The Royal Family

by Colin Thompson

  ‘Do not be afraid, beautiful lady,’ said the voice. ‘I am your friend.’

  The Queen shivered.

  ‘I am not dangerous,’ said the voice. ‘I am as I sound – chocolatey smooth – and I am entranced by your comely beauty.’

  The Queen also knew that the most dangerous creatures were often the ones that sounded the sweetest, but it had been a very long time since anyone or anything had called her beautiful or paid her any compliment at all, and the voice did sound so very handsome and she had daydreamed of trading in her husband, the King of Shangrila Lakes, who had stopped appreciating her years ago. She had even gone as far as making a few discreet enquiries regarding the hiring of a dragon to convert her husband into a small pile of charcoal.

  ‘If you are my friend,’ she said, ‘come out of the darkness so I can see you.’

  And at that very moment a beam of pure moonlight shone down through the skeletal branches to where Queen Anaglypta sat, and as it did so the owner of the very handsome voice emerged from the shadows and stood before her.

  He was everything the Queen would have dreamt of, if she had ever admitted to dreaming about a gorgeous young man sweeping her off her feet.28 He was tall, but not too tall, young, but not too young, slim, but not skinny. The stranger was a perfectly formed medium-height man.

  The thought I might be old enough to be his mother, well, actually, I am old enough to be his mother. No, no, don’t pretend I’m not, tried to form inside Queen Anaglypta’s head, but she barred it from entering.

  The thought Well, now he can see me up close, he’s hardly going to choose me, a middle-aged mother of an unspecified number of children and, oh sod it, I am old enough to be his mother, did enter her head, even though she tried very hard to ignore it.

  ‘My lady,’ he said, kneeling before her. ‘Would that I had a broom so that I could sweep you off your feet.’

  ‘I am off my feet,’ Anaglypta replied, which was true as she was sitting on the ground. She tried to hide her face by staring into her lap, but the man with the handsome voice cupped her chin in his hands and lifted her face towards the moonlight.

  ‘I am old enough to be your mother,’ the Queen said with a great weary sigh of unhappiness.

  ‘But, my darling,’ said Handsome Voice, ‘you are young enough to be my wife.’

  Queen Anaglypta fainted, which, of course, was the perfect ladylike thing to do under the circumstances.

  When she came to she was riding a horse, or rather, Handsome Voice was riding the horse with his arms round Anaglypta to stop her from falling off.

  ‘Where are we going, my lord?’ she said.

  ‘Far, Far Away.’

  ‘I have never been there, though I have heard that it’s extremely beautiful.’

  ‘As are you, my lady.’

  Handsome Voice was a true royal prince and he did come from Far, Far Away, which was famous for having the most handsome princes anywhere in the whole world. His true name was Prince Forelock.

  When they were some distance away, which is more than not far, but less than a long way, Prince Forelock left the road and stopped in a small glade29 by a stream.

  ‘We will stop here and rest a while,’ he said.

  ‘About time too,’ said his horse.

  Prince Forelock reached into his saddle bag and pulled out a bacon sandwich, which he fed to the Queen. Between mouthfuls she asked him why he had come to Transylvania Waters, and he explained that his parents had sent him to woo the newly changed gorgeous witch, Satanella.

  ‘Ah,’ said Queen Anaglypta, ‘Dreary is overrun with princes, counts, barons and noblemen, all with the same idea. You’ve no idea how quickly the news of her transformation spread across the world. Twitter was bursting at the seams with nothing else for days.’

  ‘And all shall return home empty-handed,’ said Prince Forelock. ‘All except me, that is, for I have found you.’

  ‘You seem to forget that I am a married woman,’ Queen Anaglypta whispered, putting her hand on her noble suitor’s shoulder.

  As her fingers touched the red velvet of his tunic, a shiver ran through her from head to toe. Actually, the shiver didn’t run. It walked very slowly and tickled every vein in her body, making her blood turn orange and start to boil.

  ‘I suspect, my lady, that not so long ago, you were making discreet enquiries regarding the hiring of a dragon to convert your husband into a small pile of charcoal,’ said the Prince.

  ‘How on earth –?’ Queen Anaglypta began.

  ‘My family breed such dragons,’ Prince Forelock said. ‘It is an ancient Far, Far Away custom perfected by my distant ancestors.’

  He also explained that he had fallen in love with the Queen the very instant he had seen her, immediately texting home to organise for the finest toasting-dragon in the burn30 to be sent to bless her husband with its wonderful flames.

  ‘And, oh light of my life, I have this very moment received a text to say that your late husband is now a small pile of the finest charcoal, nestling in the bottom of two porcelain jars, one on its way to a small cave in Tristan da Cunha and the other wedged into the hull of a space probe that has just been launched to crash land on Saturn.’

  ‘Why two jars?’ asked the Queen.

  ‘There are bad wizards in this world who would reconstitute dead people from their ashes, if the price is right. Our deluxe service divides the ashes into two parts and sends them as far away as possible from each other.’

  ‘I should feel guilty, shouldn’t I?’ said the Queen. ‘I know he was an awful husband, but I’m sure I should feel a bit guilty.’

  ‘Well, no,’ Prince Forelock added. ‘The deluxe service also includes our finest Clear Conscience Spell.’

  ‘Wow,’ said Anaglypta. ‘Well, that just leaves our age difference to worry about. Or do you have a spell for that, too?’

  ‘Actually, I do,’ the Prince said.

  The pitch-black forest flashed bright white for a moment and the magic was done.

  It was not, as Queen Anaglypta had thought, a spell that would make her younger, but one that made the Prince older.

  Oh well, she thought. You can’t win them all.

  Prince Forelock was still tall, but not too tall, slim, but not skinny – he was a perfectly formed medium-height man. However, he now had a small, but small-enough-to-hide-under-a-comb-over bald spot, a slight stoop, but only from certain angles, and a lot more fillings in his teeth.

  But even if he had had a wooden leg, a hump, Belgian filing-clerk spectacles and a second hump covered in pimples, he would still have been a massive improvement over Husband Version One – who had had all those things with added fleas and pimples – and Queen Anaglypta would have still loved him. How could she not?

  ‘We must hurry home to my kingdom and get you crowned King of Shangrila Lakes,’ she said. ‘Though I suppose we ought to get married first.’

  ‘But what about your poor son?’ Prince Forelock asked.

  ‘Son?’

  ‘Your poor lost little son. Should we not put our happiness aside while we search for him?’ said the Prince.

  ‘Oh, umm, yes, I suppose we should,’ said the Queen. ‘Though, I’m sure he’s OK.’

  Of course there was no sign of Tristram.

  Everyone was running Hither and Thither, and to other strangely named places as well, looking for him, but none of them knew that he was no longer a small dog. The result was complete chaos, as more and more small dogs were grabbed, not just from Hither and Thither, but from Here and There too, and carried back to Castle Twilight in the hope of claiming a reward that was growing bigger by the hour. The castle was now surrounded by hundreds of angry dog owners demanding their pets back and threatening revolution.

  Satanella was in disgrace. After all, everything had been her fault. If she hadn’t been so vain and selfish in the first place, she would have got Tristram changed into a handsome prince at the same time she had been turned into a beautiful princess. Now she
had been banished to The Naughty Tower.31

  She was locked inside with nothing to eat, except for food that would give her really bad spots. All she had to distract her was a television with only one channel to watch, and the footage streamed from a camera that had been set up in a room where all the suitors from around the world had come when they had heard about how she had been turned into an incredibly hot and perfect princess. There were dozens of suitors, ranging from drop dead gorgeous to drop dead dead with bits falling off. They all carried enormous bags of money and jewels and promises of happiness ever after, with added bacon and chocolate, and all Satanella could do was watch them from afar.

  Meanwhile, Tristram was not locked in a tower.

  Nor was he a small defenceless mouse anymore and neither was he a badger, an omelette, or a Giant Patagonian Laughing Toad. In the previous two hours he had been all these things, as Gertrude had tried over and over again to perform the right spell, and while some of the creatures had bits that he had liked,32 none of them were exactly or even remotely what he wanted to be for the rest of his life.

  Now – and this had been by accident when Gertrude had tripped over a rusty tin can that cut her leg badly releasing a terrible torrent of swear words from her mouth – Tristram was actually a fairly good-looking young man with quite a few bits that he liked very much and guessed he would like a lot more as he got to know them better.33

  Each time Gertrude had changed Tristram into another life form, she herself had transformed and ended up as a small dog that looked quite a bit like the dog Tristram had been, except she was a girl dog, not a boy dog. This, of course, led to quite a lot of ‘oh-how-we-laughed’ hilarity when the search parties looking for Tristram as a dog kept getting very excited when they came across Gertrude. The hilarity and excitement only lasted for a short time and was followed by misery, confusion and dampness when Gertrude cast a nasty spell on them that made them keep rushing to the lavatory every ten minutes, made worse by the fact that it should have been every five minutes.

  Gertrude had quite liked being a dog, but the endless ‘rescues’ got too much so she changed herself again.

  ‘This,’ she said as she flew up into the tree where the magpie was sitting, ‘is the last time I’m doing this.’

  ‘Hello, gorgeous,’ said the magpie. ‘What’s a pretty little thing like you doing out in the dark forest?’

  Gertrude had two options: change herself into something that wasn’t a magpie or shrug her wings and live happily ever after. And she had to admit, now that she had a magpie’s brain, the magpie did look rather handsome.

  OK, she said to herself, I’ll give happily ever after a go. I can always change into something else if it doesn’t work.

  At that precise moment Crown Prince Tristram Jolyon De-Vere Creak walked directly beneath the branch the two magpies were sitting on, both of them quite unaware of who he was because Gertrude had kept her eyes shut tight after her first two transformation spells had gone so badly wrong.

  Barely a mile ahead of Tristam in the very dark forest – which seemed to be getting darker by the minute due to the fact that night was falling – his mother and Prince Forelock were riding round and round in circles looking for him.

  I wonder which way leads back to the castle, Tristram said to himself.

  If he had only thought to say it out loud, the two magpies could have told him, but he hadn’t so they didn’t. And if he had said it out loud, they might have realised who he was, instead of mistaking him for yet another prince coming to woo Satanella. And if he had had sharper hearing, he would have heard the magpies say to each other, ‘Look at that idiot walking round and round in circles down there,’ and he would’ve told them who he really was.

  The circles that Tristram were walking in and the circles his mother and Prince Forelock were riding in kept crossing, so it was only going to be a matter of time until they bumped into each other.

  Night fell even lower and, as it did so, it became colder and colder and the circle-walkers also got colder and colder.

  I think I will bury myself in some leaves and wait until morning, Tristram thought.

  ‘Maybe we should bury ourselves in some leaves and wait until morning,’ said Queen Anaglypta.34

  ‘Yeah thanks, great,’ said Prince Forelock’s horse. ‘And I suppose I just have to stand here and freeze all night.’

  Prince Forelock, who had never buried himself in any plant materials, alive or dead, agreed with the horse.

  ‘I think we should make our way back to Dreary and find an inn for the night,’ he said.

  Queen Anaglypta didn’t like the idea in case Forelock caught sight of Satanella and dumped the Queen in exchange for the Flood princess, but he assured her that there was no one in any galaxy who he would rather be with than Queen Anaglypta.

  So they turned and rode in the direction they thought was the right way to town.

  It wasn’t.

  But it didn’t matter because the horse tripped over a lump buried under some leaves and sprained its ankle. Queen Anaglypta and Prince Forelock had no choice but to snuggle into the leaves, which were not only damp and smelly but actually colder than the air around them.

  The lump they had tripped over was, of course, Tristram, who swore loudly and complained that even in the middle of a dark impenetrable forest a person couldn’t get a decent sleep without some clumsy great horse tripping over him.

  ‘I recognise that voice,’ said Queen Anaglypta, not realising that the young man who now stood before her was her own son, who she had only ever known as a small dog. ‘Now, where have I heard it before?’

  I recognise that voice, Tristram muttered to himself. Mother.

  Interregnum – Act 1

  INTERIOR CASTLE TWILIGHT – THE BACON LOUNGE35

  MORDONNA, Queen of Transylvania Waters, paces up and down in front of the window. NERLIN, King of Transylvania Waters, sits in a crumbly old armchair.

  MORDONNA

  This has all gone too far. These books are supposed to be the chronicles of the Starship Enterprise. No, no, I mean the chronicles of the incredible Flood family. And several thousand words have passed with barely a mention of our wonderfulness and incredibleness. I mean, who wants to read about cats and magpies?

  NERLIN

  Indeed, my darling, and who cares if some stupid little dog has gone missing?

  Mordonna looks around to make sure no one is within earshot.

  MORDONNA

  You’re quite right. Inviting the Creaks here was a big mistake. I know they’re our relatives and all that, but they’re very common. I think we both agree that Satanella did the right thing in the end, insisting I didn’t change Tristram into a handsome prince. The two of them might have got married and could have even ended up as King and Queen of our wonderful kingdom. Then what would people think?

  NERLIN

  People, what people?

  MORDONNA

  I don’t know. You know, people.

  NERLIN

  I never realised you were such a snob, but then I suppose you are a royal princess and just about the absolutely top witch anywhere, ever.

  MORDONNA

  It’s got nothing to do with being a snob. It’s that the people of Transylvania Waters, our loyal subjects, deserve nothing but the best and the Creaks are not the best.

  NERLIN

  Second best?

  MORDONNA

  No, not even that. We, the Floods, are the best, the second best and the third best. We win gold, silver and bronze.

  Nerlin rises and nods in agreement.

  MORDONNA (CONT’D)

  Exactly. So now we’ve got that sorted out, let’s have no more talk about magpies, stupid little cats and dogs, and sub-standard relations, and get back to the important story – which, of course, is us.

  After the interregnum36 Mordonna and Nerlin needed a cup of tea and a special biscuit because, as everyone knows, interregnums can be pretty exhausting, so exhausting, in fa
ct, that the King and Queen both needed two of the Very Special Biscuits.37

  ‘As I was saying,’ Nerlin continued, ‘before this dog-changing-into-human fiasco and all the trouble it has stirred up, I’ve had enough of being King and I want to retire. I want to go high up into the mountains to the Enchanted Valley of the Impossible Waterfall,38 and build a little cottage by the river for the two of us, and keep chickens and ducks and quail and do gardening and watch the birds, so long as none of them are magpies.’

  ‘Couldn’t we just build the cottage and use it as a weekender?’ Mordonna suggested. ‘Then you’d have the best of both worlds. You’d still be King during the week doing all the ruling stuff, but each weekend you could potter about at the cottage.’

  ‘I suppose it would do for a start,’ said Nerlin. ‘Except for the hassle of travelling up there and back every week.’

  ‘I’m sure Winchflat can come up with something to sort that out,’ said Mordonna. ‘Maybe like that transporter device they have in Star Trek.’

  Nerlin pointed out that Star Trek was all made up and machines like that didn’t actually exist. Mordonna said she knew that, but Winchflat was a genius and if anyone could make a transporter that could dissolve you in one place and join all the bits of you back together again in another, then surely he could.

  ‘Maybe,’ Nerlin agreed. ‘But it could take years for him to make it. I want to retire now.’

  Mordonna tried persuading Nerlin to have his cottage in one of the banqueting halls of Castle Twilight.

  ‘After all,’ she said, ‘there are several rooms that are big enough for a cottage with a pond and a chicken run and potted trees round the walls. It would feel just like being outdoors.’

  ‘That’s ridiculous,’ said Nerlin.

  He wasn’t sure why, but he refused to have an ‘indoor outdoors’, even if the ceiling was painted to look like the sky and Winchflat made a special cloud machine to make it rain inside whenever they wanted.