Sturdy wooden wheels clunked over the snow-swept road. It was preceded and followed by the softened thump of hundreds of hooves and feet stomping on the powdery path. A half mile of road was covered by the king’s convoy. He was traveling home after a successful trade negotiation with the people of the Seaside Empire. Despite the weather, the mood of the entourage burned warm and pleasant. In a few days, they would be welcomed back with hearty congratulations for a job well done.
In the King’s coach, his Highness quietly read a book. It was one of his favorites from his youth spent abroad. It revolved around a central moral question posed by a magician whose talent was overwhelmed by his ambition. Though the King did not consider himself a superstitious man, he always read this book when he returned from a successful campaign abroad.
On the opposite seat, a duke looked out the window at the passing of the world draped in white. His expertise on the history of the Seaside Empire had been enormously important in the negotiations. More reward awaited him back at the capital, but the first honor was a seat in the royal coach with no one else but the King himself.
The duke let his mind wander as they passed through a rolling meadow. Out in the snow, not too far from the road, a piece of a snowbank stood up. It wasn’t much, but it was right in the duke’s line of sight. Squinting, he made a little noise of surprise that drew the King’s attention.
“Something wrong, KG?” the King asked. The duke had never been fond of that nickname, and he had hoped it would have dried up when he moved to the capital. Alas, the king had adopted it, which essentially made it law.
“No, Your Highness. Nothing wrong,” he answered.
“You made a sound there.”
“Yes, I did.”
“Any particular reason, or where you just testing that your vocal chords still worked?”
“There is an ermine,” the duke said, pointing out the window. “Just at that ridge.”
Placing a mark on his page, the King leaned forward in his seat. He gazed out the window in the direction the duke pointed. For a long moment, he said nothing. The duke took the hint.
“You see that rock covered in moss?” he asked. The King nodded. “Just next to- oh. There, he just walked right in front of it.”
“Ah, yes. I see him.” The king exhaled and considered the little creature. “He’s cute. They’re rodents?”
“Weasels, Your Highness. Those white males are extremely rare, especially around here.”
“This is your territory,” the King said, realizing where the road back to the capital had taken them. “I’m sorry, I should have realized before now. Should we make a stop?”
The duke waved him off. “Please, sir, it’s fine. I’m as eager to reach the capital as you.”
“Fair enough,” the King said, giving the duke a sidelong glance. He was curious why a man wouldn’t want to stop in his home. For the moment, he elected against prying. “The white ones are rare?”
“Yes, very. Only a few males grow out the full white coat in the winter,” the duke explained. “It’s a sign of great power in their communities.”
“Communities?”
“Ermines have a surprisingly complex social structure. They live in enormous underground havens. It’s all tunnels and domed chambers, each with a specific purpose. Leaders direct hunting and foraging territories, groups of adolescent males patrol the entrances and defend against predators. They’re extraordinary creatures with lives quite nearly as complex as humans. Though theirs are all about getting food and reproduction.”
“So we share that in common,” the king quipped.
The duke laughed. “Yes, sir.”
“I should consider myself lucky to have seen this gentleman of the forest, then?”
“Yes, sir.” The duke paused a moment to weigh whether he ought to continue. “In fact, the white males are often considered to be the luckiest pets.”
“That pets are considered lucky at all is, I admit, news to me.”
“There’s an old story about it,” the duke said. He turned his head, trying to keep an eye on the ermine until the coach was too far away.
“I’d like to hear it,” the king said, finally, when he realized the duke wasn’t going to continue unprompted. “If you are willing to tell it.”
“It’s not much of a tale, really,” the duke said. “Ermines are crafty. They are basically impossible to catch. The story begins when a hermit, living out at the edge of the woods, comes across an ermine caught in one of his rabbit traps. And a white ermine at that. He took the creature home, but he didn’t have the heart to kill and eat it. Instead, he decided to keep it as a pet.
“From that point, everything he did was a success. Every trap he set caught something. His small patch of herbs and vegetables did not fail. It took him almost two years to realize what had happened, another few months to realize it was the ermine that brought the luck.
“He began to expand his endeavors and went to town with a trade proposal. He exchanged his plain hermit garments for the finest silks and linens. From there, it was one lucky leap to another. He built a big, comfortable cage for the ermine. And then he set about on a campaign to change his life.
“In a year, he went from modest fur trapper to town’s richest man to leader of men and husband to the most beautiful, intelligent woman in the whole country. Luck poured out of his ears, all thanks to the ermine.”
The king nodded, lifted his finger and tapped the side of his head. “I have not heard this story, and it is a good one so far. But I imagine things did not continue to come up millhouse?”
“Alas, they never do. There was a tax dispute with the King, and luck has no effect on the inevitability of taxes. So the man rose up an army. He marched off at their head to usurp the king.” The duke chuckled and felt compelled to add a qualifier. “These are days deep in the past, you understand, sir. The kingdom was long-since consumed by your own territory when you took the throne.”
“KG, if you had aspirations to overthrow me, I do not believe you would allow yourself to be alone in my coach with hundreds of men loyal to me just a shout away.”
“Of course, sir,” the duke said.
“Our hero’s revolution came up short?” the king asked.
“Spectacularly. He was killed in the attempt. Later, when they searched his home, the king’s men remarked on the oddity of the large cage with the gate swung open. They only learned it was an ermine, and indeed a white one, when an expert was brought in to examine the cage.”
“He had escaped before the man and his army met the king in battle,” the king filled in the missing piece.
“He had,” the duke said.
“How did the ermine get out of the cage?”
“Well, they’re crafty, sir. There’s no part of the story that explains how the little guy got out. But I have to imagine he watched the man use the latch, every day, for years.” The duke mimicked a small paw trying to grab something. “He must have practiced slipping his little paws through the cage’s bars. When the man was gone long enough for the ermine to build up a serious appetite, he flipped the latch and scampered off in search of a snack.”
The coach rolled on through the snowy land. Inside, the royal coach, two faces gazed out at its beauty and its peace. For a long time, the king said nothing, processing the old story about the lucky pet and his unlucky owner.
“I am glad we do not leave our choices to the luck of our pets, KG,” he said when he’d decided he had digested the message. “Though leaving them to our own recognizance seems an equally fatal endeavor.”
The duke laughed, deep and genuine. “Yes, sir. Still, the idea of a pet that grants infinite luck is an enticing one.”
“Should I have Cooper turn us around?”
“Goodness, no,” the duke said and made a face. “I have spent a week seeing what your job entails. Any pet that leads me to eventually seek the throne is a bane, not a boon.”
“You are a wise man, KG. Perhaps with our choices left in your hands, we are not doomed after all.” The king smiled at the duke, and it was the real smile that a king so rarely gets to bestow on anyone.
With that, he lifted his book, flipped to his page, and began to read again. On the opposite seat, the duke realized something unsettling. He’d made two very big, very positive impressions on the King in as many days. He’d never been so lucky in all his life.
Silently, he made a mental note to scour his house upon his return. If he came across any white creatures, ermine or otherwise, it would be straight to the alley with them.
The Tall Tale Year 