Eva Ibbotson - The Ogre of Oglefort

Ivo slept heavily and at first he did not hear the scratching on his door. Ulf’s bed was empty — he must have been tending the ogre — but he had left a candle, so Ivo went to open the door, and in a minute the animal that stood outside ran past Ivo and took a flying leap onto his bed.

It was a small mongrel dog, white, with brown splotches on his back and ears, alert, intelligent eyes, and whiskery eyebrows. It was clear at once that he liked Ivo’s bed, and liked Ivo. His tail went like a windmill; whimpers of pleasure came from his throat. He rolled over so that Ivo could scratch his stomach, and as Ivo scratched, he closed his eyes and helped him, moving one paw in rhythm with Ivo’s hand, as kind dogs do.

“Where do you come from?” Ivo wondered.

But it didn’t matter where he came from; Ivo was just incredibly pleased to see him. After all the fear and the strangeness, here was a warm friendly living thing, and something ordinary.

The little dog yawned and burrowed into the pillow, setting it right for the night, and Ivo curled up beside him. He was just drifting off to sleep when it occurred to him that perhaps the dog was not so ordinary after all. Perhaps he was someone the ogre had changed, and Ivo was going to spend the night hugging a headmaster or a tax inspector.

For a moment the thought was frightening; then he put it out of his mind. Whatever the little mongrel had been once, what he was now was a warm, breathing, loving dog — and Ivo’s friend.

And while everyone in the castle was asleep something sinister happened down in the kitchens. The door opened and a procession of strange people in brown capes and hoods came out and set off across the drawbridge and down the path that led to the sea. They carried sacks filled with their working clothes and with food that they had stolen. These were the ogre’s servants, who had finally decided to leave. They had been thinking about going for a long time because everything was going to pieces in the castle since the ogress had died, but it was the tea bags that were the final straw. When a message came from the people in the dungeon that they had run out, something just cracked in the cook. She said she was leaving and then all the other servants said they were leaving, too.

So when the Hag woke in the morning and made her way down to the kitchen, she found it deserted. The great range was cold; there was scarcely any food to be seen.

She turned to find Ivo, who had left the troll asleep. Trotting behind him was the small white dog, who greeted the Hag enthusiastically, sniffing her shoes and wagging his tail.

“He’s really nice,” said Ivo. “I’ve called him Charlie.”

But it was what to do about breakfast that was the problem.

They hunted in the larder and found a piece of bacon that looked as though it might be edible and a loaf of stale bread — and at least there was some coffee.

“I might as well be back in Whipple Road,” grumbled the Hag as she fried the bacon while Ivo put out the plates.

The other rescuers came in then and they had breakfast, but it was clear that something had to be done. The ogre was bedridden; the dungeon was full of people who refused to go away; and the princess was still locked in her room.

“I’ve saved some bacon for her but you’d better take it up,” said the Hag. “She may be better with someone her own age.”

Ivo took the tray, which contained a piece of bacon, a cup of coffee, and a slice of toast. He decided to leave Charlie downstairs, which was difficult, but the Hag diverted him with an old bone while Ivo slipped out.

As he toiled up the round stone stairs to the East Tower, he was remembering how he had felt when he first saw the Princess Mirella on the Norns’ magic screen. She had looked so pathetic and terrified, with her hair streaming down her back and her pitiful face, and he had felt a great longing to save her and protect her — well, anybody would. And when he burst into the Great Hall, waving a sword which he saw at once would hardly scratch the ogre’s backside, it was the thought of rescuing the princess which had given him the courage to go forward.

And all she had done was yell at him and threaten him with a poker. By the time he reached the top of the stairs, Ivo was in a thoroughly bad temper.

“Open the door,” he called. “I’ve brought you your breakfast.”

There was no answer, but when he turned the iron ring in the door it creaked slowly open.

Mirella was lying in a huddled heap on a couch, covered with a bearskin. The room was bare otherwise, except for a broken spinning wheel, a battered leather footstool, and a tool for dismembering things, nailed to the wall. Everything was covered in dust. She looked so forlorn that Ivo’s bad temper subsided.

“I’ve brought you your breakfast,” he said.

Mirella raised her head. “I don’t want it.”

“Well, you’d better have it just the same.”

“All right. Put it down then.”

“I’m not your servant,” said Ivo, getting cross again. “You might at least say please. And I think you’re a ridiculous, spoiled brat. My goodness, when I think that I spent my whole life — my whole life — in a dreary boring Home eating disgusting food and being ordered about by bossy matrons and sharing a dormitory with people who sniffed and snored and played silly tricks on me, and you,” said Ivo, getting thoroughly worked up, “you were brought up as a princess with everyone doing what you wanted and having lovely things to eat and clothes to wear, and you can’t face the thought of going on living. You have to run away and—”

But he was not allowed to finish. Mirella threw off her bearskin and sat up.

“How dare you talk to me like that! How dare you! You know absolutely nothing about being a princess. Well let me tell you what it’s like. You wake up in the morning with your room full of nurses and servants and people with lists of what you’ve got to do that day. You’re put into ridiculous clothes and when you try to do anything interesting, it’s forbidden. People throw away your ants nests and—”

“Ants nests? Did you have one of those?”

“Yes. The carpenter helped me make it; we lined it with plaster of Paris, and the ants liked it and had very interesting lives, but my parents took it away. They took away my stickleback tank, too, and my jackdaws and everything I’ve ever loved, even my—” She broke off and turned her head away. Talking about Squinter hurt too much. “I was watched morning, noon, and night and made to wear dresses covered in rosebuds, and then this prince came and they said I had to marry him.”

“But you’re much too young to get married,” said Ivo, quite shocked by this.

“They arrange these things early in royal families. He was completely horrible, with a silly beard and a squeaky voice and a scented handkerchief, which he waved when he saw anything alive — and he sleeps in bed socks. One of his servants told my nurse. And then they took away my Squinter—”

Mirella’s voice broke. She sniffed and wiped her eyes. “The ogre has got to change me. He’s absolutely got to.”

“Well, he can’t,” said Ivo. “He’s having a nervous breakdown.”

Mirella frowned. “I don’t know what that is.”

“I didn’t either but the troll told me. It’s when you get so upset inside your head that everything sort of folds up — your blood and your digestion and your muscles. Nothing works properly and you become ill all over.”

“Well, he’ll have to stop, because I’m staying here till he changes me and that’s it.”

“You’re being very selfish.”

There was a scratching noise at the door. When Ivo opened it, Charlie came bounding into the room, full of good cheer and very certain of his welcome.