3 Dead Princes: An Anarchist Fairy Tale Page 3

  Notable among the castle’s other inhabitants were the widowed Grandma Natasha Godlove, the Queen Mother. Grandma Godlove, or Gigi as she was affectionately known, and her granddaughter Stormy got on like a house on fire. Then there was Grandma Zilpher and Grandpa Jakerbald Wilson, the King’s parents.

  These were a handful to say the least cantankerous and contrary with each other, and more so with their own children. And if it does not seem to make sense that Jakerbald Wilson was alive and yet Walterbald was King, fretter ye not.

  We all know about Queen Mothers, but the idea of a King Father seems strange. But why should it be ask yourself that. And anyway, Jakerbald was only strange when he played Grandpa-ish tricks. He was actually a very cheery and highly intelligent fellow. Highly original in his outlook, although, it must be admitted, a bit ornery.

  It was in keeping with his ornery character that when Jakerbald reached his fifty-fifth birthday, he took the unusual step of retiring, becoming the first known King Father, and causing a proper constitutional storm in a water tank.

  Most people in Morainia were wangodmatists to some degree or other, at least on the surface. But most were too busy with daily life to be more involved than attending Seventh day services and religious festivals. Wangodmatism had its professional holy men, called probbers, missioned throughout the western lands. And the ruling body of wangodmatists in Morainia, the unimaginatively named High Council of Wangodmatists, had seen Jakerbald’s resignation as an in.

  The probbers said that the whole Wilson family should thus be excluded from the throne. They’d never liked those Wilsons anyway all of them too lively by half. And the Council suspected they were a bunch of Freethinkers to boot. That Jakerbald! And Walterbald was worse! And no male heir! Of course they saw an opportunity to make their own man, Probber Rogerley Bishop, the new King. Or at least someone with a couple of sons.

  The more pragmatic Council of Town Elders said it really should go to a vote, because even if it WAS a kingdom, the Council of Town Elders knew you only could lead when you led where people wanted to go. So four prospective kingdidates were put forward, including Bishop and Walterbald. In the event, when it was put to a popular vote, despite the dirty-trickery and shenanigans of the wangodmatists, the Morainian people decided that Walterbald should be King after all. And not purely out of a respect for tradition. They liked Walterbald. That was the long and short of it. And he was useful, King or no.

  As a young man, Walterbald had pioneered the development of the first septic tanks in the town, which had improved the humor and health of all. And then he had invented a wind-powered water pump. The prototype lifted water a distance of three hundred vertical feet, from the irrigation ditch right into a water tank in the basement of Bald Mountain Castle. This technology had the wider and very popular application of making the watering of naturally drier benches above the ditch a hundred times easier. And in extending the Morainian commonlands, suddenly Morainians had the capacity to engage in proper crop rotation, averting the risk of over-farming some of the available land. In short, agricultural output achieved a stable level, which made (almost) everyone happy therein, for even in sort-of-fairy tale worlds, everyone has to eat.

  Walterbald was always tinkering with things, trying to make them work better. Just like what he was doing now, in going north to the mountains. Trying to make his world work better. But enough of politics and pumpery … for hark, fellow travelers, the cock crows forth already. And there are many early risers in Bald Mountain Castle.

  Chapter 5

  GOOD NEWS BAD NEWS

  Queen Gwynmerelda was already up and doing yoga. She was a striking figure, even when stood on her head, which allowed the blood from her feet to refresh her brain and temporarily squish her face. Righting herself, and passing from the bedroom to the bathroom, Gwynmerelda was neither as ugly nor as evil as our traditions might have led us to believe. Not even when she sat on the toilet. For if the jury was still out on whether the Wangod had bodily functions, the queens in this world, unlike those in our own, most certainly did go to the toilet.

  Naturally, the King did not find her to be either ugly or evil, or any such trad stepmother things. While beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and evil doings can rapidly diminish first impressions of beauty, Queen Gwynmerelda (at forty summers) still held the King enthralled. Furthermore, she was a practical, active woman, and these are very good traits for a wife as well as a queen. Gwynmerelda could be self-centered and insensitive at times, but these are hardly unusual attributes among humans. And if she lacked tact, beneath it all she did have a heart.

  Of course Stormy was a teenage Princess who had lost her own mother, Queen Ursula, on the night of her birth. And things being what they were, it wasn’t likely that the stormy Princess and her stepmother would get along. And they didn’t. But even Stormy had to admit, at least to herself in secret, that Gwynmerelda ran a tight ship in Bald Mountain Castle.

  For example, Gwynmerelda believed in everyone pulling her or his own weight. While traditional kings and queens had serving people to satisfy their every whim and fancy, at Bald Mountain Castle the Wilson family fended for itself. The Queen made sure Stormy was well versed in washing up, and was quite able to make her own omelettes, bake bread, roll her own pasta, and shoot, skin, and cook a rabbit.

  “It’ll come in handy,” Gwynmerelda would say sternly when Stormy groaned, “Do I HAVE to?” “You’ll see.” And if a Queen can say that to a Princess, it’s probably true.

  While the Wilsons sometimes did have helpers from the town to cook and clean, this was in return for hands-on services provided by members of the royal household themselves.

  Gwynmerelda taught yoga and ran a women’s group. Walterbald was called on for advice on any number of things. If anything mechanical needed fixing, he rolled up his sleeves and got dirt under his fingernails.

  There was a tradition of service in Stormy’s country. All Morainians over the age of twelve, for example, trained with the Morainian Defense Guard. And for such a small and isolated kingdom, the home guard had seen active service down through its history more than you might think. The previous summer, Stormy had trained with the Cliff Scouts. The Cliff Scouts patrolled hidden trails in the steep forest above the Bald River, from where they could monitor the Falls Road without being seen. Stormy had particularly enjoyed the training runs from base to summit of the Falls Road, which suited her natural talents.

  Stormy also volunteered at the library. There were reading books there, but it was mostly picture books, because most people could not read. Stormy, who could read quite well (trust Gwynmerelda for that!), sometimes read aloud to children and adults. Each book was hand-crafted, and hand-written or drawn, as the printing press, let alone the computers which most children in our time use the library for had not been imagined. No eating sweets while reading or dog-earing the pages here!

  Today, in fact, was her day to volunteer. And because she had chores to do, Stormy was up, as usual, as early as the Queen.

  Sonia the summer kitchen girl had already helped pack the King off on his travels, so when Stormy got to the kitchen, there was food on the table. Stormy knew Sonia’s cousin Fred, one of the senior Cliff Scouts. They chatted about him as the Princess tore off hunks of still-warm bread, smothering them with gooseberry jam. There was rough cereal and goat-milk, too, along with goat-cheese and a wooden bowl brimful with some of the first fresh strawberries of the season. There was tea in the pot, not tea as you or I might know it, but locally gathered and dried leaves infused in boiling water. It was actually as good a feast as you could hope for, and Stormy tucked in with full teen gusto.

  “Our Fred says you’re not bad on them runs, for a princess, anyways,” Sonia teased Stormy. “I think he’s got a crush on you.”

  Stormy blushed, but didn’t answer.

  The grandparents filed in one after another and began piling up their plates while mumbling among themselves. Last but not least came Gwynmerelda. She ent
ered the room radiating a yogatic splendor that deserved a fanfare, as was usual with her. But it never ceased to seriously irritate her stepdaughter.

  Seating herself regally and taking a cup of tea, Gwynmerelda composed herself. But someone paying close attention would have noticed that composure was hard won. Gwynmerelda was worried. But she was a Queen, and queens, she felt, dealt with their worries on their own. This may have been why she dealt with this particularly worry with less finesse than she might have.

  “Now Alexandra,” she began in a too-stepmotherly voice. “As I am sure your father told you last night, we have special guests, very special guests arriving this afternoon.”

  It was something in the Queen’s tone. Stormy stopped chewing.

  “But I’m volunteering at the library.”

  “Oh don’t worry about that. I’ve already told Athiane you won’t be going in today.” The Queen sighed to herself. She knew she was handling this badly, but not knowing another way, forged ahead.

  “Hmmm,” she said more sternly than she felt, “I sense your father has left me again to be the bearer of important tidings. Well …” And then she rushed through the very news that worried her: “This afternoon Prince Mercurio will arrive, accompanied by Queen Nukeander, from, as you all know, our neighbors, the kingdom of Oosaria.”

  Grandpa Jakerbald spat out a mouthful of tea in surprise. Grandma Zilpher and Gigi looked very uncomfortable.

  “But they don’t like us!” Stormy said. “The last time they were here, Mercurio said we all smiled too much. And they’re such a downer. Why are they coming here?”

  There was silence in the room. It was well known in Morainia that if there was an invasion of that peaceful country, it would be from Oosaria. So the grandparents had a good idea what was coming next.

  “Grandma? Grandpa?” Stormy said. But no one answered her.

  The Queen, determined, carried on. “They come, I believe, to make a proposal that will join our two kingdoms in peace.”

  Stormy laughed. “Oh yeah,” she said. “Fred always says if anyone’s going to invade us, it’ll be …”

  “They come to make a MARRIAGE proposal.” The Queen sipped her tea with apparent calm. “This is a courtship visit. And an official one, too.”

  At this, Stormy was stunned into silence. Not for long, however. As the news sunk in, her face reddened and her eyes flashed.

  “No way. No way am I ever marrying that toadying prancer. I won’t even be NICE to him.”

  “And who, may I ask, told you that you would have any choice in the matter?” snapped the Queen. She hated herself for sounding like this, but a combination of worry, guilt, and annoyance at her teenage stepdaughter now had control.

  “I’d rather die,” said Stormy, and she burst into tears. All three grandparents jumped up at once, clucking sympathetically around her. And then there was a different sound, like someone banging a hammer on the church gong.

  It was The Fool, bedraggled and spindly as usual, three-cornered hat askew and looking somewhat hung over, announcing his entrance by banging a metal serving spoon on an upheld frying pan.

  “Oh bugger, late as usual,” he muttered. And then, gathering himself together, The Fool did his Fool thing:The finery, the pomp, the regaliocol,

  The marriage-brokery all arranged.

  But if the best-laid plans were unstoppable …

  Then there would be no story strange …

  The Fool was curious in the sense that he was not especially good at his craft. He could make astute observations in the form of rhyme, but was not particularly funny. In the way of failed performers everywhere, he would have made a good teacher in the craft of Fooldom. Or maybe it was all a clever disguise?

  Meanwhile, Queen Gwynmerelda felt she’d had just about enough. Why was it always only her who worried about the future of the kingdom? The rest of them just enjoyed themselves. “Shut the feckle up,” she snapped.

  Everyone turned and looked inquiringly her way.

  “Nukeander’s retinue is on its way, and the Princess will not only meet the Prince, but she will be on her very best behavior,” said the Queen, eyeing Stormy with a particularly stern look.

  “No, I won’t! I can’t stand that brat of a buttstart.”

  “Well,” said The Fool, searching for the right words. “Well, you will have to meet him, Stormy … but only because it will take us a few days or so to get ready.”

  “Get ready for what?” demanded the Queen.

  “Why, to depart of course.”

  At this, Stormy saw the faintest glimmer of light at the end of what was looking like some very dark days indeed. She looked hopefully at The Fool, and so didn’t notice a certain relaxing of a worried line on the Queen’s forehead. The Fool did his Fool Thing again:The east wind blows a change in atmosphere

  That reacts ill in our western heavens

  Never did it ever look so black here

  Since the dark age of the cataclysm

  And defying his always-about-to-fall-over appearance, The Fool stood on Walterbald’s empty chair at the head of the table and pronounced: “Let all present bear witness. I hereby initiate Princess Stormy into the Order of the Accidental Adventurers!”

  He looked at Stormy, and Stormy found herself nodding vigorously, without knowing what she was agreeing to. Plucking it from nowhere, The Fool threw an oversized egg at the Princess, which splattered across the top of her left ear.

  “Ow! What was that for?” howled Stormy.

  Nobody answered.

  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.”