Yours, Wickedly: A Story in Thirteen Letters

In this week’s story from Stephanie Burgis, a misdirected parcel turns into a glorious opportunity. ~ Julian and Fran, August 13, 2023

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Yours, Wickedly: A Story in Thirteen Letters

By Stephanie Burgis

The first letter was pushed through the snapping jaws of a castle’s mail slot by a pigeon’s beak while the pigeon hooted with unhappy determination.

From the Wild Witch of the Withering Woods to the Wicked Wizard of the Westering Waste

Dear Sir,

Greetings and respect from one practitioner of the mysterious arts to another.

You have accidentally received a parcel directed to me, due to the lazy error of a new postman. Apologies for the inconvenience. Rest assured, it shall not be repeated. (The pigeon who delivered this message will remain in his current form until he proves himself capable of accurately following directions!)

Please forward my parcel to the address below at your earliest convenience.

Best regards,

WWWW

***

The second letter was kicked in through a cracked-open castle window by the pigeon’s claws five days later.

From the Wild Witch of the Withering Woods to the Wicked Wizard of the Westering Waste

Sir,

You may be busy, but don’t think I’m not aware that you’ve read my letter. My pigeon was instructed to wait and watch until you’d opened the missive.

He also saw my wrapped parcel on your counter—as well as the telltale destruction around it. Did you truly imagine you could open up my property without permission?

Perhaps my reputation hasn’t yet spread to the Westering Waste, but allow me to assure you that I have no time or interest in wizards’ games. Return my property now and we’ll say no more about the matter.

~WWWW

***

The third letter was dropped into the castle through a chimney, along with a pile of pigeon droppings.

From the Wild Witch of the Withering Woods to the Wicked Wizard of the Westering Waste

Apparently, you require a lesson in manners. My toads shall supply it.

***

The fourth letter appeared in the witch’s small and cluttered workroom one day later amidst a lushly scented shower of rose petals accompanied by the tinkling of sweetly pitched bells.

From the Wicked Wizard of the Westering Waste to the Wild Witch of the Withering Woods

Dear Madam,

I must confess, I do wonder at your conception of good manners if last night’s storm of croaking toads was meant to convey a lesson in them. Personally, I find toads among the rudest and least interesting of conversational partners—and signally lacking in any visible understanding of etiquette.

However, you may be glad to know that unlike yourself, I do enjoy games and will never consider myself too busy (or too tedious) to engage in them. In fact, when I was first studying the mysterious arts at school, lo those many half-remembered years ago, I developed rather a reputation of my own for mastering every such pastime I attempted.

I may not have leapt to do your bidding in the midst of my other ongoing concerns and preoccupations, but regardless of what you may have imagined, I had no interest in stealing your property . . . until now. Perhaps too many years spent with toads in a swamp may have led you to forget the patience necessary for more rational companionship? Transforming visitors into pigeons—or, indeed, amphibians—may be a sad necessity at times, but it does lead to an unfortunate decrease in opportunities for true conviviality. I’ve no doubt it must be difficult to maintain faith in others when your closest friends are ready to abandon you for the bribe of a mere worm or two.

(Speaking of which, your toads have settled into their new life by my moat with the appearance of deep contentment. They show no signs of planning to return to you . . . much like your misdelivered package, at the moment. Was that, too, sent in a misguided fit of pique?)

Still, it must always be a pleasure to make new acquaintances in the mysterious arts. Since leaving school, I’ve met far too few who are capable of playing the sorts of games I like best.

Shall we see if your rash challenge holds true and I really cannot open your parcel without permission?

If I astonish you by managing that feat, what will you offer me in forfeit?

With hopes that these rose petals may sweeten your mood and lessen the deplorable scent of swamp mud in your vicinity,

Wickedest regards,

WWWW

***

The fifth letter was scribbled in magically enhanced slime, burped out of a large toad’s mouth, and left upon the castle doorstep on the same day.

From the Wild Witch of the Withering Woods to the Wicked Wizard of the Westering Waste

It is so utterly typical of a wizard to imagine himself above the rules of common courtesy and master of any possible game. I’ll have you know that when I was at school, at least as many years ago as you, I was more than capable of winning any challenge, no matter how many overinflated young wizards imagined they could cow me.

You may save your gloating on another front as well. My toads’ croaking was a warning, not the worst they can do—and did you really imagine that they would choose to settle by your moat for their own pleasure? You haven’t even put any useful plants in it! How do you expect to ever draw enough insects to feed fish and any larger creatures you might want to keep in there to put off visitors? Salmon, eels, pikes, and even ducks would scorn such a pitiful offering.

Then again, a man who builds a grandiose castle with a moat in the middle of a wasteland can’t claim to understand much about nature.

Still, my toads will remain until you’ve returned my parcel, and they won’t be alone.

You asked about forfeits, but you may regret the price you end up paying for your arrogance.

***

The sixth letter arrived a day later, smelling like honey and landing in the witch’s cauldron, floating with annoying indifference to the liquid boiling beneath and around it.