by Jon Jacks
Although the leg remained hanging there, a head next appeared almost alongside it, an ugly, knot-faced man curiously staring down into the room.
‘You can see us?’ he asked bemusedly.
*
Chapter 4
‘Of course I can see you!’ fumed Crystine at the gnarled face peering down into the room from the ceiling. ‘Just as I can see that you’ve damaged ou–’
She stopped. She’d noticed that the head was simply, somehow, sticking through an undamaged roof.
Similarly, there was no sign of any hole where the leg had slipped down into the room either.
‘But…that’s not possible!’ she breathed in awe.
‘That’s right,’ another voice hissed, just before a second head appeared, the face every bit as hideous as the first, ‘it’s not possible that she can see us!’
He peered scathingly at a gawking Crystine.
At last, the leg withdrew. It was replaced by yet another head, another gnarled, curiously peering face.
‘She’s not…’ The man’s eyes widened, obviously taken aback that Crystine was glaring directly back at him.
‘Maybe,’ he said hesitantly, ‘she’s not of this world!’
*
A fourth head lowered into the room, this one wearing a cap that stuck to his crown despite the fact that he was hanging upside down.
‘Evening, Miss,’ he said cheerily, briefly doffing his cap.
‘It’s not evening, it’s morning,’ Crystine replied sourly.
‘Oh, where we come from, it’s eveni– ouch! What’d you kicked me for?’
He glowered at one of the other heads, who glowered back at him without bothering to grant him an answer.
In a perfectly graceful move involving a somersault, as if swinging down a manhole, one of the interlopers dropped down into the room. He landed as deftly as a cat, upon overly large feet.
Crystine forced herself to stay where she was rather than backing off. She didn’t want to show that she was scared.
Besides, he was a surprisingly small man, child-like in his height if not in his stumpier build.
‘How do you do that?’ she demanded, glancing up at the still perfectly whole ceiling. ‘Come through the roof like that, without making a hole?’
Instead of answering, the little man drew closer towards her. He warily reached out to touch her arm, as if expecting at any moment to burn his fingers.
‘No,’ he said assuredly to his equally small friends, all of whom had also now dropped down onto the floor, ‘she’s definitely of this world.’
Another of the little men reached out to touch Crystine.
‘Do you mind?’ Crystine snapped, slapping his hand away. ‘I’m not an exhibit!’
‘Definitely this world!’ the little man agreed with the first, waving his smarting hand to cool it down.
‘Who are you all anyway?’ Crystine growled irately. ‘Just inviting yourself in here!’
‘Sorry, sorry!’ said the third man placatingly. ‘We didn’t mean to interrupt: it was an accident, a slip of the foot!’
He waved his foot unnaturally high in the air. Crystine recognised it as being the same boot, the same trouser leg, that had first slipped through her ceiling.
‘What were you doing up ther– wait!’ Crystine observed them all anxiously. ‘You’re not burglars, are you?’
Every face looked back at her with shocked, hurt expressions.
‘No, no,’ the man wearing the hat insisted, adding proudly, ‘We’re jewellers, Miss!’
‘Jewellers?’ Crystine repeated doubtfully. ‘You don’t look like jewellers to me!’
‘What’re jewellers supposed to look like?’ one of the men asked, not unreasonably.
‘Well, well,’ Crystine hesitated, realising this was a valid point, ‘I never really considered it before, to be honest, but…but…well, look at your hands!’
She triumphantly pointed to their small if cumbersomely thick-fingered hands.
‘They don’t look like jewellers’ hands to me!’
Each little man observed his own hands as if seeing them for the first time.
‘Goldsmiths, Miss,’ the man with the hat said. ‘I suppose you could call us goldsmiths!’
‘Well, I suppose we simply must be on our way!’ the first little man said, as brightly as if bringing to a close a chance meeting of close friends. ‘We’ve all got our lives to get on with! And, well: it’s probably best for all of us if we pretend all this just never, ever, really happened – right?’
He intently scowled at Crystine, a look brooking no disagreement.
‘Well,’ Crystine replied with a wry shake of her head, ‘I think I should tell mum that four weird littl–’
‘Look, look,’ the man blurted out urgently, his tone instantly changing to one of bitter pleading, ‘I’m sure we can make it worth your while to – a Golden Apple!’
His eyes widened in glee as it seemed to suddenly dawn on him that he had to hand the perfect gift to buy her silence. Reaching into his pocket, he held out a glittering, golden sphere that neatly nestled in his palm.
‘This Golden Apple will grant any wi–’
‘It’s an onion!’
‘What?’ The man frowned, unnerved by Crystine’s unexpected interruption.
‘It’s not a golden apple: it’s an onion!’ Crystine insisted, drawing his attention to the globe in his hand.
‘No it’s not, it’s–’ He glanced at the glowing sphere, smirked in embarrassment. ‘Ohh, wait, yes; so it is!’
With his other hand, he nervously and swiftly felt and patted his other pockets.
‘That’s my lunch,’ he admitted, slipping the onion back into the pocket he’d taken it from. ‘But I did have a Golden Apple somewhere–’
‘You’ve lost another one?’ one of the others exasperatedly snapped at him.
‘Not lost! Mislaid!’
‘Maybe, maybe…’ Crystine said tantalisingly, ‘maybe I could forget having seen you all…’
The four men peered at her hopefully.
‘…if you let me know what you were honestly up to on our roof!’
The hope visibly drained from the four men.
‘It’s not a roof, it’s a warehouse, Mis– ouch! What’d you kick me for?’
‘A warehouse?’ Crystine frowned scornfully, glaring at them all now with a grimace of growing impatience. ‘There’s no warehouse there: it’s just a bare roof!’
One of the men gave a resigned sigh.
‘You’ve heard of fairy storeys haven’t you?’
‘Of course I’ve heard of fairystories! That’s what you’re trying to give me now, isn’t it? Some ridiculous tale about why you were up on the roof?’
‘Not story, as in tale,’ one of the men persisted gamely. ‘Storey, as in another level. And so it’s a fairy storey when it exists in both realms; yours and ours!’
‘But that was the origin of the term fairy story,’ one of the others added quickly, even jovially. ‘Because it was on another level: obvious, when you think about it!’
‘So now you’re claiming you’re fairies?’ Crystine responded sceptically. ‘That’s even more unlikely than you lot being jewellers, you realise that, right?’
‘No, were not fairies!’ the one with the hat declared, like he recognised the impossibility of it all. ‘We’re dwarblins, who – ouch!’
‘Who what?’ Crystine spat back impatiently. ‘There aren’t any such things as dwarblins!’
‘Are you telling me you haven’t heard of Dwarblins Theory of Evolution?’ one of the dwarblins responded in disbelief. ‘We’re what your people would generally think of as being dwarves, or goblins: all terms that aren’t, really, appropriate these days!’
‘So if you’re really dwarblins,’ an increasingly frustrated Crystine yelled, drawing threateningly closer to them all, ‘what were you doing on our roof?’
‘But as we’ve said, it’s not a roof, it’s a warehouse,
Miss.’ The dwarblin wearing the hat appeared surprised that no one had kicked him, so he continued with his explanation, ‘A storey – a level – where your world meets up with ours, allowing us to trade, to sell things: such as our wonderful jewellery.’
Briefly taking off his oddly shaped hat, he produced from it the most beautiful necklace Crystine had ever seen: one of wrapped gold and silver, of pearls, of emeralds, amber, and a jewel that glittered as if it were frozen blood, formed into a perfect sphere.
‘I’ve never seen anybody from my world up there!’ Crystine protested distrustfully.
‘It’s an old building: no one in your world remembers when we used to trade with each other.’
‘Hardly anyone from our world remembers either,’ another dwarblin added morosely.
‘Days long gone,’ one said miserably, to sad murmurs of agreement from all the others.
‘So why were you up there, then?’ Crystine persisted, ‘if no one’s aware that this warehouse is still there?’
‘Reminiscing, Miss!’
‘Thinking back to old times!
‘Better times!’
Now they all grinned.
One of them in particular brightened up considerably.
‘Would this buy your silence?’ he asked Crystine, reaching behind him and producing from there, as if from nowhere, a green bottle. ‘Time in a bottle?’
Crsytine stared at the bottle suspiciously.
‘There’s just a watch in there!’
The dwarblin shrugged, as if he couldn’t really see what the problem was.
‘Ah, she’s a sharp one, this one!’ another said admiringly. ‘I think we’re going to have to offer her…the necklace!’
The man casually holding the necklace abruptly slipped it back into his hat, acting as if he had never produced it from there in the first place. The other two dwarblins gasped in horror, aghast that anyone could suggest giving the necklace away.
‘It’s just a necklace!’ Crystine pointed out scornfully. ‘Beautiful, yes: but I’m not interested in such silly things!’
‘This is no ordinary necklace, Miss!’
The capped dwarblin sounded affronted for the very first time.
‘It can make its wearer irresistible! Incredibly beautiful!’ another added in awestruck tones as the gorgeous necklace was reverently taken from the dwarblin’s cap once more.
‘I’m not interest in being beautiful,’ Crystine sniffed. ‘I think intelligence is–’
‘Then how about this necklace?’ the capped dwarblin hurriedly asked.
Having slipped the necklace behind his back, he had produced what was supposed to be another necklace in his other hand.
‘It’s the same necklace!’ Crystine pointed out furiously. ‘
‘No it isn’t!’ the dwarblin insisted, as if hurt by her accusation.
‘You just switched hands behind your back!’
‘No I didn’t! They’re exactly the same hands!’
The dwarblin swung the necklace behind his back yet again, bringing it back out in his other hand.
‘This is the necklace that makes you beautiful: a completely different necklace, as you can plainly see!’
‘You just switched hands again!’
‘Look, look: this is getting us nowhere!’ one of the other dwarblins declared tiredly. ‘What could be wrong with being beautiful anyway? Every girl wants to be beautiful!’
‘Not me!’ Crystine adamantly assured him. ‘That’s how my mum got into trouble; thinking she always had to please everyone!’
All the dwarblins appeared entirely bewildered by Crystine’s heartfelt declaration. They scratched their heads, swapping confused glances.
‘Ah, but…but,’ the man holding the necklace said thoughtfully, obviously attempting to come up with an argument that Crystine couldn’t refute, ‘if you’re beautiful, right…then…you can control kings, princes–’
‘Are you saying kings and princes are the only people who can run things?’
Crystine was more furious than ever.
Then she noticed something about the necklace she hadn’t noticed before.
Within the sparkling ruby, there was an image of a woman: a crowned woman, possibly a princess or a queen.
An incredibly ugly queen.
The woman who plagued all her dreams.
*
‘Wait, wait: let me take that for a moment, please!’
Crystine’s sudden interest in the necklace took everyone by surprise.
The capped dwarblin innocently handed her the necklace as she eagerly stepped forward. She almost grabbed it from his hands in her need to get a closer look at this hag queen magically pictured within the gem.
Yes, yes; she definitely hadn’t imagined seeing the woman within the sparkling of the ruby.
It was the sparkling itself that somehow created this remarkably life-like, three-dimensional image of the queen. It was a portrait of remarkably numerous colours, of a crown of emeralds, sapphires and amber.
And yes, it was also definitely the hag queen, the woman who had appeared in all her dreams since she had been a young child.
‘Who is this? She’s–’
When Crystine looked up from staring at the gem, she realised she was once again on her own in the room. The dwarblins had vanished. Her question remained unanswered.
‘Wait, we hadn’t made a deal!’ she wailed to the empty air, stretching out her arm as if attempting to force the dwarblins to take the necklace back.
‘I’m not bothered about being beautiful!’ Crystine snarled dismissively, contemptuously casting the necklace aside.
Or, rather, she attempted to throw the necklace to one side.
Instead, the chain stuck to her fingers, as if firmly held there by glue.
She grabbed at the necklace with her other hand, pulling it free.
But now the necklace was every bit as firmly stuck to this hand.
Of course, she tried standing on the necklace with a foot, at last dragging her hand clear of the chain.
But now it was stuck to her foot. And of course, when she tried to take her shoe off, the necklace somehow still managed to latch itself to her body once more.
Resignedly, she realised that if she and the necklace couldn’t be parted, then she might as well wear it where it wouldn’t look so ridiculous; around her neck.
She glanced in a mirror, wondering what it would look like; wondering, too, what she might now look like.
She looked just the same.
The girl morosely staring back at her from the mirror was still her. Only now she was wearing a beautiful necklace.
She felt such a fool.
*
Chapter 5
The Fool of May (or The Fool’s Story)
Admit it; we’ve all been a fool at least once in our lives.
A fool for someone who will never return our love.
But how big a fool do you have to be to be in love with a princess? A princess, indeed, who will be queen this very First of April, and therefore entirely beyond your reach?
Now naturally, some might not think of this poor boy as being a complete fool once they learn that – in this case at least – his love is retuned by the beautiful princess.
But what kind of queen would she be if she were allowed to marry her fool?
*
The celebrations marking the crowing of the new queen were – as they always were – magnificent.
The entire realm joined in the merriment. Messages of congratulations and well wishes were received from both the Hag Queen and the Queen of The Fall, even if they made their usual excuses for non-attendance at the coronation.
Indeed, there was only one man in the whole realm who watched the procedures with sadness.
He looked down from the highest point within the cathedral, the clerestory. He wept as the crown of sparkling emeralds, sapphires and amber was gently placed upon his love’s silvery golden hair.
Our love i
s too strong, too wonderful, he resolutely told himself, for us to end up endlessly separated!
Love can conquer all!
But then, of course, he was a fool!
*
The celebratory atmosphere suffused the whole realm for the entire month of April.
Time seemed to pass all too quickly for everyone enjoying themselves in this way, as time does when you’re enjoying yourself.
For those like the fool, of course, time passes all too slowly. Such that he wished he could bottle the essence of time, then cast it into the sea; a message to anyone unfortunate enough to find it, and open it, that time is the greatest of all burdens for separated lovers.
And yet the arrival of May naturally made his pitiful condition even worse. For what is May First but the time of lovers?
When couples dance around the May Pole, the garlands bringing them together, entwining them in a glorious embrace.
When girls and boys dart off into the bushes, seeking out their secret loves, declaring their feelings, their needs.
When hair is decorated with sprigs of hawthorn blossom, a symbol of someone seeking love; of someone who could be your love.
Now of course, the fool was an attractive boy, a pleasant character too: and so he aroused a great deal of interest in the single girls. They walked past him in pairs or trios, whispering together, giggling, smiling, flouncing their long skirts: and, naturally, drawing his attention to the white sprigs in their hair.
The smile of one particular girl was beaming bright, like the moon upon still waters.
Ah, but she doesn’t have the smile of my love, the fool thought, for that’s as glorious as the foam of lashing waves.
The hair of another girl hung down her back like a tumbling waterfall of the very darkest waters.
Ah, but she doesn’t have the hair of my love, the fool thought, for that flows as wondrously as full-grown wheat in the fields.
A third girl was blessed with a pair of eyes that flashed like stars in the heavens.
Ah, but she doesn’t have the eyes of my love, the fool thought, for they sparkle like sun-dappled water.
None of these girls came even remotely close to conforming to his ideal of beauty. The only measure of loveliness was that of his love, and only she could attain its highest measure.