THE PRACTICAL PRINCESS and Other Liberating Fairy Tales

by Jay Williams

  “A Fire Drake? What’s that? Something like a dragon?”

  “Worse than a dragon,” said Bumberdumble gloomily. “Much worse.”

  “Well,” said the youngest of the butlers, “I can’t go.

  I have to finish my job polishing the silver.”

  “I can’t go,” said the chief cook. “I have a wife and four children.”

  “I certainly can’t go,” said the oldest housemaid. “I have a sore knee.”

  And the more the others thought about the distance and the difficulties and the Fire Drake at the end of it, the more they thought of reasons why they couldn’t go.

  But finally, Fred said, “I’ll go.”

  “You?” everyone cried.

  “Why not?” said Fred, cheerfully. “I haven’t any wives or children, I’m healthy, and you can always hire someone else to take over my jobs.”

  “But you’ll forget where you’re going before you’ve gone a mile,” said the chief butler, with a chuckle.

  “I will give him a map,” said Bumberdumble. He came down the stairs and clapped Fred on the shoulder. “Bring me back the Bitter Fruit, my boy, and you will be richer than a king.”

  The next morning Fred set out. He had a knapsack of food on his back, his flute in his pocket, a staff to lean on, and twenty gold pieces in his purse. He also had a map showing where the Bitter Fruit was, and Bumberdumble had hung around his neck so he wouldn’t forget to look at it.

  Fred traveled for a whole, long year. He climbed six high and rocky mountains, almost freezing at the tops of them. He tramped across six sandy deserts, almost dying of thirst. He crossed the Boiling River by going to its narrowest place and jumping from one slippery stone to another.

  And one evening, he came to an old dark house that stood on the edge of a vast dark wood. He was very weary, hungry and tattered. His money had long ago been spent. He felt as if he could go no farther.

  He knocked at the door, and it was opened by a pretty girl with blue eyes, black hair, and a smudge of dirt on her nose.

  “Good evening,” said Fred, politely, and then he dropped his staff and would have fallen, but the girl caught his arm and helped him into the house.

  There was a bright fire burning and a good smell of cooking in the air.

  The girl sat Fred down at the long table and put a bowl of soup in front of him. While he ate, she sat down opposite and watched him.

  “You’ve come a long,” she said.

  Fred told her who he was and where he was going.

  “And I have no idea how to take the Bitter Fruit when I find it,” he said sadly, “or how I shall escape the Fire Drake. But if you will let me stay here until I’m rested, maybe I will think of something.”

  “This isn’t my house,” said the girl. “It belongs to the Witch of Grimly Wood. She’s at a witchery meeting now, and while she’s away you may certainly rest here and get your strength back. But when she returns, I don’t know whether she’ll let you stay, for she is the stingiest person in the world.

  Perhaps you can pay her in some way?”

  “All I have is some music,” said Fred. “What’s your name?”

  “Melissa,” said the girl.

  “Then I’ll play you some special Melissa music, by way of thanks,” said Fred.

  He put the flute to his lips. His music was like the clear calling of summer birds at evening. Melissa listened and sighed. That night, Fred slept on the floor in front of the fire. The next day he rested and played his flute and told stories about his travels and made Melissa laugh. Working for a witch, she didn’t get the chance to laugh very often. She was a good cook and fed him well, and she thought she had never liked anyone half so much.

  The following morning, she said, “I am going to help you. I have three gifts my father gave me before he died, and I’ll lend them to you. Maybe they will help you get the Bitter Fruit.

  She brought out a pair of red slippers, a hat with a feather in it, and a sword.

  “These,” she said, “are the Shoes of Swiftness, the Cap of Darkness, and the Sword of Sharpness. The shoes will make you run swifter than an arrow, the cap will make you invisible, and the sword will cut through anything.”

  “Fine!” said Fred. “If I’m invisible, maybe I can steal the Bitter Fruit. If not, maybe I can kill the Fire Drake with the sword. And if that fails, I can run like anything.”

  At that moment they heard a noise outside.

  “It’s the witch,” said Melissa. “Don’t say a word to her about where you’re going or how much Bumberdumble is going to pay you. She loves gold more than anything.”

  The door swung open. In came a puff of cold gray air, and with it the witch.

  “Aha!” she croaked. “A stranger! Who are you, and what do you mean by sitting in my kitchen and eating my food!”

  “My name is Fred,” said Fred. And then, being absent-minded, he promptly forgot about Melissa’s warning. “I’m on my way to get the Bitter Fruit of Satisfaction,” he said. “When I take it back to Bumberdumble Pott, he will give me half his gold and I’ll be richer than a king.”

  “Is that so?” said the witch. “I know where the Bitter Fruit is-it’s just the other side of the Grimly Wood. I’ll get it and give it to Bumberdumble Pott and collect the gold myself!” She spun round on her toe, jumped on here broomstick, and shot out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

  “Quick!” cried Melissa. “The shoes!”

  Fred pulled on the red slippers. He leaped up and off he ran. But not very far.

  He had forgotten to open the door. Thump! He ran head-first into it and knocked himself flat.

  He struggled up, rubbing his head. “I told you I was absent-minded, didn’t I?” he said.

  “Never mind,” said Melissa. “I’ll show you a short cut. With the magic shoes, you can still get there first.”

  She led him outside and showed him a secret path among the trees. “This will take you straight through Grimly Wood,” said she, “to a high hedge of thorns.

  On the other side of the hedge is the Bitter Fruit.”

  The Shoes of Swiftness carried Fred along the path like a flash of light from the eye of a lighthouse. At the high thorny hedge he drew the Sword of Sharpness. One-two, he slashed, and made a hole large enough to get through.

  On the other side, there was a glass table.

  On the table stood a silver tree with one small, dry, brown fruit hanging from it. And behind the table was the Fire Drake. It was scaly and slithery, bigger than a dragon and twice as fierce.

  Fred snatched out the Cap of Darkness and put it on his head. But he was so busy looking at the Fire Drake that he wasn’t thinking about what he was doing, and he put it on backwards. At once, everything disappeared. Everything but Fred. He couldn’t see the Fire Drake or the glass table or the tree. He couldn’t even see the ground. It looked as if he were standing on nothing in the middle of nothing.

  But he could still feel the earth under his feet. In a panic, he dropped to his hands and knees.

  It was the best thing he could have done, for at the same instant the Fire Drake blew out a sheet of flame.

  It would have crisped Fred up like a piece of burnt toast if it had touched him, but it went right over him.

  “Oh,” he groaned. “If only I weren’t so absentminded.”

  He reached up and turned the Cap of Darkness around on his head. Now he could see everything again, but he was invisible. He got shakily to his feet.

  He could see the Fire Drake looking this way and that in puzzlement. He tiptoed over to the silver tree.

  The fruit was gone.

  He understood what had happened. While the Fire Drake had been shooting its flames at him, the witch had sneaked up and stolen the fruit.

  Fred ran back through the Grimly Wood to the witch’s house. There was the witch, just packing her suitcase for the long broomstick flight to Bumberdumble’s house.

  “Stop!” yelled Fred.

  Wit
h one chop of the Word of Sharpness he cut her broomstick in two.

  The witch snatched a handful of ashes from the fire and threw them into the air. They settled over Fred and then she could see him, like a faint gray shadow.

  “So it’s you, miserable wretch!” she screamed. “I’ll turn you into a piece of waste paper and throw you away.”

  She began to mumble a wicked spell.

  “Stop her!” cried Melissa. “Use your sword!”

  Fred lifted the sword. Then he lowered it again. “I can’t,” he said. “It wouldn’t be polite.”

  The witch raised her hands. The spell was ready.

  “Then cut the ground out from under her,” snapped Melissa.

  Fred whirled the sword. He sliced away the floor under the witch’s feet. Down she fell.

  Under the floor there was a bottomless well. The witch fell into it and that was the end of her.

  Fred removed the Cap of Darkness and dusted himself off.

  He handed the cap, the shoes, and the sword to Melissa.

  “Thank you,” he said. “But you know, I forgot something.”

  “What?”

  “The Bitter Fruit of Satisfaction. I forgot that the witch was holding it. She is still holding it, wherever she is.”

  “What a shame,” said Melissa.

  Fred scratched his head.

  “Oh, I don’t know,” he said. “If you will marry me, I would really rather have you than be richer than a king.”

  So they settled down in the witch’s house-after fixing the hole in the floor-and they were happy together. And since Fred could play as much music as he liked whenever he liked, he was never absentminded again except once in a while.

  As for Bumberdumble Pott, if he never got the Bitter Fruit, at any rate he remained the richest man in the land, and that was better than nothing.

  PETRONELLA

  In the kingdom of Skyclear Mountain, three princes were always born to the kind and queen. The oldest prince was always called George, and the youngest was always called Peter. When they were grown, they always went out to seek fortunes. What happened to the oldest prince and the middle prince no one ever knew. But the youngest prince always rescued a princess, brought her home, and in time ruled over the kingdom. That was the way it had always been. And so far as anyone knew, that was the way it would always be.

  Until now.

  Now was the time of King Peter the twenty-sixth and Queen Blossom. An oldest prince was born, and a middle prince. But the youngest prince turned out to be a girl.

  “Well,” said the king gloomily, “We can’t call her Peter. We’ll have to call her Petronella. And what’s to be done about it, I’m sure I don’t know.”

  There was nothing to be done. The years passed, and the time came for the princes to go out and seek their fortunes. Michael and George said good-bye to the king and queen and mounted their horses. Then out came Petronella. She was dressed in traveling clothes, with her bag packed and a sword by her side.

  “If you think,” she said, “that I’m going to sit at home, you are mistaken. I’m going to seek my fortune, too.”

  “Impossible!” said the king.

  “What will people say?” cried the queen.

  “Look,” said Prince Michael, “be reasonable, Pet.

  Stay home. Sooner or later a prince will turn up here.”

  Petronella smiled. She was a tall, handsome girl with flaming red hair and when she smiled in that particular way it meant she was trying to keep her temper.

  “I’m going with you,” she said. “I’ll find a prince if I have to rescue one from something myself. And that’s that.”

  The groom brought out her horse, she said good-bye to her parents, and away she went behind her two brothers.

  They traveled into the flatlands below Skyclear Mountain. After many days, they entered a great dark forest. They came to a place where the road divided into three, and there at the fork sat a little, wrinkled old man covered with dust and spiderwebs.

  Prince Michael said haughtily, “Where do these roads go, old man?”

  “The road on the right goes to the city of Gratz,”

  the man replied. “The road in the center goes to the castle of Blitz. The road on the left goes to the house of Albion the enchanter. And that’s one.”

  “What do you mean by ‘And that’s one.’?” asked Prince George.

  “I mean,” said the old man, “that I am forced to sit on this spot without stirring, and that I must answer one question from each person who passes by. And that’s two.”

  Petronella’s kind heart was touched. “Is there anything I can do to help you?” she asked.

  The old man sprang to his feet. The dust fell from him in clouds.

  “You have already done so,” he said. “For that question is the one which releases me. I have sat here for sixty-two years waiting for someone to ask me that.” He snapped his fingers with joy. “In return, I will tell you anything you wish to know.”

  “Where can I find a prince?” Petronella said promptly.

  “There is one in the house of Albion the enchanter,” the old man answered.

  “Ah,” said Petronella, “then that is where I am going.”

  “In that case I will leave you,” said her oldest brother. “For I am going to the castle of Blitz to see if I can find my fortune there.”

  “Good luck,” said Prince George. “For I am going to the city of Gratz. I have a feeling my fortune is there.”

  They embraced her and rode away.

  Petronella looked thoughtfully at the old man, who was combing spiderwebs and dust out of his beard.

  “May I ask you something else?” she said.

  “Of course. Anything.”

  “Suppose I wanted to rescue that prince from the enchanter. How would I go about it? I haven’t any experience in such things, you see.”

  The old man chewed a piece of his beard. “I don’t know everything,” he said, after a moment. “I know that there are three magical secrets which, if you can get them from him, will help you.”

  “How can I get them?” asked Petronella.

  “Offer to work for him. He will set you three tasks, and if you can do them you may demand a reward for each. You must ask him for a comb for your hair, a mirror to look into, and a ring for your finger.”

  “And then?”

  “I do not know. I only know that when you rescue the prince, you can use these things to escape from the enchanter.”

  “It doesn’t sound easy,” sighed Petronella.

  “Nothing we really want is easy,” said the old man.

  “Look at me-I have wanted my freedom, and I’ve had to wait sixty-two years for it.”

  Petronella said good-bye to him. She mounted her horse and galloped along the third road.

  It ended at a low, rambling house with a red roof. It was a comfortable-looking house, surrounded by gardens and stables and trees heavy with fruit.

  One the lawn, in an armchair, sat a handsome young man with his eyes closed and his face turned to the sky.

  Petronella tied her horse to the gate and walked across the lawn.

  “Is this the house of Albion the enchanter?” she asked.

  The young man blinked up at her in surprise.

  “I think so,” he said. “Yes, I’m sure it is.”

  “And who are you?”

  The young man yawned and stretched. “I am Prince Ferdinand of Firebright,” he replied. “Would you mind stepping aside? I’m trying to get a suntan and you’re standing in the way.”

  Petronella snorted. “You don’t sound like much of a prince,” she said.

  “That’s funny,” said the young man, closing his eyes. “That’s what my father always says.”

  At that moment the door of the house opened. Out came a man dressed all in black and silver. He was tall and thin, and his eyes were as black as a cloud full of thunder. Petronella knew at once that he must be the enchanter.

 
He bowed to her politely, “What can I do for you?”

  “I wish to work for you,” said Petronella boldly.

  Albion nodded. “I cannot refuse you,” he said. “But I warn you, it will be dangerous. Tonight I will give you a task. If you do it, I will reward you. If you fail, you must die.”

  Petronella glanced at the prince and sighed. “If I must, I must,” she said. “Very well.”

  That evening they all had dinner together in the enchanter’s cozy kitchen. Then Albion took Petronella out to a stone building and unbolted its door. Inside were seven huge black dogs.

  “You must watch my hounds all night,” said he.

  Petronella went in, and Albion closed and locked the door.

  At once the hounds began to snarl and bark. They bared their teeth at her. But Petronella was a real princess. She plucked up her courage. Instead of backing away, she went toward the dogs. She began to speak to them in a quiet voice. They stopped snarling and sniffed at her. She patted their heads.

  “I see what it is,” she said. “You are lonely here. I will keep you company.”

  And so all night long, she sat on the floor and talked to the hounds and stroked them. They lay close to her, panting.

  In the morning Albion came and let her out. “Ah,”

  said he, “I see that you are brave. If you had run from the dogs, they would have torn you to pieces. Now you may ask for what you want.”

  “I want a comb for my hair,” said Petronella.

  The enchanter gave her a comb carved from a piece of black wood.

  Prince Ferdinand was sunning himself and working at a crossword puzzle. Petronella said to him in a low voice, “I am doing this for you.”

  “That’s nice,” said the prince. “What’s ‘selfish’ in nine letters?”

  “You are,” snapped Petronella. She went to the enchanter. “I will work for you once more,” she said.

  That night Albion led her to a stable. Inside were seven huge horses.

  “Tonight,” he said, “you must watch my steeds.”