Molly was looking at me with her head a little bit to one side. She said, “He is a hero, Sooz. Remember that, whatever else you see, whatever you think. Lír is a hero.”

“Well, I know that,” I said. “I’m sure he’ll help me. I am.”

But I wasn’t. The moment I saw that nice, friendly castle, I wasn’t a bit sure.

We didn’t have any trouble getting in. The gate simply opened when Schmendrick knocked once, and he and Molly and I walked in through the market, where people were selling all kinds of fruits and vegetables, pots and pans and clothing and so on, the way they do in our village. They all called to us to come over to their barrows and buy things, but nobody tried to stop us going into the castle. There were two men at the two great doors, and they did ask us our names and why we wanted to see King Lír. The moment Schmendrick told them his name, they stepped back quickly and let us by, so I began to think that maybe he actually was a great magician, even if I never saw him do anything but little tricks and little songs. The men didn’t offer to take him to the king, and he didn’t ask.

Molly was right. I was expecting the castle to be all cold and shadowy, with queens looking sideways at us, and big men clanking by in armor. But the halls we followed Schmendrick through were full of sunlight from long, high windows, and the people we saw mostly nodded and smiled at us. We passed a stone stair curling up out of sight, and I was sure that the king must live at the top, but Schmendrick never looked at it. He led us straight through the great hall‌—‌they had a fireplace big enough to roast three cows!‌—‌and on past the kitchens and the scullery and the laundry, to a room under another stair. That was dark. You wouldn’t have found it unless you knew where to look. Schmendrick didn’t knock at that door, and he didn’t say anything magic to make it open. He just stood outside and waited, and by and by it rattled open, and we went in.

The king was in there. All by himself, the king was in there.

He was sitting on an ordinary wooden chair, not a throne. It was a really small room, the same size as my mother’s weaving room, so maybe that’s why he looked so big. He was as tall as Schmendrick, but he seemed so much wider. I was ready for him to have a long beard, spreading out all across his chest, but he only had a short one, like my father, except white. He wore a red and gold mantle, and there was a real golden crown on his white head, not much bigger than the wreaths we put on our champion rams at the end of the year. He had a kind face, with a big old nose, and big blue eyes, like a little boy. But his eyes were so tired and heavy, I didn’t know how he kept them open. Sometimes he didn’t. There was nobody else in the little room, and he peered at the three of us as though he knew he knew us, but not why. He tried to smile.