Strange Horizons magazine, which I already enjoy because the editors’ tastes in fiction closely match my own, periodically publishes a reprint of an older story. These generally aren’t considered classic short stories. They are often social fantasy or science fiction from periods that were dominated by adventure fiction and hard science. As you can probably guess, I enjoy them very much. This story by Joan Aiken is no exception.
“Well, Sir,” he said threateningly, “I see you are presumptuous enough to know some of the laws of magic. You think that because you have rescued—by pure good fortune—the King of the Forest from a difficulty, you should have some fabulous reward.”
“I expect three wishes, no more and no less,” answered Mr. Peters, looking at him steadily and with composure.
“Three wishes, he wants, the clever man! Well, I have yet to hear of the human being who made any good use of his three wishes—they mostly end up worse off than they started. Take your three wishes then—” he flung three dead leaves in the air “—don’t blame me if you spend the last wish in undoing the work of the other two.”
Mr. Peters caught the leaves and put two of them carefully in his notecase. When he looked up the swan was sailing about in the middle of the water again, flicking the drops angrily down its long neck.
Mr. Peters stood for some minutes reflecting on how he should use his reward. He knew very well that the gift of three magic wishes was one which brought trouble more often than not, and he had no intention of being like the forester who first wished by mistake for a sausage, and then in a rage wished it on the end of his wife’s nose, and then had to use his last wish in getting it off again. Mr. Peters had most of the things which he wanted and was very content with his life. The only thing that troubled him was that he was a little lonely, and had no companion for his old age. He decided to use his first wish and to keep the other two in case of an emergency. Taking a thorn he pricked his tongue with it, to remind himself not to utter rash wishes aloud. Then holding the third leaf and gazing round him at the dusky undergrowth, the primroses, great beeches and the blue-green water of the canal, he said:
“I wish I had a wife as beautiful as the forest.”
