3 Dead Princes: An Anarchist Fairy Tale (6 page)
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Authors: Danbert Nobacon
BOOK: 3 Dead Princes: An Anarchist Fairy Tale
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The grandparents began a low murmuring. Sonia the kitchen girl, who had been hovering with a fresh round of bread, dropped the wooden bowl, and was scurrying down on her hands and knees to clear up the mess. The Queen, unseen by the rest, exchanged a quick look with The Fool. She then rose to her feet, the scraping back of her huge chair demanding silence.
“You call that an initiation, you idiot?”
“Skimble-skamble it is not. Princess Alexandra,” said The Fool, looking at Stormy and winking, “The Princess, is, if I am not mistaken, thirteen summers old. And thus in accordance with ancient regaliocol, as I am sure you, dear Queen, are more aware than most, those who have been initiated into the Order are bound to embark upon the journey in search of Accidental Adventure.”
“She’s a girl, you dunderheaded moonkid,” the Queen said. At this, Gigi looked at her queerly. Ah, the old woman thought to herself. She’s my daughter, and I know she’s up to something.”
“But she’s heir to the throne,” The Fool retorted. “That is, if we don’t persist with the elective monarchy anomaly.” And with that, the whole breakfast table was thrown into constitutional crisis.
Jakerbald stood up, a smile spreading across his face, and began to clap his hands, saying “Bravo! Bravo!” Having once been King and a member of the Order himself, he raised his mug of apple juice to propose: “A toast to Princess Alexandra Stormybald Wilson ... groundbreaking ... a better granddaughter one couldn’t hope to have … Welcome to the Order of the ”
“Sit down you wizened gracklebrain,” said the Queen, cutting him off. And in that moment, the only King of Morainia in the last seventy-five summers to have led men into battle (defensive though it was) quaked in the shadow of his daughter-in-law.
In the pregnant pause, The Fool deftly leapt on to the table, then skipped along its whole length, bearing down on the Queen. Gwynmerelda lunged at him, as The Fool jumped past her in an impossible bound towards the counter at the far end of the kitchen his arms outstretched to reach the biscuit tin on the toppermost shelf.
Gwynmerelda had slowed The Fool’s momentum, but his reaching fingers still managed to send the tin clattering across the floor, while The Fool himself landed in a heap.
On impact, the tin sent its contents flying, with biscuit crumbs and a sealed notandum skittering across the floor. The note was sealed with the King’s waxen emblem a crown guarded by a ravenbird on either side.
At a look from the Queen, Sonia bent down, picked up the note, and handed it to Gwynmerelda, who was now seated, calm and queenly, at the head of the table. The Queen wielded her bread knife, sliced open the wax, and unfolded the paper. All eyes upon her saw her brief look of resignation as she read the words contained within. Gwynmerelda sighed.
“Well what does it say?” piped up Jakerbald.
“Let her read it,” said Grandma Zilpher.
Gigi, who sat next to Stormy, put a protective arm around the Princess’s shoulder, as if fearing bad tidings. Stormy herself was reeling, her emotions pulled this way then that. It felt like her life had changed forever in the short space of time between last night and now.
“It says,” said the Queen, “that Princess Alexandra is to be accompanied by The Fool, on a totally fruitless journey, seeking a ridiculous Accidental Adventure, which everyone knows has traditionally been used by Morainian men as an excuse to get off by themselves.”
“You’re embellishing,” said The Fool, grinning. “What else?”
“Whatever else it says, it does not concern you.”
On the contrary, what the note said did concern The Fool, and everyone else around the table. A cloud passed in front of the sun in the sky outside, and the shadow that passed through the kitchen, over the Queen’s face, masked something in her expression. It went unnoticed by all except for Gigi, the Queen’s own mother. Then, quick as a splash, Gwynmerelda’s regal demeanor returned.
Queen Gwynmerelda stood up, sending her chair clunking over, and puffing herself up, she looked directly into Stormy’s eyes.
“Princess Alexandra. Queen Nukeander and the royal Prince Mercurio will be arriving by midday, and you better be on your very best behavior my girl, or woe betide the consequences.”
In the pandemonium that followed, almost no one noticed the note fall to the floor, where Sonia, the kitchen maid, swept it up before leaving the room. Only Stormy saw. But she had other things to think about just then.
Chapter 6
BIG HAIR, BIG TROUBLE
R
emember, that Time as we know it had not been invented in the western kingdoms. Morainians did not yet think in terms of minutes and hours. They had long days and short days according to the season; they had their arbitrary seven-day week, and worked in lunar months and solar years. But anything shorter was measured in moments. Yes, they had their moments, but these were fluid, and of variable and thus indeterminate length.
emember, that Time as we know it had not been invented in the western kingdoms. Morainians did not yet think in terms of minutes and hours. They had long days and short days according to the season; they had their arbitrary seven-day week, and worked in lunar months and solar years. But anything shorter was measured in moments. Yes, they had their moments, but these were fluid, and of variable and thus indeterminate length.
As you may have guessed, the clock, which Morainians had never encountered, was ticking towards the hour when they would. But for Stormy, the morning and afternoon were a jumble of emotions that went on forever. While she wanted the meeting with the Prince Mercurio to be over and done with, she also wished it could be put off for as long as possible.
Queen Nukeander, her second youngest son Prince Mercurio, a Godmatist probber named Elijareen, and their entourage of journey-men and maids, arrived mid-afternoon.
There was a crazy commotion as their convoy wound its way through the narrow streets of Morainia town. Donkey-drawn carriages were highly unusual in these parts, and the ornate extravagance of workmanship on Queen Nukeander’s carriage was rarely seen by the mountain townfolk. Gold-painted wooden swirls swelled above the front wheels into cascading waves. Over each of the rear wheels sat a finely carved seraphic Mermangel, complete with wings, curling fishtails, and swirling golden hair, which cascaded around their beguiling blue ocean eyes and red sunset lips. Arms outstretched along either side of the carriage windows, the Mermangels dwarfed the peering face of Prince Mercurio.
The whole charabanc spoke of untold wealth in the sea kingdoms to the south.
Stormy heard the fanfare as the procession wound its way up Bald Mountain and through the front gate. She saw the royal carriage lurch a bit on account of a pothole in the driveway. And while imagining the Mermangel’s head torn off by a collision with the wall, Stormy experienced a momentary wisp of that morning’s forgotten dream. But then the dream was gone, and she watched the visitors disembark, to be greeted by Geraldo.
A sudden shooting pain in her stomach made Stormy cramp-up double. And though she had recovered when Gigi arrived to help her dress for dinner, the combination of the strange pain and the disturbing circumstance, made her feel weak and sad. So even though she had never gone in for big frocks and big hair, this time she didn’t put up her usual protest. She needed all her concentration to face the challenge of whatever the night’s protocol and pompiffery would throw at her.
When Gigi ushered Stormy into Gwynmerelda’s chamber for a queenly seal of approval, Stormy caught a hurried and secretive exchange between the daughter and mother. This made Stormy feel even less at ease, if that was possible. But it was a fleeting impression, and Gwynmerelda was immediately back to her old self, primping a stray hair among the elegantly styled curls bunched up on Stormy’s head.
“I have always told you, Alex, that you scrub up particularly well, given the right guidance.” And then with a burst of warmth, which again seemed strange for Gwynmerelda, she said. “You will be absolutely fine, my dear. Absolutely fine.” Straightening her back in that regal, yoga-trained way she had, the Queen indicated that the Princess do the same. Taking Stormy’s hand, she led her to meet the Handsome Prince.
Maybe it was true. As the stories told, the charming Prince would come, and he would be handsome beyond belief. He would sweep the Princess off her feet, and this would be the start of their living happily ever after …
In spite of her earlier words, Princess Stormy found herself gazing to her right, along the dinner table toward Prince Mercurio. Had she been able to admit it to herself, her heart cogs were almost imperceptibly beginning to engage. It was like a butterfly emerging from a chrysalis inside her stomach, and beating its wings for the very first time.
Mercurio was older than Stormy, of course. He was nineteen. He was tall, blonde, handsome; he looked mature. Stormy had met him before, but then she had only been six summers old, and he twelve. There had been a big celebration feast when Walterbald married Gwynmerelda, and it would have been a mistake not to invite representatives of the kingdom of Oosaria. The young Prince had come with his mother, Nukeander, the Queen and ruler of Oosaria. And all Stormy could remember of Mercurio was hating him for how he teased her, by pulling the limbs from a daddy long-legs. She vaguely remembered that he’d said there should be war, not feasting, between their peoples. And that a good battle would settle once and for all who owned what. But maybe her memory was playing tricks on her?
All that was all a long time ago. And in the interim, Mercurio had seemingly changed into a man, as Stormy knew that she herself was beginning to change from a girl to a young woman.
All this arranged marriage business may seem strange to us, but in this sort-of-fairy-tale world, people generally died young. Stormy’s mother Ursula, for instance. It was highly unusual for someone of Stormy’s age to have three living grandparents. Jakerbald, at the age of sixty-six, was as old and wise a man as you would usually ever meet.
And so it followed that if children were to have grandparents, and grandparents were to know their grandchildren, then it was not out of the ordinary for teenage girls to give birth to children, fathered by swashbuckling teenage boys, in arranged teenage marriages.
Stormy leaned forward again and looked over to the swaggerswanking Mercurio, before lowering her eyes to the plate where she’d mostly just pushed the food around. It didn’t matter that the braised wild turkey and fire-roasted potatoes were her favorite.
The Prince seemed most charming, in a way that Stormy could not explain. He could talk at the dinner table like an adult. According to tradition, Mercurio sat to the right of Queen Gwynmerelda. Nukeander sat to Gwynmerelda’s left, and Stormy to Nukeander’s left. This meant that for Mercurio and Stormy to see each other, one or both of them had to lean conspicuously forwards to look around the two queens. Of course this was the whole point. In this way, everyone else around the table, and the two queens in particular, would be acutely aware of any electrical currents. It was an age-old ritual, which had probably evolved specifically to play havoc with teenage hormones.
Stormy watched her stepmother smiling and laughing at Mercurio’s small talk. She felt very uncomfortable. Her brain told her one thing and her body another; she could not decide which one of them was lying to her. Between the struggle of body and brain, she was having a hard time keeping up her end of the conversation. She managed to
mmm
and
aaa
, and grunt at Nukeander’s attempts to engage her, but little else.
mmm
and
aaa
, and grunt at Nukeander’s attempts to engage her, but little else.
Some short moons back, Stormy had had a crush on a boy who was staying in town. Indeed, they had on one occasion secretly kissed. It was sweet and fleeting, for the boy, named River, was with a band of travelling players performing in Morainia for the Spring Fayre. It seemed like he’d gone away as soon as he had appeared.
Then there was Fred, from the Cliff Scouts. Stormy liked Fred, but not like she had liked River. But Fred seemed to like Stormy the way she’d liked River. It was all very confusing.
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