Happily Ever Laughter

by Roy L. Hinuss

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  About the Author and Illustrator

  Copyright Page

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  To Lord John, royal scribe and donkey whisperer

  CHAPTER 1

  Prince Carlos Charles Charming raced down the twisty corridors of Fancy Castle. He’d been told to get to the throne room “on the double.”

  “On the double” didn’t mean “in a minute.” “On the double” meant “now.”

  Carlos’s dad, King Carmine, didn’t say “on the double” very often. When he did, it usually meant bad news. Carlos quickened his pace. His jingle-toed shoes slapped against the castle floors. His stomach knotted up with worry.

  Carlos wasn’t only worried; he was crabby, too. His dad’s “on the double” had arrived in the middle of Carlos’s jester lesson.

  What could possibly be more important than jestering? Carlos’s brain grouched as he skidded around another corner. Why don’t I get an “on the double” when I’m doing something princely?

  And why, he wondered as he gasped for breath, is this castle so dang huge?

  Carlos stumbled through the throne room’s arched doorway. King Carmine and Queen Cora were waiting for him.

  Carlos’s parents were a study in opposites: His dad was tall and thin. His mom was short and plump. His dad was a serious man of few words. His mom was a giggly chatterbox.

  At least, his mom was usually a giggly chatterbox. As Carlos staggered toward the thrones, he noticed that she was not her usual self. For the first time in forever, she shared her husband’s frown. Also for the first time in forever, she allowed her husband to do most of the talking.

  “Ah, there you are, son,” the king said. “Thank you for coming so quickly. We have a visitor.”

  It was then that Carlos noticed the stranger. He was large and round and sickly pale. (He looked especially sickly standing beside the tan-skinned king and queen.) The stranger’s head seemed to ooze into his torso like a dollop of whipped yolk sitting in a deviled egg. His uniform was black silk trimmed with gold. His most prominent feature, however, was his nose. It was as long and sharp as a toucan’s beak. It pointed straight up, showing off what Carlos imagined were the hairiest nostrils on earth.

  Ew, Carlos thought.

  “This man is a special messenger from Dire Dominion,” the king said.

  Carlos knew of Dire Dominion. It was a vast land, seven or eight kingdoms to the west of Faraway Kingdom. The dominion was famous for its huge and powerful army that always seemed to be waging war on somebody.

  The messenger looked down his nose at Carlos. His nasal hair flapped with disapproval. “This,” he sneered, “is a prince?”

  Carlos peered down at his clothes. He was wearing a lime-green jester suit, complete with hat and curly-toed shoes. It was a snappy outfit but not a very princely one.

  “Yes,” the king replied, clenching his jaw. “He is the prince. A very excellent prince, I might add. So give us your message and go.”

  Carlos noticed that his dad wasn’t quite himself. King Carmine was usually calm and patient with everyone, but now anger lurked behind his every word. It was unsettling. A twinge of anxiety caught in Carlos’s throat.

  “The message is not to be given,” the messenger intoned. “It is to be announced. It is to be read aloud by me.”

  “Of course it is.” The king’s eyes narrowed. “I would expect nothing less from Queen Cayenne. Read your message and get out.”

  The messenger reached into the large, black leather satchel draped over his shoulder.

  He pulled out a trumpet.

  He took a deep breath, puckered, and blew.

  Triumphant fanfare echoed off the walls and ceiling of the throne room.

  The king let out a sharp, impatient sigh.

  The messenger returned the trumpet to the satchel.

  He then pulled out a drum.

  Thunderous booms echoed off the walls and ceiling of the throne room.

  The king let out a second sharp, impatient sigh.

  The messenger returned the drum to his satchel.

  He then pulled out a—

  “If you pull another instrument out of that bag,” the king said, “I will have you stabbed.”

  “Queen Cayenne ordered me to play five instruments,” the messenger replied.

  “Five instruments?” The king turned to Carlos. “Son? Will you fetch my sword?”

  “All right! All right!” the messenger shouted. “I’ll read the message!”

  The messenger reached back into his bag. He nudged past an accordion, banjo, and tambourine and pulled out a scroll tied with a ribbon.

  The messenger unrolled the crinkly document. He cleared his throat. Then he read:

  “‘The brave, noble, and super-duper kingdom of Dire Dominion, wisely ruled by the courageous, compassionate, and super gorgeous Queen Cayenne, is proud, honored, and super-stoked to announce the 10 and ¾th birthday of the scholarly, athletic, and super-popular Prince Hortense.

  “‘To celebrate this awesome-sauce occasion, one prince or princess from every kingdom on the continent will attend Prince Hortense’s 10 and ¾th birthday party, to be held in Dominion Palace on the first of June at three o’clock.

  “‘If your prince or princess does not attend Prince Hortense’s 10 and ¾th birthday party, Dire Dominion will see this insult as an act of war.’”

  A jolt of fear zipped up Carlos’s spine.

  “‘If your prince or princess is late to Prince Hortense’s 10 and ¾th birthday party, Dire Dominion will see this insult as an act of war.’”

  Carlos’s head began to pound.

  “‘If your prince or princess is not dressed in his or her finest clothing for Prince Hortense’s 10 and ¾th birthday party, Dire Dominion will see this insult as an act of war.’”

  Carlos’s legs got wobbly.

  “‘If your prince or princess does not arrive with an expensive and thoughtful gift for Prince Hortense’s 10 and ¾th birthday party, Dire Dominion will see this insult as an act of war.’”

  Carlos felt like he was about to throw up.

  “‘In short, if your prince or princess does anything—and we mean anything—that we don’t like, Dire Dominion is gonna wipe your piddly kingdom off the face of the earth.

  “‘Can’t wait to see you there!

  “‘Signed Queen Cayenne, Absolute Ruler of Dire Dominion, the Catapult Capital of the World.’”

  The messenger rolled up the scroll and strode from the room.

  “This is going to be a fart stink of a party,” Carlos said.

  “Don’t say ‘fart stink.’ It’s unprincely,” the king replied. “But yes. It will be.”

  “Oh, how I hate that Queen Cayenne!” Queen Cora snapped. “She is so very, very…”

  “Fart stinky?” Carlos suggested.

  “Yes! Fart stinky! Very fart stinky!” She turned to the king. “That sister of yours is always looking for a way to make y
our life difficult.”

  Carlos’s mouth dropped open in surprise. “Wait, what? Dad has a sister?!”

  The king nodded. “Queen Cayenne is my younger sister.”

  “Really? How come I’ve never heard of her?” Carlos asked. “How come she doesn’t show up on holidays? Or come to family gatherings? Or send me birthday cards with money inside?”

  “We, um, prefer not to speak about her too much,” the king said.

  Queen Cora put it a little more bluntly. “Because Queen Cayenne is the most terrible, horrible, no good, very bad person on the continent. And I get along with everybody! But whenever I hear from that fart-stinky sister of your father’s, I just want to … I just want to … I … I…” she sputtered. “Oh! I don’t even know what I want!”

  The king rose from his chair. “That’s all right, dear. I know what you want.” He called to a nearby servant. “Fetch the dragon, please. Her Majesty needs something to cuddle.”

  “Ooh! Yes!” A smile stretched across Queen Cora’s face. “That is exactly what I want! A good dragon cuddle!”

  “I know, dear,” the king replied.

  “You always look out for me,” she continued.

  “That’s my job.” The king kissed her forehead. “And don’t worry about Cayenne. She likes to cause trouble sometimes, but I know my sister. Everything is going to turn out just fine.”

  The king’s words sounded reassuring, but Carlos saw something the queen did not. Carlos saw a flicker of worry in his father’s eyes. Carlos had never seen his father worried before.

  Never.

  Carlos felt himself go numb. This is bad, he thought. This is very, very bad.

  CHAPTER 2

  “Ah, there you are, young’un!” Jack the Jester said in surprise. “I wasn’t sure if you were coming back.”

  Carlos leaned heavily against the doorway of Fancy Castle’s ballroom. “I wasn’t sure, either,” Carlos said.

  “No worries,” the old jester said. “Now, if I remember correctly, you were going to show me a new juggling routine.”

  “Yeah,” Carlos replied. His mind was a million miles away.

  If I do anything wrong at that party, I could start a war, Carlos thought.

  “All right, then,” Jack said. “Dazzle me!”

  Jack handed Carlos three plastic sporks. Carlos accepted them.

  One little itty-bitty mistake and I could start a war! Carlos thought.

  Jack tapped his jingle-toed shoe. “Well, come on, kiddo! Do something! Don’t keep me in suspense! I assume your routine has something to do with that cake?”

  Jack gestured to the far side of the ballroom, where three perfect slices of cake rested on a pedestal.

  The word cake snapped Carlos out of his troubled trance.

  “Hmm? Oh, yeah. The cake,” he began. “I’ll be jestering for the Stein triplets next week. It’s their birthday. So I came up with a new idea: I’ll juggle these three sporks. At the end of my juggling routine, I’ll throw them at three slices of birthday cake. One spork will stick into each slice. That way the triplets can eat their cake the second I’m finished performing.”

  “Wow! That sounds amazing!” Jack exclaimed. “If you can do it.”

  Jack said “If you can do it” with a twinkle in his eye. Jack was sure Carlos could do it. Carlos was probably the best juggler on the continent.

  And Carlos could do it. Carlos had practiced this spork routine hundreds of times on hundreds of cake slices. Every time he practiced, the result was always the same: Each spork neatly plopped tines-first into the buttercream icing.

  But as Carlos began to juggle the sporks, his mind once again swelled with troubling thoughts.

  He tried to push the thoughts away.

  Don’t think about starting a war. Don’t think about starting a war. Don’t think about starting a war, Carlos thought.

  But that didn’t work.

  He tried to focus.

  Focus! Carlos thought. Focus on the juggling. Focus on the exact spots where you want the sporks to land. Not on starting a war. Don’t focus on starting a war!

  But that didn’t work, either.

  Holy schmoley! Carlos thought. I could start a war!

  And Carlos threw the sporks.

  This is what happened next:

  1. The first spork missed the cake. Instead, it crashed through a colorful stained-glass window.

  2. The second spork missed the cake. Instead, it bumped a lit candle that set fire to a rope that held up a crystal chandelier. The chandelier crashed to the ballroom floor.

  3. The third spork missed the cake. Instead, it stabbed an oil painting. The oil painting was of Cornelius, the royal horse. The spork stabbed the painting of the royal horse in the painting’s royal horsey butt.

  Jack and Carlos regarded the destruction for a long, silent moment. Carlos had no idea plastic sporks could create so much mayhem. But apparently they can.

  “Maybe I’m wrong, kiddo,” Jack said, “but you seem a little distracted.”

  “I am distracted!” Carlos exclaimed. “I’m really distracted! I just got a message from a fart-stinky queen from some fart-stinky country! She invited me to a fart-stinky birthday party for a fart-stinky kid I don’t even know! And there are, like, three million fart-stinky rules I have to follow! And if I mess up any fart-stinky rule, this fart-stinky queen from this fart-stinky country will wage a war on Faraway Kingdom!” Carlos gasped for breath. “It’s just so…”

  “Fart stinky?” Jack asked. The kindly old jester scratched his chin. “Is the name of the country Dire Dominion?”

  Carlos’s eyebrows went up in surprise. “Yeah,” he said.

  “And is the queen named Cayenne?” Jack asked.

  “How did you know that?” Carlos asked.

  “I know Cayenne,” Jack said. “Or I knew her. When she was a little girl, she used to live in this castle with your father. I jestered for her.”

  “Oh, of course,” Carlos said.

  “And you know what?” Jack asked.

  “What?” Carlos asked.

  “She was always rotten,” Jack said.

  Minutes later, Carlos and Jack stood in the hall outside the king’s study. They stared at a life-size painting of a scowling, bony woman. She held a rat-size, scowling, bony dog in her lap.

  “That’s Cayenne,” Jack said. “Never in all my years did I ever catch that girl smiling. Your father didn’t smile much, either. But your father was different. King Carmine was serious but happy.” Jack shook his head sadly. “But Cayenne was never happy. Never. Not once. And she was jealous of anyone who was.”

  Carlos stared into Cayenne’s face. The angry glint in her eyes gave him chills.

  “Cayenne hated happy people. That’s why she hates your father,” Jack said.

  Carlos shuddered at the idea. “I didn’t know family members could be like that. I mean, I know families argue, but to actually hate one another?”

  “That hatred is common in many families. Especially royal families,” Jack said. “And Cayenne has hate to spare. That’s why I come here to practice my aim.”

  “Practice your aim?” Carlos asked.

  “Yep.” A jet of water fired from the flower on Jack’s lapel. The stream caught the scowling Cayenne right between the eyes. A second squirt hit the scowling rat dog.

  Jack smiled. “Dang, I’m good.”

  “But I don’t understand,” Carlos said. “If Cayenne is such a horrible person, why is there a picture of her hanging outside Dad’s study?”

  “It’s a reminder,” came the reply. But the reply was not from Jack.

  Carlos turned. The door to the study was open. King Carmine took a step into the hall. “That portrait helps me rule this kingdom,” he said. “When I am faced with a difficult decision, I ask myself, ‘What would Cayenne do?’ Then I do the opposite.”

  Jack bowed before the king. “I hope I wasn’t getting too personal, Your Majesty.”

  The king shook his h
ead. “Not at all, Jack. It’s important for Carlos to know about my sister.” The king turned to Carlos. “Tomorrow is Hortense’s party. You will be wandering into a lion’s den.”

  “I know,” Carlos said.

  “My sister will look for any excuse to wage war on Faraway Kingdom,” the king said. “Do your best to not give her that excuse.”

  Carlos’s throat tightened. “I’m scared.” His voice was little more than a squeak. “I’m scared that I might drop my salad spork and start a war.”

  “I know how you feel.” The king put his hand on Carlos’s shoulder. “But I also know something else. I know that you are a very capable, intelligent, and resourceful prince.”

  The king gave Jack a respectful nod. “And thanks to my old friend Jack, you are also a very capable, intelligent, and resourceful jester. Those qualities have served you very well in the past. I have a feeling they will serve you well tomorrow.”

  But Carlos wasn’t so sure.

  CHAPTER 3

  Carlos stood outside the castle, waiting for his ride.

  He wore his white suit. It was his finest suit. It also happened to be his most uncomfortable suit. The starched collar squeezed his neck. The heavy jacket pinched his shoulders. The stiff belt dug into his stomach. The handle of his sword poked his thigh. The slightly too-small trousers made his butt itchy. The shiny boots pinched his pinkie toe.

  Every inch of him was scrubbed raw. His fingernails were clipped. His teeth were flossed. His tangle of hair was combed within an inch of its life.

  Carlos was so miserable that he barely noticed the thunder of approaching footsteps.

  “Oh, hai, CC!” Smudge chirped.

  Smudge was Carlos’s ride. Smudge was also Fancy Castle’s dragon. Castles don’t typically have dragons, but Smudge was not a typical dragon. He was the size of a teenaged bull elephant but had the happy personality of a guinea pig in a barrel of baby carrots. Smudge worked at the castle lighting chandeliers with his fiery breath, giving knitting lessons, and accepting snuggles from Queen Cora.