"Ulrik! They've started again! Do something, for pity's sake!"

"What can I do?" he rumbled. "I've already had the guards out most of the night looking for the damnable creatures! They have had no luck in finding them!"

"Then perhaps they need a little of your inspirational leadership!" With that she kicked him out of bed. Ulrik landed on the floor among a pile of bedclothes and groaned. 'Ulrik the Unlucky' they already called him thanks to his marriage with the 'fair' Millicent, but since this recent turn of events they were starting to call him 'Ulrik the Unblessed'. Maybe this was a curse ...

"Of course!" he stood up and snapped his fingers.

Millicent cast her eyes heavenwards sarcastically. "Don't say you've had an idea! Saints preserve us!"

"Bewitchment! That's it! Fight fire with fire!"

"Fire? What are you talking about? You're not thinking of burning the forest down ..."

Ulrik ignored her and started pulling on his clothes. "I shall send for the King's Magician ... whatshisname. You know."

Millicent sighed and pulled the covers over her head. "Oh, him. Don't know why you bother. I think he's a fraud. If anyone has been bewitched, it's the King!"

"Oh shut up! Page! Rouse the Captain! Rouse the stables! Bring me fresh horses! I ride for Camelot immediately!" The unearthly piping took on a more discordant note and Ulrik froze. "Errr ... actually, better make that at first light!"

With that he hopped back into bed and pulled the sheets over his head. Accursed elves!

***

"This is the main hall, where I hold most of my receptions ..."

Ulrik gestured around the room and turned to look at his guest but he'd already gone across to the other side of the room. He sighed. The fellow was damnably inquisitive! He hadn't stopped poking around since he got here. He strode across the room to join him.

"What's this?" he asked. He pointed to a small shrub garlanded with ribbons in the corner of the room by the fireplace. Small berries dotted its branches.

"Tis a redberry bush. It is a family tradition at this time of year to bring into the household a redberry bush and garland it with blessed ribbons."

"Oh, a sort of Christmas tree! What's with the blessed ribbons?"

"Tis to ward off evil spirits. My family has great belief in the magic properties of redberry bushes ever since the time of my great Uncle Esmond. He was taken ill during a Christmas meal but when his wife fed him the berries from the tree he was miraculously cured!"

"Ah, you mean he ingested some kind of mildly poisonous berry and it helped him chuck up whatever was giving him gip."

"What?"

The Magician sighed and turned to face Ulrik, pulling off his curious wide-brimmed hat and dragging a hand through his long copper-coloured hair.

"The bush. I presume you didn't get it from the local garden centre?"

"Eh?"

The Magician rubbed his brow. He'd never get the hang of talking to these primitives. He spoke very slowly. "Where did you get the bush from?"

"The forest. They are not common, but I instructed my servants to search long and hard, and here is the results of their labour!"

"Aha ..." the Magician plucked a berry from the bush and sniffed it. He chuckled. "Of course ... tell me, the problems you've been having ... explain again."

"Elves! Diabolical elves, tootling on their infernal pipes all nigh, making a noise fit to rouse the dead from their slumbers!"

He chuckled again. "Elves, eh? Well, well ... you've actually seen them?"

"Yes! I've stood on these very battlements and seen them in the forest below with my own eyes ... cavorting and playing diabolical melodies! I've sent my knaves after them but they flit from tree to tree and make themselves impossible to catch!"

"Hmmm, they would. And it's making your life unbearable, I take it?"

"Yes! I have not slept properly in days, nor has my wife. You see," he leaned forward and spoke more quietly, "my Lady Millicent has, er, quite a temper with her, and she despises above all else to have her slumbers disturbed. Especially by creatures so base as a creeping elf!"

"Hmmm, the question is why ..." He looked long and hard at Ulrik. "You haven't done anything to upset them have you? I know people get a little twitchy about species with immense psychic powers."

"Never! I leave them to their own devices, as do the others in my charge. I am innocent of any wrong doing to their kind!" He clasped his hands together. "Good magician, I implore you ... help me!"

"Oh, all right then ... but I need a free hand to do what's necessary."

Ulrik grabbed the Magician's hand. "You have it!"

***

They crouched in the undergrowth in the forest as twilight fell. An owl hooted in a nearby tree and the Magician looked up sharply. Ulrik chuckled.

"Someone you know, perchance?"

"I sincerely hope not ... his presence might really chuck an onion in the ointment. Shhh! Listen ..."

Like creeping tendrils of mist several diminutive figures appeared through the trees. A haunting sound suddenly filled the air, and Ulrik and the men behind him clutched at their heads.

The Magician rose an eyebrow and waved a finger in the air in time with music. "Hmmm, not bad ... very celtic. Early Enya with a hint of later Cocteau Twins. Very relaxing." He craned his head round. "Anyone got a joss stick?"

Ulrik stabbed a finger at the figures. "There they are! The imps ... quickly, draw forth your wand and strike them down with a thunderbolt!"

"Hang on, I think you're confusing me with someone else here ... I don't own a wand, and even if I did, I wouldn't strike anyone down with it." He started to rise. "Stay here and keep down. If I need you, I'll let you know!" He disappeared into the darkness.

"Magician! Come back! Oh, odds bodkins ..." He turned to the Captain of his guard. "Let us hope he knows of the powers of these evil creatures, or I fear good King Arthur will need a new seer!"

***

"Good evening!"

The tiny figures spun round, dropping their pipes from their slender fingers to grab at the silver daggers on their belts. Their narrow, almost effeminate features, usually pleasant enough, were grim.

"A human! Kill him!" the voice was high pitched but melodious, ringing like crystal in the chill winter air. The figures pressed around the man, who held his hands up.

"Woah! Easy now ... I'm not here to harm you. I heard your music through the trees, and thought I'd have a looksee. It's very nice ... are you signed up with anyone at the moment?"

One of them pressed a dagger to his throat. "He mocks us!"

The man pushed the tip away. "I mocketh not! No, honest ... listen, perhaps I better introduce myself." He flung back his hood. The elves gasped and drew back, daggers raised defensively.

"Merlin!"

"Oh dear, I wish people would stop calling me that ..." He rose his arms in the air. "Okay now, chaps, settle down, and tell me ... what's the beef here?"

***

"The seer has been a long while, my liege ..." muttered the Captain.

"Aye ... I fear the worst." Ulrik rattled his sword in his scabbard. Arthur would not appreciate the loss of his favourite advisor ... Ulrik stood up, feeling power surge into his battle armour. "Men, with me! Charge!"

Ulrik led his force crashing through the undergrowth but stopped dead as they reached the clearing. The Magician was sitting cross-legged in the middle of a circle of sitting elves, tootling away on one of their pipes.

"I don't think I've quite got the hang of it yet ... ah, my Lord Ulrik. Glad you could join us. Squat down, have some cranberry wine." He gestured to a wineskin beside him.

"What! Have you been bedevilled, Magician?"

The Magician looked affronted. "Nonsense! I've only had a few mouthfuls." He hiccuped, and smiled bashfully. "It is good stuff though. Now then - me and the boys here have had a little chat and I think I've solved your little problem - without the need for swordplay, I might add! " He glared pointedly at Ulrik's drawn sword, then patted the ground beside him. "C'mon ... I want to tell you a little story ..."

***

The fire roared in the great fireplace in the main hall of Ulrik's castle. The air was full of the sound of high spirited revelry and the appetising aroma of roasting meat. The people around the vast dining table were all having a great time. Ulrik, sitting at the head of the table, swung round clumsily in his seat, spilling wine from his overflowing cup all over the Magician beside him.

"So these redberries ..."

"Cranberries..." corrected the Magician, dabbing at the wine dribbling down his jacket.

"Cranberries! Yes ..." Ulrik paused, trying to remember what he was going to say next. The distilled juice of these fruits was indeed a heady brew! "They have been the favourite food of these elves since time began?"

"Well, more or less ... to them, it has certain, er ..." he hated using the word magic in front of these people, "Properties, which they use for a variety of purposes. They don't mind other people using it, but they do mind when people steal a bush from their own sacred glade ... which is what your people did. That's why they were after you! Of course, now I've explained, everything is hunk-dory again!"

Ulrik spluttered. "Purposes? Like for bewitchment, and foul dark deeds?"

"No no no! Well, not I suppose if you counted the wine of course ..." he took another sip and smacked his lips appreciatively. This was a far cry from that Ocean Spray stuff. "No, the elves are a very clever people when it comes to the use of certain berries, herbs and the such. You could learn a lot from them. The best medical practitioners in the kingdom!" He rose his goblet in salute to the chief elf sitting opposite, who responded with a smile. "And I should know ... I was a Doctor once ..."

His voice trailed off sadly and he gazed into the flames in the fireplace. One day, he would go back ... one day ...

Ulrik slapped him hard on the back. "Well, if thou sayest so, good seer!" He leaned around to address the entire company. "Though personally, there isn't an ailment in the kingdom that can't be cured by a well-applied leech or two ... or a good drop of ale!"

Ulrik swung a foaming tankard high in the air and the company erupted into cheers. Even the Magician smiled. Ulrik banged his hand on the table. "Now then! Good elf, how about some more of your sweet music?" He ignored the pained look in his wife's eyes. He knew she had ears only for the dulcet tones of a well tuned lute. But he was growing rather fond of it ...

The elf frowned and his companions looked reluctant, but the Magician leaned forward.

"Go on," he whispered. "Think of yourselves as bringing culture to the barbarian hordes!"

The elf considered, then smiled and nodded. They rose from the table and picked up their pipes. A haunting melody filled the hall and the gathering went silent with awe.

The Magician looked around the ring of absorbed faces, leaned back in his chair and smiled. "Life without music would be a mistake," he murmured to himself. Nietszche was right there. He rose his cup in a silent, introspective Christmas toast.

"I wonder if they play requests?"