Peter & Max - Bill Willingham [70]
“Croak,” the toad said.
Max ignored it.
“Dinner’s almost ready,” the toad said next, which Max couldn’t ignore.
All of a sudden, Max realized where he was. This must be the strange girl’s house, and he turned away from the cottage, determined to be on his way again, despite the cold and rain. But before he’d made more than a few steps, the lion-faced door opened to reveal the dark girl standing in the threshold, silhouetted by warm and inviting yellow light.
“I was beginning to worry you hadn’t received my invitation,” she said, to Max’s retreating back.
“Huh?” Max said, turning to face her.
“Won’t you come out of the rain?” she said, stepping to one side, to wave him in. “Fafnir was right. Your supper’s almost done.”
“My supper?”
“Yes.”
“For me?”
“Exactly so, though I hazard there might be enough for me as well.”
Max stood in the wet yard, staring at her, mouth agape.
“If you can’t conclude whether or not you’re hungry, you might as well debate the matter in here, where you can at least get warm and dry while you decide.”
After another moment, Max shrugged and entered the cottage.
“Welcome to my home, Max,” she said, as he passed over her hearth.
“How do you know my name?” He stopped again, ready to bolt away.
“A simple working. You don’t change your name often enough to hide it from one such as I.”
DINNER CONSISTED OF PLUM PUDDING, a mountain of green peas, and a score of plump stuffed baby quail, baked into a flaky pie. Then there were buttered new potatoes and a dripping red roast, which the truly lovely girl invited Max to carve at as often as he liked. There were brown rolls just out of the oven to dip into the gravy or sop up the meat drippings. After all of that, there were fine cakes and golden mugs of beer, which, in the years before, Max had only been allowed to try once in a great while, on special occasions. But the girl, who would never speak her true name no matter how often Max asked, allowed him to drink as much beer as he liked. “I’m the Black Forest,” she’d said once, in reply to his oft-repeated question, but that answer only confused him all the more.
“Are you married?” Max said, after taking a long draft of beer to wash down a mouthful of cake.
“Never,” she said.
“I could marry you,” he said, in a calculated offhand manner, as though he were willing to do her a favor in return for her kindness. He reasoned that he could do a lot worse than wedding a girl this young and pretty, who was also enthusiastic about feeding him. “I’m a man grown now and at an age when I should begin to think of such things.”
“And perhaps we can talk about that someday, Max, but not just yet. You’ve so much to do for me first.”
“Like what?” He began to look suspicious.
“Before all else, before you even take your revenge against your younger brother, for his sins against you, you will first become the instrument of my revenge against those who’ve so gravely insulted me today. You’ll punish those three knights of the road, and all of their comrades in arms, and perhaps even the entire Hamelin Town, which they claim to rule. That’s why I summoned you here tonight.”
“How did you know about my brother?”
“I discerned ever so much about you when I first saw you in the woods. Your hatred and desire was a beautiful fire in the rain. How could you hope to hide among mere leaves and branches, with a flame that burned so brightly? And oh, Max, such a consuming will you have. By the terrible power of your will alone, you’ve managed to imbue