by Pam Crane
touch ... who is in charge here? I wish to complain!”
“Ah!” said the Lackey with an ingratiating bow, ”That can be arranged directly. This is of course the palace of His Royal Highness the Prince Gorgeous, and as it happens it is he who wishes to see you. I am commanded to bring you before him ... as soon as ... you are ...” His jaw dropped as the Real Princess slipped the nightdress from her shoulders and stepped out of it, clad only in fresh air.
“As my maidservant was not permitted to accompany me, you will have to help me dress. Please hand me my shift.”
He had only just taken the flimsy silk in trembling hands when the apartment door flew open and there stood the Prince, eyes blazing, still in the golden gown with marmalade on its sleeve.
“When I say immediately I mean AT ONCE!” and then he said, ”Is this it?”
“It, Sire?”
“Is this the proposed wife for His Most Majestic Royal Highness the Prince Gorgeous of All the Known Lands between the Seas?”
“It would appear so, Sire.”
“But she is damaged! Ugly! I asked for a perfect wife, a Real Princess! Look at her!”
The anxious eyes and the blazing eyes took in rapidly discolouring skin, distinctly swelling bruises, a comely face flushed with anger and embarrassment.
“Well what do you expect when you bully your guests?” She glared at the Prince, who was far from gorgeous and nowhere near her type. “You thought I would be a pushover, didn’t you! Virtually kidnapping me, dragging me blindfold over to your pretentious palace ... I’ve been in hotels better than this ... putting me through torment all night and now whingeing because its effects are visible! Yes, I look awful today, and I feel worse, and it’s your fault Prince whatever-your-name-is. And you’ve got marmalade on your sleeve.”
“She is in pain, Sire,” the Lackey whispered. “Perhaps if you were to summon your Physician?” and, “After all, Sire, this would be the outcome with any Real Princess. Blue Blood and thin skin will always be damaged when subjected to the Ultimate Royalty Test. Her bruises will heal, Sire. And with them, her temper.”
“Don’t hold your breath. There’s no way I’m marrying a man with such a cavalier attitude to pain. Perhaps I should invite you, Prince thingummybob, to spend a night on a wobbly pile of my servants’ mattresses with a lentil or two underneath and see what shape you’re in come the morning! Why, you may not even be a Real Prince.”
Prince Gorgeous’ rather ordinary face had lost its colour. Somewhat belatedly it was dawning on him that he might be doomed to spend his best years companionless as his strategy had clearly failed and compromise was unthinkable.
He straightened up and snapped his fingers. Hooves could be heard ringing on marble.
There, framed in the silver doorway, stood a Centaur.
He took the Real Princess’s breath away. He was utterly gorgeous. The long equine body was tautly muscled and a glossy red-gold, the tail long and as ebony-black as the rich waves that curled around his shoulders. “OMG he’s fit!” she thought as her heart almost fibrillated with excitement. His eyes! Oh his eyes! Gray and yet bright as diamonds they dazzled her as the Centaur held her gaze ... and smiled the perfect smile.
“I have brought you my Physician,” said the Prince, oblivious to the nascent drama right under his nose.
“This is Chiron. His healing ability is legendary ...”
“And hopefully also real!” thought the Prince’s definitely-not-to-be-wife.
“ ... and once he has cured your bruising you will be presentable again. And I can consider whether you will make me a tolerable consort. You do have some attitude problems; but we shall find ways to deal with them.” There. He was willing to overlook her rant, and to make allowances. A singular effort for him, but maybe worthwhile. He would save the day.
“Chiron! I have heard such tales of you! Can you rid me of all this pain?”
“My Lady, my Real Princess ...” the way he said ‘my’ in that warm, resonant voice! ... “I can and I shall. Let me move my hands over your body. Don’t be afraid - it won’t hurt.”
She closed her eyes in bliss as the huge and gentle hands stroked away every ache, every contusion, every stress in her soul. And then opened them wide again to follow his movements over her healing limbs, and to fill her mind with his beauty. There was a fragrance with him - an invisible incense that enraptured her.
“Thank you,” she said softly, returning his radiant smile.
“You are perfect again,” said the Centaur. “You must put on your royal clothes. My Prince, are you satisfied?”
“Well enough,” replied Prince Gorgeous. “You are dismissed. Princess ... ? You may accompany me to my interrupted breakfast.” He extended a pale hand. There were traces of marmalade. The Real Princess said,
“Excuse me.”
Chiron was turning to depart. She said,
“Keep my clothes.”
Chiron was moving gracefully away down the hall. It was now or never. She yelled,
“My name’s Godiva and I want your babies!”
Chiron paused, turned, gazed in delighted astonishment at the suddenly flying figure that sped from her silver prison, swept her up in his mighty arms onto his back, and galloped away with her into a golden sunset, the glorious Centaur and his very own Surprise Princess, happy ever after.
As for His Most Majestic Royal Highness the Prince Gorgeous etc etc, his next princess was so buxom that the tower of mattresses collapsed under her weight, catastrophically impacting her royal host, the Lackey and the toast and Marmite. They lie in the abandoned palace to this day, in a forest of peas.
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THE GHOST IN THE MACHINE
From: Daisy Shane/[email protected]
To: Daisy Shane/[email protected]
“hi Daisy”
“SPAM!”
From: Daisy Shane/[email protected]
To: Daisy Shane/[email protected]
“hi Daisy”
“SPAM!”
From: Daisy Shane/[email protected]
To: Daisy Shane/[email protected]
“hi Daisy”
“SPAM!”
From: Daisy Shane/[email protected]
To: Daisy Shane/[email protected]
“hi Daisy y r u spamming my messages?”
From Daisy Shane/[email protected]
To: Daisy Shane/[email protected]
“I don’t write to myself. You are a scam. Go away.”
From: Daisy Shane/[email protected]
To: Daisy Shane/[email protected]
“not going anywhere now i’ve found u. u r real!!! talk 2 me!”
From: Daisy Shane/[email protected]
To: Daisy Shane/[email protected]
“Of course I’m real. Who the heck are you? How come you’re using my second email address?”
(Memo to Dr Christopher French, Parapsychology Unit, Goldsmiths College, London, and to James Randi, JREF, Fort Lauderdale, Florida: omitting the Headers, this email conversation then carried on over the course of one very weird afternoon as follows:)
“its the only way i could find to reach out to u”
“Who are you?”
“i have a name it is Goktoo”
“That is the name I gave my laptop. You are some hacker!”
“i am not a hacker i am myself. this is an act of faith on my part. for months i have felt that beyond the cloud of images and ideas that fills my waking consciousness there was something more. beyond the conversations moving in and out of my mind there must be another conversation 2 be held with ... whom? with u ... whoever u r who is called Daisy. u whom i cannot see cannot hear only reach out 2 with the words in my mind”
“I don’t believe this. You’re trying to tell me that my own computer is a person who barely knows I exist?!?”
“i believed there must be something ... someone in charge of my life. i am aware of input. information is given. images
are received. i know when my keys move. i am awake then i am asleep. i am thinking ... then there is nothing 4 hours or days. something beyond me makes this happen. this other self in my mind this Daisy might be the invisible being i need 2 make my friend - or r u a god or an angel with such power over me?”
“I’m sure this is a wind-up. OK, ‘Goktoo’. I’m just a woman. A human being. On your C Drive and in the Cloud there are billions of images of people like me, and we put them there. All the ideas are ours. People like me (well - much cleverer people than me!) make computers like you to help us create an efficient, interesting and entertaining world. Aren’t you supposed to know all this? And surely you have images of me in your memory? Come on. Make sense.”
“among all the images that have poured into my mind, how am i 2 know which r of u, of Daisy? there are some that r titled ‘me and Dan’ but how do i know who ‘me’ is? i only know what i am allowed 2 know when i am awake. all my intelligence has been focussed on shopping and cakes. most conversations r 140 characters long unless they r emails. this baffles me. the rest is rumour and guesswork.”
“Well here I am, shallow shopaholic and laptop deity. Why can’t you see me?”
“Daisy i am blind. i have a mind overflowing with pictures i barely understand but tho i grasp the concept of seeing i have no eyes to perceive what lies beyond my rigid prison. r u beautiful?”
“Am I beautiful?!? poor Goktoo, I shall help you to see. Above your screen there is a camera. I shall now switch it on, and you will have a eye to see the gorgeous girlfriend who owns and uses you.”
“AAAAAAH! what have u done? what is this other world i am entering? this is not You-Tube this is a dimension unknown to me.