alice archive: the tale of the porridge
This story has a different title if you read the official version. On the shelf, it could say “The Account of the Bears” or “The Record of the Goldilocks Incident” or something boring like that. But I don’t like any of those. The important part, I believe, is the porridge.
Clancy: Or it could be your suppertime.
Porridge is always important, Clancy, not just around suppertime.
Clancy: Very well.
Porridge and animals and children were all valuable during the Fairytale Crusade. That’s why Ava and Cromer targeted them so.
Clancy: The animals and children, of course—not the porridge.
Oh yes. The porridge just happened to be there sometimes. Ava hunted the children and Cromer hunted the beasts. All of his stories have giant wolves or ominous ravens or wild bears in them. He thought he could control them—and many times, he was right. He had dark magic of his own; he never needed Korbl’s. This made it quite easy for him to scare beasts into submission or convince them he was their master.
Beasts. They make me ever so nervous. I don’t like them. Not unless they’re small and cuddly like my cat.
Clancy: I have to agree with you there, Alice. I could do without Cromer’s beasts.
As scary as they are, though Clancy, Ava scared people much more.
Clancy: That she did. Does. She continues to do so.
Hunting children in the Fairytale Crusade was what ugly witches with ovens did. But Ava did it with a pretty face and a kind smile.
Clancy: Which is often more terrifying. For children and men alike.
Well, she and Cromer used to love fairy tales. They usually have children or animals or both. They loved the ones with both.
Clancy: They were the most atrocious team in the history of the Scada.
Yes, now sit quietly, Clancy. I need to tell them about Gigi first.
Clancy: Of course, I’m sorry. This story makes me particularly anxious.
That’s alright. It made her anxious, as well. And Gigi was alone, as she often was. Her father was a local magistrate who worked very long hours; her mother laid around the house napping so much that you’d think she was dead to the world nearly six hours a day. This left Goldilocks to fend for herself most days. Most people called her “Gigi” of course. Her hair was golden blond, but the name “Goldilocks” was far too long for most people to say. It’s too long for me to say, at least, so I shall call her “Gigi”.
She was an excellent cook but never had the proper ingredients in the house. So she wandered and stole from neighbours’ gardens and such so she could make herself some bread or salad or porridge.
Her neighbours caught her stealing and kept a watchful eye on her after some time. With no more options for groceries, Gigi took long walks in the forest near the village, hunting for mushrooms or berries. She knew which mushrooms make the best soup, but not which berries were poisonous. She’s lucky she didn’t get very far before wandering near the cottage of the three bears, so she never brought herself to try any berries that would be the death of her.
The three bears kept a very tidy home. And they had three of nearly everything—a small, a medium, and a large. They weren’t at all like regular bears. Very few animals in fairy tales are the way you’d probably imagine. They talk and go on adventures and cook themselves supper and forget to make the bed occasionally. Just like a human being, I suppose, if Gigi had politely asked to enter their cottage and have some food, they would have let her join them for breakfast and even offered her some tea.
Clancy: Or perhaps not. Not all human beings like entertaining company unannounced.
But some human beings are like me—not all are like you, Clancy. If the bears had been anything like me at all, they would have offered her the porridge that was just right. If they were like Clancy, they’d tell her promptly to go home and pester her mother to cook some breakfast. But it doesn’t matter because the bears weren’t home. They were in the woods somewhere, stumbling across Cromer before returning home.
So, in their absence, Gigi helped herself.
She ate all three bowls of porridge. Well, that’s not true. She only tried a spoonful of the large one—it was too hot—and the smallest one—it was too cold. The medium-sized bowl was just right, and that’s the bowl she polished off to the end. I would have eaten all three because you never let food go to waste, especially once you’ve already started a bite of it.
It wasn’t her fault. Her mother never taught her good manners.
Clancy: I’m not at all surprised that you sympathize with her, Alice. Seems appropriate for another young girl who helps herself to food that is not rightly hers.
Once you’ve started something, you should always finish it, Clancy. It’s only right.
Anyway, once the porridge was eaten, she sat herself down on their comfortable armchairs. They weren’t as comfortable as ours here in the Arkis, I’m sure of it, but they were nice enough. The biggest one was far too large, the smallest was too narrow and tight, but the medium one was just right.
Within minutes of settling into the medium armchair, however, she began to feel quite tired. Porridge is very filling, you know, and napping is best done with a full stomach. So she bounded up the stairs to the bedroom.
Clancy: Let me guess: the small bed was too hard, the large bed was too soft, but the medium bed was just right, and so there she napped.
No, no, it was the other way round. The small bed was soft, and the large bed was hard. But it doesn’t matter now, Clancy. She napped in the medium bed-- you’re right about that. And just as she began to fall asleep, she heard the front door of the cottage open.
And it wasn’t the bears.
It was a lovely voice that called for anyone in the house to come out. It wasn’t scary or demanding or suspicious. But Gigi still felt she would get in trouble. She knew she wasn’t supposed to be in someone else’s house using all of their lovely things. So instead of coming down the stairs, she hid under the bed.
But the voice didn’t give up. It sounded concerned and sweet, even wanting to help her.
Ava always seemed ready to help. Clancy tells me it’s her favourite tactic.
Clancy: People in need of help are usually easier to fool.
Gigi didn’t need help anymore, though. She had already eaten and filled her belly. All she needed now was a nap, and she didn’t need Ava’s help napping. It was a simple enough task.
Gigi was good at hiding like I am. Clancy never finds me when we place hide-and-seek.
Clancy: We never really play hide-and-seek, Alice. You play “let’s hide from Clancy instead of sorting stories”.
I still win the game.
Clancy: In a sense, I suppose you do.
Their hide-and-seek was very short. It didn’t last as long as ours do. Because just as Ava started to climb the stairs to find her, Cromer burst through the door. He told her they needed to leave and forget everything else they meant to do. Ava was irritated, as she frequently was with him.
Remember how the three bears were in the woods stumbling across Cromer? He was there to recruit beasts. He always thought they were so much stupider than he was—it was usually quite easy for them to agree with him. But this time he tried something new. Instead of tricking the bears, he wanted to guarantee he could control them.
Ava warned about that magic. Controlling minds is a dangerous sort of magic. Not many can even do it, and those who can are rarely good at it.
Clancy: I don’t know of many who have succeeded, aside from Korbl himself.
I’m sure Myk could do it.
Clancy: But he never would. That’s not the sort of magic he does.
I didn’t say he would—I only meant he could if he wanted to because he’s so powerful. I’m sure I could do it if I so wished, as well.
Clancy: I don’t know about that.
I’m also very powerful, Clancy.
Clancy: I’m sure you are, but mind control isn’t exactly comparable to anything you’ve ever done. And besides, it utilizes a darker form of Galderean magic. A form with which you are thankfully unfamiliar.
Do you think Ava could do it?
Clancy: I’m afraid to imagine what Ava could do.
Well, she warned Cromer not to try something so challenging—especially on beasts large enough to cause damage if things were not to go his way. And that’s precisely what happened. When he tried to control the minds of the three bears, they went berserk.
They went mad.
Cromer managed to get away, but the bears proceeded to destroy the forest around them.
“We need to leave,” he told Ava.
She rolled her eyes. “Darling, you couldn’t have waited until I was finished?”
He grabbed her arm, ready to pull her out of the house, but she shot a nasty glare at him. “Suit yourself,” he let her go. “I’ll enjoy telling Korbl you’ve been torn to shreds.”
“Leaving me to clean up your mess?” she challenged, this time grabbing his arm.
Cromer was confused. The three bears had made it to the edge of the forest, mashing down trees as they ran. They were fast approaching, and Cromer couldn’t understand why Ava was urgently leaving.
Clancy: She’s always had her own sense of urgency.
I would have run straight back to the Arkis, taking Gigi with me, but Ava had a different idea. When she had a mess to clean up, she no longer cared about whatever child she was hunting. Gigi still hid under the bed and heard the loud stomping of the running bears. She knew she wasn’t going to be in too much trouble for breaking into their home because she’d be busy being eaten by mad animals who’d probably forgotten all about the porridge they left behind.
Why did they leave the porridge behind in the first place, Clancy? Why wouldn’t they eat it right away? I suppose the large bear’s was too hot to eat, but the other two shouldn’t have risked the porridge going cold and stale.
Clancy: That’s not really what’s important at the moment, Alice. The bears were fast approaching the cottage, on a rampage. Now, what did Ava do?
Oh, she did what she always did. She burned it all to the ground.
As the bears came closer, she told Cromer to leave the cottage while she stood in the doorway. Seeing a brand new thing to destroy, the mad bears ploughed through the cottage. Ava jumped out of the way and began setting fire to the lovely cottage they were wrecking.
She started with the upstairs, blasting fire in the bedroom to lure Gigi downstairs--it worked, for Gigi ran from the flames and into the kitchen, finally seeing Ava for the first time. The bears tore the drapes and the bedsheets and the armchairs.
Ava offered Gigi help, to get her out of the burning cottage. But Gigi saw the fire come from Ava’s hands and she was suddenly more afraid of her than the bears.
Gigi was terrified of fire. She had been since she was a small child.
Why would a firewoman be a decent saviour? Gigi didn’t think she could be, so she rejected Ava’s help. It was just as well. It was all a trap anyway. Ava would have stolen her away and kept her captive, for horrible experiments and brainwashing.
When she said no, Ava decided there was no more reason to be there. She set fire to the kitchen last of all. The oven exploded, and the kitchen drapes fell in flames. Just as Gigi tried to climb out the window, Ava blasted the hottest bowl of porridge at her.
Fire only makes hot porridge even hotter. Hot enough to burn skin. The porridge hit and fell down Gigi’s face and neck as she climbed free from the cottage. It was a painful waste of good porridge.
Ava disappeared, Gigi fell from the window to the cold ground, and the bears burned.
It was loud—the crackling of the massive flames and the roaring of the crazed bears as they died. Her skin hurt, and she never even got to take her nap.
After a few minutes of crying and whimpering, a man I’d know anywhere approached her. Timo travelled far and wide during the Fairytale Crusade, so it’s no wonder he came upon Gigi when she needed help.
Clancy: It’s no wonder. He had a habit of following the wreckage of the Scada.
He had a lot of medicinal things in his caravan of goods, so he gave her a balm for her burns. The wounds still scarred, but the salve took away some of the pain. He didn’t even ask for a payment, for he knew a young girl like her would have no money.
Clancy: Alice, he took her captive. He didn’t need her money—he just planned to sell her along with his other products and slaves. He’s an entrepreneur, not a hero.
I know you’re always telling me he’s bad, but I don’t always agree with you. Only sometimes. He’s not all bad. In fact, he’s sometimes rather interesting. He wasn’t always an entrepreneur, either; that’s a story for another time. In this story, he helps a wounded girl. That’s not all bad.
Clancy: Well, poor Goldilocks doesn’t have a happy ending. And he was no help.
Her story isn’t over yet, Clancy. None of them is. Not all of them have to end. And besides, he did help her with her burns.
Clancy: I’ll give him that. Now she’s just stuck travelling with a morally corrupt caravan of tradesmen.
I met him once, you know. But that was before he travelled with all of these fun characters. I thought he was lovely. I should’ve dearly loved to meet him after he collected people like Gigi and Marnie and Lanzo.
Clancy: Collected is the most appropriate word you could’ve used. He is a collector of sorts—collects the broken and lost things left behind. Hardly makes him respectable. He’s questionable at best.
He’s occasionally helpful with his collections. And not all of them are slaves—he pays some of them. And that’s not how slaves work. Besides, he’s helped heroes before too, Clancy. But it doesn’t matter right now anyway. There’s no point in arguing with me.
He’s not the point of the story.
Clancy: And what is the point of the story?
You should never break into cottages that don’t belong to you, you should never attempt to control animals, and you should most certainly never start fires in front of people who fear them—they’ll never trust you.
Clancy: I shall remember that the next time I find myself craving porridge.
As shall I, Clancy. As shall I.