"Ethnic weakness," the bursar of Overford Academy replied in a voice that might be called gravelly and mean it. Like most trolls, he was short and not much bigger than a nail keg, with huge feet, a jutting jaw, and tusks. Unlike the normal run of his kinfolk, his flint-colored hair was neither shaggy nor unkempt, but carefully groomed and slicked back into a short braid. His complexion was granite gray, with a light stippling of acne or chisel marks. "Every so often, we trolls just have to spend a stretch of time under a bridge. If a billygoat or two goes tripping-trapping over it, so much the better. It's instinct, like the salmon swimming upstream to spawn, or the swallows returning to Swallow Combackington, or mothers trying to force their children into marriage." He nodded meaningly in the direction of Ethelberthina's massed relatives. "Charming old custom, a Maiden Morn. Especially if you've got no other hope of bringing your daughter to heel. Well, I'll just be on my way now and-"
Dean Porfirio drew his wand and tapped the bursar lightly on one shoulder. Magic was the only way to stop a determined troll in his tracks; otherwise a man might as well try to impede the progress of a runaway boulder. "Just a moment, old man," the wizard said. "I'm confused, and I don't like it. What's this about a forced marriage?"
"Holy schist, do you mean you're the only person in town who doesn't know?" The troll was genuinely shocked.
"He's one of three," Garth said.
"Then free my feet and we can go back to the Academy for a nice hot cup of tar and I'll tell you all about it."
Zoli squatted and gave the troll her finest this-will-hurt-much-more-if-you-move look. "Save time; tell us now."
"I have no time! You know what'll happen if I'm caught out after sunrise."
Dean Porfirio clicked his tongue. "You won't turn to stone-not all at once-and nothing at all will happen to you if I lend you my cloak. Don't fuss over trifles."
"That's all you know about it," the bursar said. "When I was a young troll, my friends and I used to play Dare Daylight, seeing who could stand the sun longest. Look at my skin, why don't you!" He held out one overlong arm for inspection. It resembled the surface of a badly baked clay pot, all flakes and cracks. "My internal petrification's just this short of fatal. I'm living on quarried time. One more major dose of sunlight will do me in."
"That wasn't very smart of you."
"Show me the young creature, troll or human, who doesn't think he's immortal, that the rules don't apply to him," the bursar countered.
"Looks like you'd best talk fast, then," Zoli suggested.
The troll scowled at her so hard that rock dust trickled down his nose. "Very well, I'll make it short and sweet. Unlike some retired swordsisters I could mention. This very morn marks the day of Goodwife Eyebright's revenge."
"Took her long enough. Good for her! How'd she kill him?"
"Not him. It's not her husband she wants snaggled. Everyone in Overford with half a brain knows that Goodwife Eyebright's greatest grudge stands against her youngest daughter."
"Half a brain… that sums up most of this town," Zoli mused.
Garth jabbed her to silence with his elbow. "Why would any sane mother resent her own child?" he asked. "And such a bright one, too!"
"I'll paint you a picture," said the troll. "All that Ethelberthina's ma could ever do with her life was marry and breed. Many a woman's happy keeping house, but only when it was her choice to go that road, not her last resort. Like you, ma'am." He rolled his eyes at Zoli.
"I see," the former swordsister said. "Goodwife Eyebright had to marry so she wants her daughters to do the same. The thought of Ethelberthina having opportunities she never had riles her."
"Quite so." The troll nodded. "That's where this Maiden Morn claptrap comes in. You see, there's one bit of the ceremony not too many folk know of: The Answered Prayer."
"What's that?"
"It's rather charming, really." A faint smile touched the troll's wide mouth. "If there's a man among the witnesses who's eager to marry the girl, all he needs do to lay claim to her is wait until the very instant she utters the last word of the Prayer for a Prosperous Husband, then dash up and winkle himself under her arm or her cloak or her skirt or something and declare his devotion. He's got to time it just right, because if he misses the last word by three heartbeats, he's out of luck. But if he's nimble and determined… poof! Instant betrothal."
"Impossible. Such nonsense can't be binding."
"Oh, it is, but only because Duke Janifer's never taken the time to remove the Maiden Morn regulations from the law scrolls. It's such an old-fashioned custom, I doubt he even knows they're still- Uh-oh. What's that?" The bursar's eyes grew great with sudden fear.
What that was, was the sound of Ethelberthina beginning to recite the Prayer for a Prosperous Husband. Garth gasped. " Sunrise! Quick, Porfirio, toss your cloak over the bursar!"
"Yes, at once, I-" The wizard reached for the clasp of his cloak. A sickly green came over his face as he realized he hadn't bothered to put one on. Neither had Garth or Zoli.
"For the love of mica, set me free! I'll run back under the bridge!" the troll bellowed.
"Of course, of course!" Dean Porfirio hastened to draw his wand once more. Unfortunately, in his agitated state the wizard went all butterfingers. He jerked the wand from his belt, promptly lost hold of it, and watched in horror as it flew off to sink beneath the current of the Iron River.
"Here, Zoli, we can shift him under the bridge," Garth said. "You take his head, I'll take his feet, and-"
"Look there!" Zoli wasn't listening. Her eyes were wide, her face pale, her hand shaking as she gestured across the river to where Ethelberthina stood performing the most hangdog recitation imaginable of the Prayer for a Prosperous Husband. The girl's apathy was beyond the power of mortal man to measure. Horse thieves had gone to the gallows with more eagerness, hemorrhoid sufferers had greeted a recurrence of their affliction with more zest. If youthful exuberance had a direct opposite, Ethelberthina Eyebright was its personification.
In other words, she was putting so much effort into behaving churlishly, just to show her mother what was what, that she failed to notice the scrawny, oily-pelted young man who was slinking down to the water's edge, a look of intense concentration on his sallow face. Only once did he pause and cast a questioning look over one shoulder. A brawny, stern-faced woman in the crowd jerked her chin at him brusquely, silently urging him on.
"That's Ludlow Pennywhistle," Garth observed.
"Oh no, it couldn't be." Dean Porfirio shook his head rapidly. "Not even the most vengeance-crazed creature alive would willingly bind her child to a malicious good-for-nothing like Ludlow. He's a beast, a coward, and a scoundrel. I had him in my Introductory Invocation class. We had to expel him for demoralizing the demons. He must be in his twenties by now, and I hear he does nothing with his days but loaf about the taverns until they boot him out for toughing up the barmaids."
"Maybe Goodwife Eyebright doesn't realize what she's doing to her daughter," Garth offered.
Bursar Tailings had another opinion: "Maybe she does. She's a Pennywhistle by birth, you know; Ludlow 's ma is her second cousin. This way she gets to shackle Ethelberthina with a husband, break her spirit, and keep the girl's money in the family at the same time."