Yet Another Dreadful Fairy Book

by Jon Etter

  As soon as Viola was seated, a second fanfare was blown. “His Excellency, our esteemed King Julius!”

  The musicians struck up a rousing march and all in attendance waited expectantly for the king to walk in. And waited. And waited. When the musicians came to the end of the march, silence fell over the room. People exchanged confused looks. The trumpeters frowned, blew another fanfare, and once again declared, “His Excellency, our esteemed King Julius,” which was followed again by the royal march … and once again, no sign of the king.

  Viola rolled her eyes and sighed. “Would someone please go fetch my uncle? In the meantime, let’s have some more music. Perhaps a bit of Trazom’s ‘The Enchanted Piccolo’?”

  Attendants scurried out of the room while the musicians played and the assembled fairies murmered within their groups. “Psst!” someone whispered behind Shade. She turned to see a short, bespectacled elf only about a foot taller than her with bushy eyebrows and an obviously fake big black mustache (obvious because it was actually painted on his upper lip) stepping out from behind a hidden door in the wall behind her. In sharp contrast to the elegant attire of everyone in the room—except, of course, Ginch and the Professor’s usual shabby clothes—the elf wore a long white nightgown with green pinstripes and a conical nightcap with a fuzzy green ball on its tip. “What’s going on?”

  “We wait for the king to show up,” Ginch whispered back.

  “Oh, is that happening now?” the elf asked.

  “Yeah,” Shade answered. She considered his outfit. “Should you really be in your pajamas?”

  The elf shrugged. “I think so. I’m pretty certain that I couldn’t fit into yours. Say, I know this guy in the long green coat.”

  Shade sighed. “Yeah, apparently everyone does. Let me guess: you read Professor Pinky’s book on pure and applied pocketry?”

  The elf shook his head. “No, that’s not it.”

  “Then Lucky Pinky here smuggled something for you.”

  “Uh-uh, but that sounds handy, so I’ll take his business card.” The Professor took out an Ace of Hearts with “Lucky Pinky: Ace Smuggler” written on it in crayon and handed it to the elf. “You’re the pixie who stole my watch while this brownie was cheating me in a game of Poke-the-Púca at the Crooked Rook, aren’t you?”

  The Professor nodded and opened his coat. Inside hung a large array of pocket watches and alarm clocks. The elf grabbed a silver one with a mother of pearl rose on the cover. “There it is. Here, I’ll take a couple more, since I never seem to have enough time on my hands.”

  “Take as many as you want. All we ask is the very reasonable finder’s fee,” Ginch explained.

  “A finder’s fee? I didn’t lose the watch, you stole it from me.”

  “Sure we find it! We find it in you pocket and then you lose it.”

  “That’s highway robbery.”

  “That’s-a crazy. We no steal it on a highway. We steal it in a bar.”

  “I wouldn’t mind having a bar to beat you over the head with right now,” the elf said. The Professor pulled a lead pipe out of his back pocket and handed it to the elf, who raised it above his head.

  “Uncle!” Viola called out from her throne. “What in the world are you doing?”

  “I’m the king, so I’m about to crown these tramps!” the elf yelled back, raising the pipe higher.

  Viola rolled her eyes. “Would you please get up here? All these ladies and gentlemen are waiting for you.”

  “Of course they are. They’re ladies in waiting.” Julius elbowed Shade in the ribs. “See what I did there? Pretty good, eh?”

  “Not really,” Shade said, so thrown by the king’s odd behavior that she forgot all of Chauncey’s training. Immediately after she spoke, she remembered it and was aghast.

  Julius squinted at her. “Is that right? Sounds like treasonous insubordination to me. You know what that usually gets you around here?”

  Shade gulped. She opened her mouth to answer but could think of nothing in her defense. Fortunately, Viola could. “Uncle, that’s the friend I told you about.”

  “Oh, it is!” Julius’s face lit up. “In that case, what’s a little treason between friends?”

  “So, you’re not going to … um … ” Shade ran her finger across her neck.

  “Chop your head off? Not now, but if you really have your heart set on it, maybe later. Anyway, I wouldn’t lose my head over it.” Julius offered her his arm. “Come on, you and your flunkies can stand next to the throne.”

  “’Ey, we’re no flookies,” Ginch objected as they followed Julius up to the throne. “We’re more like the sidekicks.”

  The Professor nodded and kicked Ginch in the seat of the pants.

  “Uncle, why in the world are you in your pajamas?” Viola asked, a kind and indulgent smile on her face.

  “Because if I weren’t these people would be a lot more shocked than they are right now,” Julius replied, plopping down on his throne, a leg draped over one of the armrests.

  “No, I mean, why aren’t you wearing regular state function clothes,” Viola explained.

  “I thought this was a … Oh, what do you call them? You know, those meetings that everybody loves where we get to stay in our pajamas?”

  “Levees?” suggested a tall, pale elf with slicked-back blond hair and a thin mustache standing on one of the top steps to the throne. Shade thought his voice sounded familiar.

  “Sure. The Levys, the Bernsteins, the McGillicudys—everybody loves those royal pajama parties! Hey, that gives me an idea for a royal decree. Where’s my personal secretary? Jamison! Jamison!”

  “I’m here, Your Excellency! I’m here!” A harried elven woman, blue hair pulled up in a messy bun with pencils sticking out of it, rushed forward, a notepad clutched in her hand.

  “Write up a decree!” Julius jumped up from his throne and began to pace back and forth. “‘Be it known that from this day forward, all official and unofficial meetings with His Excellency, the most exalted potentate and world-champion hula dancer King Julius the First, shall be conducted in pajamas. Hugs and kisses, King Julius the First.’ Now go get that printed up and posted around the kingdom.”

  “Uncle, you can’t have all your meetings in your pajamas,” Viola chuckled.

  “You know, you’re right! There’s no way everyone would fit into my pajamas. In fact, I could probably only get one or two more people in here with me … maybe three if I skipped breakfast. Strike that decree, Jamison.” Jamison crumpled up the sheet and stuffed it into a bulging pocket of her dress as the king stalked over to the slick, blonde elf with a thin, weaselly mustache. Next to him stood a tubby, dark-skinned elf with a bushy mauve mustache that connected to his equally bushy sideburns and a short, skinny, sallow-skinned elf with mint-green hair and a sour look on his face. “Blather! Bicker! Dicker! You three are supposed to be my chief advisors, so why is my niece the one who has to tell me I can’t have parties in my pajamas?”

  The dark elf cleared his throat and placed his hand on his ample belly. “Well, Your Excellency, in the days of King Gorbeduc, my great-great-great-great-grandfather, the sixth Earl of Blather, arranged a butter-sculpture symposium on the hottest day of Smarch, so naturally the local pudding vendors—”

  “Not this story again, Blather, you old windbag!” the sallow elf snapped. “I’ve told you again and again, nobody cares! The king doesn’t care, Dicker doesn’t care, I certainly don’t care—”

  “Now, Bicker, let’s try to be civil here,” Dicker, the slick-looking elf, soothed.

  “You be civil,” Bicker griped.

  “And I’m sure,” Dicker continued, his smile unwavering, “that we can find some sort of balance between functions conducted in daywear and ones conducted in bedclothes.”

  “Oh, you do, do you?” Julius asked. “You know, I have half a mind to cut your salaries in half.”

  “You don’t pay us anything,” Bicker grumbled. “Being your advisor’s an ‘honorary’ position.
”

  Julius plopped back down on his throne. “Well, in that case, I’ll double your salary!”

  “Your Excellency is exceedingly generous,” Dicker oozed.

  Julius arched an eyebrow. “And if you were any oilier I’d rub you against the squeaky hinges on the door to the billiards room.”

  Shade leaned toward Ginch and whispered, “Those advisors—”

  “Who? Blither, Blinkle, and Dinkle over there?”

  “Close enough. Those are the three I heard in the next room. They’re up to something.”

  “Yeah, they’re up to about here, here, and here,” Ginch said, holding his hand a couple inches above his head, a foot above, and then, standing on his tiptoes, as high as he could.

  Julius turned toward them in his throne, leaned forward, and waved their way. “And hello to you too! Say, is this when I smile and wave to my adoring subjects? I love that part of the job.”

  Viola placed her hand on her uncle’s. “Uncle Jules, you have some announcements to make.”

  “Oh, yeah. Thank you, Vi.” Julius patted her hand, leaped out of his throne, and stepped forward. He clasped his hands behind his back and assumed a look of solemnity. “Friends, Elfamians, fairyfolk, lend me your ears. On second thought, now that I’ve had a look at the state of them, you can keep them. I’d tell you to go wash behind them right now, but the east wing bathroom is currently out of order. But that’s all water under the bridge and all over the tile floor, so let’s move on to what’s really important: tributes to me. I’ve heard people say that my reign is the greatest reign of any monarch in history. At any rate, I’ve heard myself say that, so it must be true. And yet my regency is the most criminally underappreciated one Elfame has ever seen. After all I’ve done, what do I have to show for it other than vast wealth, unchecked power, my own castle, five country manors, and a college, a grammar school, a cathedral, streets in every town and village, and a pub in Gypsum-upon-Swathmud named after me? Nothing.”

  “’Ey, we’ve been to that pub!” Ginch cried, pointing to himself and the Professor.

  “Really?” Julius asked. “You’ve been to the King Julius’s Arms?”

  “Oh no.” Ginch shook his head. “We thought you mean the Boar’s Backside.”

  “And I bet you were a real pain in it,” Julius said, glaring at the two. The Professor nodded and kicked Ginch in the behind again. Julius turned back to the crowd. “Speaking of pains in the behind, I think we can all agree that I’m not getting nearly enough respect and appreciation around here. To remedy that, I’m happy to unveil, at long last and at great expense, my royal portrait!”

  The great green curtain behind the throne dropped to reveal an immense portrait framed in gold covering most of the wall. In the center of the portrait stood a shirtless, heavily muscled figure, hands on hips, standing on the edge of a cliff. Above an ermine cape fluttering in the breeze was Julius’s smiling face, a crown worn rakishly askew on top of his thick black hair.

  Shade fought the urge to giggle at the ridiculous painting. A look out over the crowd showed her that at least half of the fairies there were doing the same and the other half just gawped. Julius looked at the silent crowd expectantly. After a moment of silence, someone clapped hesitantly and soon everyone joined in with feigned enthusiasm.

  “I know, it’s a bit understated, but I am a very humble man, a personal trait I’m extremely proud of. However, out of love and respect for the love and respect you all obviously have for me, no expense has been spared!” Julius took a step over to his advisors. “Psst, this didn’t cost me too much, did it?”

  “No, Your Excellency.” Dicker assured him. He nodded to the crowd and a pig-faced hobgoblin wearing a red cape, gray pinstriped knee pants, and doublet with a white rose pinned to the breast walked forward. He knelt at the bottom of the steps.

  Shade grabbed Ginch and the Professor and hauled them to their feet. “That’s the guy I saw in the passageway!” she whispered.

  “May I present Raytheon Armalite,” Dicker said, gesturing to the hobgoblin. “The chief weapons merchant for Your Excellency’s troops and one of your most enthusiastic and generous supporters. He insisted on paying for your royal portrait.”

  “King Julius, please accept this modest token of my affection for you, meager and unworthy of you though it may be,” Armalite said, bowing his head.

  Julius shrugged. “Oh, it’s not so bad … Although now that you mention it, there’s still some empty wall space there, and I don’t see a single jewel encrusting that frame. And all I’m doing in the painting is standing around. To really showcase my greatness, shouldn’t I be vanquishing some foes or saving some children or saving some foes while vanquishing some children or something? Say, Raymalite, where do you get off cheaping out and insulting me with my own royal portrait? Guards, time for this little piggy to go wee, wee, wee all the way home.”

  “I told him it needed to be fancier,” Bicker bickered.

  “Puts me in mind of the time I sampled Lord Puddingtrouser’s noted slug salad during a Feast of St. Figgymigg bruncheon before going to my first-ever otter-taunting,” Blather blathered.

  “Now, just a moment, Your Excellency. I’m sure we can remedy this,” Dicker dickered. “Clearly, the portrait is a disappointment, so how about we give Mr. Armalite a chance to make things right. We’ll bring the portrait painter back tomorrow to start on a replacement, at Mr. Armalite’s expense of course.”

  Julius stroked his chin. “Well, that sounds fair enough. Jamison! Get these notes down: portrait size increase, 15 percent; muscle mass increase, 20 percent; heightening of drama, 50 percent; milk, 2 percent, but I’ll take skim if they’re all out. Got that?” Jamison nodded. “Good. And all this talk about tributes to me makes me realize I deserve more than just this. Take a decree, Jamison: ‘Be it known that on this day, all cities, villages, and towns—be they one-horse, dirty-old, or not-big-enough-for-the-both-of-us, shall have in their center square erected a golden statue of our beloved king, savior, and unrivaled watermelon seed spitter Julius the First to be paid for by his greatest fan and noted screw-up, Raybacon Hamalite. Warmest regards and coolest dance moves, King Julius the First.’ Get right on that, Jamison, and guards, you can let Porky there go. And find him a plunger. Let’s see if he can get that east wing bathroom up and running.”

  Armalite smoothed his clothes where he had been grabbed, his face purple with rage. Blather, Bicker, and Dicker scurried over and led him out of the room, calming him down as best they could. Julius clapped his hands and rubbed them together. He turned to face Shade. “All right. Now that we’re done with the bacon, it’s time to settle your hash, little lady. Hey, Sir What’s-Your-Face, get in here! I need you to do something about this little sprite’s neck!”

  “Wait, what?” Shade replied, fearing that perhaps her loose tongue was about to cost her her head.

  In which a plot is hatched …

  “Wait, Your … ‘Excellency’—there’s no need for that,” Shade pled.

  “Oh, I think there is. Sir Loin of Beef, hustle it and give this little sprite what she’s got coming to her!”

  Just as Shade, Ginch, and the Professor were about to attempt some sort of desperate escape, a man with long graying brown hair and a neatly trimmed beard, clad in chainmail and royal blue tabard with a golden lion head on the chest, came into the room. He walked toward the throne holding a velvet cushion on which rested a gold medal.

  “Sir Justinian!” Shade cried with happiness and relief.

  Sir Justinian gave a slight nod but said nothing as he walked up the steps and knelt before her. “’Tis my duty as the princess’s personal bodyguard and my pleasure to deliver this great honor to you, milady,” he said, looking down. Shade thought it was odd that he didn’t greet them more warmly or even smile his usual broad, winning smile at them. There was something else different about him, but Shade couldn’t quite tell what.

  “Honor?” Shade turned to Julius and Viola in searc
h of an explanation.

  “Yeah,” Julius said, picking up the medal and hanging it around Shade’s neck. Shade looked at it. Stamped into the gold was a picture of a smiling, winking Julius giving a thumbs-up. “What did you think I was going to do? Chop your head off?”

  “Kind of.”

  “Well, it’s still early in the afternoon. Maybe later if you really have your heart set on it. Thank you, Sir Osis of Liver. You may go.”

  Justinian stood, bowed to Julius, and left, again without any acknowledgement of Shade, Ginch, or the Professor. Weird, Shade thought. Maybe he thinks he has to act all formal for this, even though the king sure doesn’t seem to.

  Julius stepped forward and stretched out his arms. “Ladies, gentlemen, and the rest of you—and make no mistake that most of you are ‘and the rest of you’—we’re not here today just to honor me—we’re doing that Tuesday, Thursday, and twice on Sunday. No, today I’d like to introduce a fairy who has done more for the Seelie Court than all of you insufferable toadies and idle scroungers put together. If it weren’t for Lillyshadow Glitterdemalion here, whose parents I can only assume were paid by the syllable when they named her, our beloved Princess Viola might have perished at the hands of that treasonous bugbear, Norwell Drabbury. I’m sure I speak for everyone here when I say losing my adorable niece to that creep would have been unbearable.” He nudged Shade. “Now that was a good one, wasn’t it?”

  Feeling a little more secure, Shade replied, “Not really.”

  “Well, they can’t all be gems. Speaking of which—Jamison! Make sure the frame on my portrait is gem encrusted.” Jamison nodded and scribbled on her notepad as Julius turned back to the crowd. “Now as I was saying, we are here today to honor this lovely little sprite by bestowing on her the King Julius Award for Royal Service, Patriotism, or Massive Financial Contribution. What’s more, to thank her for saving Vi’s life, I’m pleased to announce that she will also serve as Vi’s special guest in the Fairy Rade that will begin tomorrow. Oh, and we’re starting a Fairy Rade tomorrow. I’ll let Vi tell you about it. I’m not taking part in it, so I’m not that interested.”