nevermore Ravens,” said the herb-woman; “she heard them from Aunt Nellie when she was a child. In the stories, Nevermore magic was very powerful.” She looked at Neville. “Can you reverse it? Can you unstiffen him? Put him back the way he was?”

“He intended to murder me,” Neville pointed out.

“He always was a fool,” said the herb-woman. “Could you let him up, and put a spell that he won’t touch a raven again, Nevermore? If you could add a spell against beating horses, that would be good, too.”

“And you people are still interested in taking over Bupleurum?” asked the baker. “The more I think about your spa idea, the better I like it. I might even try myself . . . you’ll give a special discount to folks from the county?”

And that, dear Grandmamma, was the beginning of the famous Bupleurum Spa! You must try it, when next you visit this plane, they even have a mud pool big enough for dragons. I went, once. My friends sent me when I was in the middle of bar exams. I think it may have been the way I kept on muttering about wanting to flame the entire law society and toast marshmallows over their bones... Too much studying just is not good for my temper. They were right, though. A couple of days at Bupleurum and I felt like a new dragon.

Not, of course, most esteemed mater-familias, that I think you have any anger management problems. Rather I was hoping that you might find relaxation in allowing others to care for you, since so often the weight of caring for the fates of several worlds rests on your capable, and elegant, shoulders.

As always, with greatest love and respect,

Yours, Toby