3 Dead Princes: An Anarchist Fairy Tale

by Danbert Nobacon

  Geraldo looked at her, worried. “Yoga breath!” he advised.

  “Yes. Yes,” she said. And the deep breaths did indeed help restore her regal balance. Because for a Queen and for all of us sometimes duty comes first. And duty is hard. It is hard to send a child out into the world to become an adult. But it has to be done.

  “We’ll wait until dawn,” she said tensely. “Before we rouse the Oosarians. We have to give Stormy and The Fool what little head start we can.”

  Geraldo nodded.

  Yoga breath again. And a silent prayer that no one would hear the muted patter of the donkeys carrying The Fool and Stormy from the rear stable, to a mountain trail, and into the night.

  No one in the castle stirred. And there was no sound until just before dawn the screams of Queen Nukeander, who had woken early and gone in search of her son. She, who knew her son well, had known in which bedroom to first look.

  Gwynmerelda looked grimly at Geraldo and said, “I’ll go to her. And you …”

  He nodded. He knew what he had to do.

  In a side chamber, Rogerley Bishop, the highest-ranking Morainian probber, was discussing matters with Elijareen, the Oosarian probber.

  “You planned this?” Elijareen asked coolly.

  “No, no, no,” replied Bishop with a satisfied smile. “Would that I had any influence over that reckless girl. But it does rather, shall we say, change things?”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning people understand a war of revenge.”

  As indeed they do, in every world. And this sort-of world was no different from any other in needing a seen-to-be-respectable reason for warring against a neighbor.

  This, Stormy had now provided. One dead Prince was a good reason. Even if it was an accident.

  Chapter 9

  A GIG AT THE GRACKLE TAVERN

  Stormy and The Fool rode their donkeys relentlessly north and west. It was a mostly cloudy, moonless night, and not at all easy going on the less well-used trails. Only the occasional glimpse of the pole star gave them reassurance.

  By midmorning they were heading high into the mountains. The sun rose and warmed their backs. It felt like Spring. As the trail wound its way skyward towards an unseen pass, particular zigs or zags gave them brief glimpses of a snow-covered peak, beyond which lay the Great Ice Wall.

  They rode on, not daring to stop for rest, reached the mountain pass by late afternoon, and began their descent into the next valley over. The sun cast its glare on a lake far below. It would be nightfall soon.

  “We need to go into a town,” The Fool said, worried. “There is a place I know down below. We can rest there.”

  As the warm day melted into twilight, The Fool and the Princess entered the small lakeside town of Wangodmanchia. There were few people on Main Street, but Stormy didn’t dare raise her head to look at their faces. Her attention, anyway, was drawn to a low noise coming from a leaning building down at the end of the street. As they neared, the noise of boisterous voices got louder, and Stormy could see the decrepit look of the building, which was wholly out of place among the austere and well-kept houses of the town.

  “Here it is,” said The Fool, thinking to himself it had been a long time. “The gobstained Grackle Tavern.” Dismounting and indicating Stormy do the same, he whispered, “Trust me!” He helped her down and hitched the donkeys to the rail. “It’ll just be one drink, and you’ll be in a comfy bed before you know it. We just have to establish our presence, so people won’t think anything of it. Follow my lead and you’ll be fine.”

  Pushing open the doors, they entered the Tavern. The noise and smells hit Stormy full in the face. It was busy inside, and nobody in particular looked at them as they found a small table away from the bar.

  If you HAD looked at The Fool and Stormy, you would not think them to be an entertainer and a Princess. You would think them an entertainer, and, well, another (possibly apprentice) entertainer.

  This is exactly what the first person to notice Stormy thought, anyway.

  “Oooh, why the long face, Miss? Life’s too short,” said the brash young Tavernmizz.

  Stormy looked at The Fool. The Tavernmizz looked from Stormy to The Fool and asked in a friendly voice, “What will it be then? Some fresh ale to enliven your thezzpian livers? And then you’ll play us some romp-pomp-pum-paggle, I shouldn’t wonder.”

  The Fool nodded.

  “What,” said Stormy below her breath to The Fool, “is she talking about?

  “She thinks,” said The Fool, smiling his first natural smile of the day, “that we are travelling players.”

  Before Stormy could reply, the Tavernmizz had plumped two jars of ale on the table before them. And in spite of the wine-wracked traumas of the night before, Stormy took the jug by the horns with a great gulp of the beer.

  “That’s better innit?” laughed the Tavernmizz. “You are sixteen?” she went on, taking a stern, closer look at Stormy. “Only jokin’. I knows you are, luvvy.” Then, as some other reveler loudly called her attention, the Tavernmizz wheeled away.

  The Fool broke the spell first and looked at the now slightly less bedraggled Stormy. “Tastes good eh?” he said as Stormy took another gulp.

  She nodded. She hadn’t realized how thirsty she was, or how hungry.

  “We’ll get food,” he reassured her, as if reading her thoughts.

  As The Fool was looking around for signs of what food might be on offer, and trying to attract the attention of the Tavernmizz again, there was a ruckus behind them at the front door. Three soldiers were blustering their way in.

  Suddenly The Fool was alert, fox-like animal radar attuned.

  “Change of plan,” he said under his breath to Stormy. “My girl! The Great God Joke could not have thought us up a better disguise.”

  Stormy looked at him flummoxed.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Just follow my lead! I know you can do it.”

  And with the words do what?frozen on Stormy’s lips, The Fool stood up with gravitas that only draped his spindly form when he engaged in the plying of his trade.

  Fellow swillers, sit back, relax, hush-be-still,

  I have news, I command your attention.

  Take a slug, let the ale tickle your tonsils,

  And hold your belief in suspension.

  We tell a tale of many terrors and a girl caught between,

  A rock and a life on the run.

  On the wrong side of a vengeful warrior queen

  Who held the girl murdered her son.

  The crowd cooed. And then The Fool looked to Stormy, with a slight nod of his head, as a musician would to his band mates, indicating that she come in with her part.

  Not quite comprehending, Stormy felt her legs act on their own, bringing her to standing, and the muscles in her face contorting, shaping a begoggled “oh” shape, as if about to launch into song.

  A murmur to her right, and she saw the soldiers and instantly understood. Her discomfort fell away like a loosely tied cloak. She lifted her arms in an opening theatrical gesture and half sang:I killed him! That is I mean I kissed him. That is the girl,

  In this tale did long ago.

  He didn’t deserve that, but he was drunk beyond lewd.

  I shoved him off, and his head cracked a post.

  “To die … eugh … at the hands of an undergirl,”

  The Prince cried as he gasped his last breath.

  “I was meant for great things, you are cursed now you …

  girl,

  And my mother will hunt you to death.”

  Boys! Always the same. When things go wrong,

  They go crying to mom.

  And this one would never have made a good king,

  Carrying on like he did with his … thing.

  At this Stormy paused, for the whole place was in uproar, as if the tavern walls themselves were rolling with mirth. She looked at The Fool, who smiled reassuringly, indicating in the secret language of performe
rs that she dazzle them some more, and for all she was worth.

  Well, Katy … That’s the girl … resolved to outrun them,

  ’Stead of waiting for Death to call her.

  She fled fast on her donkey to The Black Cat Mountains,

  From whence none have ever returned.

  And then something must have half clicked in the brain of the lead soldier, who stood in front of his comrades in the crowd, barely six feet from Stormy herself. The similarity between the story being told and his task at hand must have suddenly dawned. He banged his staff on the wooden floor and announced, “We search for a girl who murdered a Prince, it is said. And we have orders to ’pprehend her, and any who help her … So, well, if any of you folks knows anything then, you best be telling us, sharpish like.”

  Stormy held her breath. The head soldier looked at her directly and asked: “You ever done a gig at her castle, Miss? Over the mountains a way?”

  How old is this girl and what does she look like?’

  Said The Fool stepping into the questions.

  She’s a princess from the mountains all of thirteen,

  But what she looks like we don’t have much sense.’

  She ain’t been in here, if she’s only thirteen,’

  Said the Tavernmizz to the head soldier.

  We can’ let them in it’s county code you see?’

  Thus befuddling a man who liked orders.

  Keep your peepers peeled,’ spake the soldier.

  She’s blonde with blue eyes?’ quipped The Fool

  I don’t know, Well I’ve heard … That’s the rumor,’

  The soldiers nodded with all in the room.

  Asked The Fool in his stride, Whence she came? What’s

  her name?

  And how would we know her complexion?’

  Princess Alex Ann Something Some Wilson?’

  Said the soldier tackling his brains

  Ahh the rose of the fair skinned Morainian folk.

  You construe well this young flibberty-maiden.

  I met her once on her birthday I was master of jokes

  But am shocked by her crime of passion.’

  These things happen, even to royals, Nay?’

  Said the soldier, shaking his brain cells.

  But much better informed we go on our way

  So thanks and the Wan God bless y’ all.’

  The Fool smiled at Stormy and she looked back. Her brown hair, now down to her shoulders where it had shaken free from its plaits, framed her brown eyes, light brown skin, and lips that cracked in a cheeky curve.

  It was a strange thing, but The Fool, who knew next to nothing about helping someone deal with shock or guilt, or grief or anything like that, had managed to bring Stormy out of her seemingly impenetrable funk. There, in the glow of the tavern, The Fool had somehow got her feeling something like herself.

  Stormy was exhausted beyond exhaustion, light-headed from the ale, and not a little exhilarated from the evening’s events. A half-eaten sandwich, some hot goat milk and honey later, the Tavernmizz led Stormy upstairs to bed. In the dim corridor, dark thoughts tried to woo Stormy. But she was able to hold them at bay long enough to get into bed, and collapse into a deep, deep sleep.

  Chapter 10

  DREAM DREAM DREAM

  Deep sleep only lasts so long. The brain, anxious to do its cleaning chores (or worse still, skiving off while its owner is sleeping), has ideas of its own. And thus when the deep sleep became, well, less deep, Stormy entered another world. Strange to say, though, it was the real world, too.

  It was dark. She was in the cave. She thought that she must have already found the sunshine and pacified the Black Cat. She did not actually remember doing this, but was blinded to this fact by an eager expectation of seeing her father any minute.

  There he was. He had his back to her. Her father’s body turned, but instead of the warm smile of Walterbald’s comforting face, was the anguished look of Mercurio as his head hit the bedpost. Stormy screamed out loud in the dream.

  The Fool, who was only half asleep on the other bed, opened his eyes and looked over at the sleeping, dream possessed Princess. His gaze was empathetic, for he knew tragedy and death well. He also knew that even in sleep, escape from troubled thoughts was often only passing. He knew that dream shapes seemed to particularly enjoy feeding on the tormented. Whether they meant to help or hinder, The Fool had never been able to say.

  In the dreamscape, Stormy screwed her eyes ever more tightly shut. She dared not open them, but then in dreamtime, the brain could not care less for the convention of seeing only with open eyes. The specters merely wriggled their way under her eyelids and began their dance anew.

  Maybe you’ve had dreams like this.

  Stormy was being chased, uphill. She had run up hills, but not like this. She couldn’t see what was pounding up the mountain trail behind her, but she could hear the clatter of hooves and the fierce breathing of animals long extinct. Then the tree line, and the lushness and the smells of the forest suddenly gave way. The grade lessened, and the sky opened up on a plateau of long golden grass so tall, Stormy could barely see above it.

  The beasts on her trail forgotten, she now contemplated a new fear: that she was easy prey for the huge black raptor circling above.

  A narrow gorge opened in front of Stormy and she stumbled to a halt, all but falling over. And there she beheld a gaggle of monkeys, involved in what looked like some well-practiced dance routine.

  Hearing her, the monkeys stopped what they were doing, all eyes at once turning towards the stricken girl. As if at some secret signal, the monkeys, seven of them in all, stood on their hind legs and bowed, doffing non-existent caps. Looking at Stormy intently, one over to the left said, “At last. The woebegotten Princess!” At which he and the other six burst into raucous laughter, fell over and rolled in the cleared grass stubble, guffackling incessantly.

  “What’s the big joke?” she said, but the monkeys kept laughing. Looking at their twisted but unthreatening faces, something clicked in Stormy’s brain. She knew. She did not know how she knew, but she knew that these were the Giggle Monkeys. Dream logic told her it was of great significance that she’d stumbled upon them.

  She woke up in the dark, in a bed in the Grackle Tavern, breathing heavily and thinking desperately that she needed to get back to the dream. But, alas, deep sleep proved to be master this night, pulling Stormy back into dreamless proper rest.

  Chapter 11

  THE WITCH IN THE DITCH

  Stormy and The Fool climbed back into their saddles sometime in the midmorning. They were not as replenished and refreshed as outlaws on the run should have been. The Fool was worse for wear for having stayed up drinking. Stormy also had a mild headache from the beer, and even worse, waves of gut-wrenching stomach pains like she was missing home, missing her father even missing Gwynmerelda.

  The Fool led them onwards and north out of town, to a break in the forest where yet another mountain trail began to the west.

  “So where are we headed now?” asked Stormy

  “Why, the Black Cat Mountains, of course,” said The Fool.

  “You are joking! It’s too early for jo-eeughrks …” Stormy’s voice trailed off

  The Fool shook his head.

  “But no one comes back from the Black Cat Mountains,” Stormy said.

  The Fool replied, “Only if I’m a no one. Only if you believe the night tales. I’ve been back and forth, ooh a dozen times since I was a kid, I guess.”

  “But how?”

  “Because I know the way.”

  “And the Black Cat of legend?”

  “Never seen it.”

  “Oh,” said Stormy. She didn’t mention that she had seen it. Even if it was only in a dream, Stormy knew it was really real. “How long will it take to get there?”

  “Could be a day or two, depending on who we meet along the way.”

  “That sounds ominous.”

  “It probably w
on’t be.”

  They rode on in silence for some time, and Stormy’s thoughts began to wander. She tried not to think about what had happened at Bald Mountain Castle, but then Bald Mountain had been her home for thirteen summers. It was her whole life. Her stomach groaned again. The few times she had left Morainia on family trips, they had generally headed south, occasionally to Rockport and the ocean, to visit her Unkle Jude and her sort-of-cousins. Sometimes she went on business trips with her father to meet with the kings and queens of southern kingdoms. She had never really been any distance north, where they were headed now.