The Official Guide to Rescuing and Maintaining Damsels in Distress

by K Alexander

  "Piggle Hort… do you really know people with names like those?"

  "Yes." It was dry. "Assuming Gunther has found a suitable girl already I will probably soon be Her Highness Helena Hortentortle."

  The knight was sorely tempted to giggle, but it did not seem to be the time or place. Instead she decided to be sternly serious. Or have a seizure trying. "You will refuse, I assume."

  When their eyes met the characteristic sparkle in the green eyes was gone. "Why, Crispin? I have no reason not to. There is nothing else for me."

  "But…" for once Crispin strained to find the words, "… but you're an intelligent beautiful woman, Helena. With a mind and a will of her own."

  Helena smiled. "It's very kind of you, but as a princess I only need one of those characteristics. The others make me a liability, would you believe it?"

  Studying the princess Crispin bit the inside of her lip in thought. "Would you like me to take you back to the tower?" she enquired softly. Glancing at her in surprise Helena smiled gently and shook her head.

  "Thank you, Crispin, but no. After seeing the world, I don't want to be sitting in a tower waiting for life to happen anymore."

  "You will be trapped in a marriage waiting for something to happen instead." It was said as kindly as possible.

  Nodding her head once the princess turned over and stood up. "It's what princesses do. Let's get going. We're almost there."

  They had been very quiet for a very long period, but this time the difference was that the air between them was glum rather than frosty. Even when the turrets of Helena's father's castle came into view, nicely highlighted by the setting sun, not much beyond basic pleasantries was exchanged. The princess rode in front of the knight - for once she had not been obstinate, but had simply offered her hand when Crispin offered. Over the blonde head in front of her the dark knight studied the castle sceptically as it approached. Nobility in these areas had increased of late (in title if not in manner), what with princes and princesses running off and marrying any old soul who could wield a sword and chop off a few heads. The result was a whole lot of satellite royalty who had barely more than the land they lived on. Not so in this case. It was obvious that somebody in the castle (Crispin was betting on the queen) had a propensity both for embellishment and dramatic statements. Apart from the solid outer wall that was visibly meant for practical purposes, the castle was a mass of gaudy detail, reminding Crispin somehow of a large overly decorated cake. Friezes covered in gold leaf sprang up from nearly every wall, depicting everything imperial, from the royal naval battle between Pups the Whiner and Pnifty, Duke of Trout, to the coronation of Queen Philimininea and her subsequent disastrous descent into complete sanity. The turrets were topped with gold-covered shapes that turned out, at closer scrutiny, to be giant pigeons. Smiling? Yes. Crispin smothered a smile, precisely as Helena said something over her shoulder that was carried away in the wind. Leaning forward Crispin spoke into the princess's ear.

  "Excuse me?"

  "I said…" turning her head so that she could be heard, "do try not to find it amusing. My mother loves it."

  "Who did it?"

  "My mother."

  When they drew near to the large dark gate a trumpet swiftly sounded from the watchtower above them, and not a moment later the doors began to creak open ominously. They revealed a circular pathway that led to the imposing entrance. In the middle of the courtyard stood a golden fountain spurting water irregularly. The centrepiece was in the shape of a horse with a rather panicked expression (that looked a lot like a donkey). Riding slowly to the entrance Crispin studied the two figures that appeared at the top of the staircase. Helena's father was a short thin man, clothed in a dark red robe with a cut that did nothing to disguise his odd little protruding potbelly. His hair was a dark blonde and stood up around his head like a wild halo. Helena's mother looked almost exactly like her daughter, except that she had the narrow pinched appearance of somebody who had been… well, pinched too many times. She was also obviously shortsighted, because while the king was studying the approaching pair with a measure of confusion, her eyes were glued to Crispin's head with an expression of glee. Grasping the hem of her extensively decorated yellow dress with hands as dainty as Helena's (though much curlier around the outer fingers) she darted down the stairs and watched with twinkling eyes as her daughter slid from the horse.

  "Darling Helena, welcome home! And do introduce us to your dashing compa…" she meant to glance up coyly, but at this distance even she could not mistake Crispin for a man, "ni… you… aren't… to your … charming friend?" Somehow the sentence righted itself midair and pretended that it was everybody else who wasn't making sense (and it worked, too, but that's royalty for you). Sliding off Toby Crispin smiled grimly and waited until the rather stiff obligatory hug between mother and daughter had expired, then offered a hand to the short blond queen.

  "Crispin at your service, milady."

  Halfway to presenting her hand for the expected lip service, the perplexed queen spun around on her heels towards Helena, leaving the knight's extended hand reclining in the air like a reluctant otter. "But is Crispin not a man's … "

  "No," the princess interrupted tersely, waving closer a surreptitiously lurking servant, "it's not. Ivor can take the bags and settle in Crispin's horse. Shall we go in?"

  Turning around Crispin slid her saddlebag and scabbard off Toby's back and draped them over one broad shoulder. Helena was greeting her father in a suitably respectable manner, and while the royals were occupied the knight rested her forehead against the horse's soft flank for a moment. All traces of the young blonde as she had experienced her at the waterfall - finally unwound, at ease in her own skin, silver droplets lining her lashes as she laughed from the pit of her stomach - had disappeared to be replaced with the young princess she had first encountered in the tower - haughty, brisk, infuriatingly acidic around the edges. This, apparently, was the effect that her parents had on her. Shooting a short but efficient prayer to Tesni, patron saint of fate (and wife of Pups the Whiner, which gave her automatic entry into the martyr stakes), Crispin plastered an agreeable smile on her face and turned to meet the king.

  Hopefully she won't have to wait too long for Piggie Hortingsnortingmorkleton. Even he has to be better than … this.

  Endeavouring to peer at her down his nose (which was damned near impossible, if not a little droll, in view of the fact that he was approximately the height of her chest) King Gregor extended a royally floppy hand. Crispin was no stranger to court etiquette, considering her occupation, but on this occasion she felt oddly disinclined to behave well. Grasping his smaller hand in his she shook it enthusiastically.

  "Such a pleasure, your Highness."

  With as much dignity as he could muster (a lot, for such a short man) he extracted his hand from hers and attempted to ignore the aftershock travelling down his shoulders. "Yes, yes. Welcome to Bernam, Kathryn… "

  "Crispin."

  "Erm, quite. Come along."

  She trailed behind the group as they entered the castle, eyeing the elaborate elephant-shaped sconces on the wall with a slight smirk. They were smiling too. At least the wall decorations are happy. The group veered left and with the movement Helena shot a quick reprimanding glance over her shoulder, wiping the grin off Crispin's face completely. The room they entered was quite clearly a dining room. You could identify it by the massive table in the centre, so large that to move around the corners you had to become relatively intimate with whoever was sitting nearest. Apparently this was to be the setting of tonight's reunion, because three servants materialised from behind the heavy tapestries hanging on the wall and pulled out the closest chairs, seating the royals. Left standing Crispin glanced around for a good place to leave her belongings, almost committing a very bad act when a pie-faced man with a woeful expression slid them off her shoulder smoothly.

  "I will put them away for the … lady." She could swear he looked her up and down as he said it, though
his eyes never actually moved from her left shoulder. "And Ivor will seat the lady."

  There was indeed a servant standing behind a chair on one of the long sides of the table, though she was absolutely sure that he had not been the one to take Toby to the stables. Smiling in a compliant manner that was already rapidly making her sick she nodded her acquiescence and attempted to squeeze past the corner of the table without shoving her backside into the queen's face. It was made a tad more difficult by the fact that the queen obviously prescribed to the school of thinking that stated any potentially embarrassing situation could be dealt with by remaining completely immobile. When finally the knight lowered herself into the ostentatious chair that towered over her and all but dwarfed the others, she glanced over at Helena, disappointed to see not even a glimmer of amusement. A solemn man in neat clothing served them each a goblet of wine before he vanished into the tapestries much like the rest of the servants.

  Lifting his glass King Gregor leaned over the table to address Helena. "My daughter, I welcome you back into our home with a heart full of gladness," and a bucket full of twaddle, Crispin added mentally, "though I am rather confused as to the circumstances?"

  Lifting her glass in answer to his Helena took a long sip before she considered her parents. Deciding that the outcome was inevitable in any case, she drew a resigned breath and began her story. "As you know, mother, father, I was in the tower at the eastern border of Richard De Rigby's kingdom… "

  "Yes," her mother interrupted tetchily, "because for some reason you would not consent to marrying that nice Colonel Grigori Knarth."

  "Mother," in this beginning the knight could spy the start of a familiar argument, "he was 60 years old."

  "Mature, is a better manner to think of that." And now Crispin could spy the origins of Helena's obstinacy.

  "He only has one leg!"

  "The cane makes him seem dignified."

  "He was bald then."

  "Very uncomplicated hygiene-wise."

  "His daughter from the previous marriage was my age!"

  "A lovely companion for you." The queen sat back and folded her hands over her stomach, gloating silently.

  Placing her goblet on the table in a way that made Crispin's teeth ache, Helena raised her eyebrows at her mother. "Rumour was that he killed his first wife, mother." With a cock of her blonde head she invited a positive perspective on that.

  The queen lifted her goblet to her mouth daintily and glanced at her daughter over its rim in an almost coy manner. "Well, you should be rather more thankful. That cleared the way for you."

  Just then the knight had to apologise profusely for accidentally snorting wine onto the lovely table through her nose. Waiting patiently until all murderous glances had been glanced and all offensive bodily weapons had been discreetly wiped, the king took over the conversation in an unperturbed manner. "Please, Ivory," he directed at his wife, who shut her mouth with an audible clang and a fierce scowl, "let the girl finish. Helena?"

  "Thank you, father." She nodded faintly in his direction. "To condense the tale, a knight did indeed challenge the terrible three-headed beast and the horribly clingy fronds of climbing vines … "

  "Horribly clingy, those," the king agreed. Crispin thought to concur but after a moment of thought decided that she'd probably soon be the reluctant focus of all attention in any case, and so took a sip of wine instead.

  "Yes. And climbed up the tower and kissed the princess (rather unenthusiastically, though), all as it should be."

  The king drummed a set of short fingers on the table. "And?"

  "And there sits your - or my, I suppose - knight." Lifting her goblet at the dark woman Helena saluted her. "Cheers." At that very point Crispin could almost hear the old spark flickering in the green eyes. It was not hard to understand why, either. Queen Ivory had her elegant hand halfway up to her mouth and her lips already pouting to receive the rim of the goblet, and it was frozen in that pose that she now glanced from Helena to Crispin, and then back again with a frown. King Gregor's fingers were still drumming as he studied Crispin with a polite scowl.

  "Who? Kirsten? But she's a woman. Impossible."

  "It's Crispin, sir."

  "Quite. Helena?"

  Helena inclined her head coolly at her father. "These are modern times, father. And that is exactly what happened. "It was Crispin who rescued me from the tower."

  "But why?" the king enquired quizzically.

  Once more on the point of answering for herself Crispin was pre-empted by Helena. "Because that is what knights generally do, is it not? Rescue damsels for rewards?"

  "Hmm." King Gregor thought about it for a moment and then apparently decided not to delay the serving of dinner. "All right. Delightful to have you back, Helena, and much thanks of course to Christa for returning you…"

  "Crispin."

  "… Quite… and I will most certainly reward you in an appropriate manner, young lady knight." Nodding graciously at the dark woman he clapped his hands, conjuring up a gaggle of servants with serving plates.

  Dinner was delightful, and conversation was not. There seemed to exist a rather enthusiastic measure of disdain between mother and daughter, and whilst they engaged in verbal sparring of a fairly animated sort, the king perpetrated incredibly tedious monologues towards Crispin, not allowing her space for much more than to correct her name occasionally. Sporadically he would interrupt his pedantic reminiscence of some odd event such as the first Round Cheese Festival in a place called Pembnamshire (where, according to his recollection, he once won a prize for the best costume) to pay abrupt fierce attention to the sniping between Ivory and Helena, punctuating random snippets of exchange with "Quite…" before he would turn back and, catching Crispin paying fierce attention to her roast beef instead, commit yet more dialogue at her. In such a fashion the evening passed as slowly as Colonel Grigori Knarth strolling across the lawns of Fort Knarth.

  Only once did the queen direct her stare at Crispin instead of her own daughter. "And what do you have to say for yourself?" she demanded in a tone as pleasant as a bleeding piranha. A heavy silence skulked into the room and made itself comfortable in the candelabra as everyone present at the table turned to study the knight. Even the servants unexpectedly materialised and proceeded to wait patiently. Clearing her throat Crispin smiled. "The food is lovely, thank you." According to the reactions it received it was not the correct response. Casting around for something suitably dreary, Crispin grasped at the nearest branch. "Those climbing vines are awfully clingy…"

  "Quite. Have I explained to you the principle behind Chanky Fileominus's theory of chucking grain, Caitlin?"

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  SHAKING HER HEAD in wonderment Crispin collapsed into one of the plush settees in Helena's room. "And I used to think that you were strange. My goodness, Helena, how ever on earth did you turn out such a charming well-balanced example of the species in this place?"

  "There was nothing in this world I dreaded more than resembling my mother, so what you see sitting here before you is a dedicated and committed study in disobedience." Helena fell back onto her huge canopy bed and stared up at the pink frills in fascination. "I don't think they've changed anything in here since I've left."

  "Probably not. They do live in hope." One foot bobbed rhythmically over the edge of the pink settee as Crispin glanced about her. The ostentatious dress laid out neatly on the chest of drawers attracted her (unwilling) attention persistently. "Would … is that for everyday wear?"

  Glancing over the princess gave a bored shrug. "No, that would be a wedding dress. Mother obviously sent Ivor up here with it the moment we arrived. Well, not the exact moment. More specifically the moment when you wilfully and errantly flaunted the failure to be an eligible man."

  "Oh." Crispin bit the inside of her lip thoughtfully. "I do apologise. I'm entirely unreliable when it comes to turning into a man on demand."

  "Don't trouble yourself." The princess waved a regal hand around
vaguely. "Just try harder next time."

  "Oh dear lord, I sincerely hope there won't be a next time. I know she's your mother, Helena, but… I've faced gryphons that I've been less frightened of. She could kill an entire cave full of bats instantly with one look." As an afterthought the knight shuddered, concluding with a scowl. "Did you say Ivor brought the wedding dress?"

  "Yes."

  "Helena, has your mother poisoned my wine or…?"

  "No, you're quite right." Rolling over onto her stomach Helena propped up her head in her hands and shot Crispin a half-hearted grin. "My father is terrible at remembering names. I'm not sure whether you noticed it… "

  "What? Preposterous!"

  Grinning at the knight's theatrical outburst Helena carried on, "… and so my mother has taken care only to hire servants named Ivor, or alternatively servants willing to be called Ivor. Even the women are called Ivor, so as not to confuse the matter."

  "Right. Of course." Crispin nodded slowly. "And your name? He remembers that."

  "He should. It's his middle name."

  "And you gave me hell for having a man's name?"

  "Let's not revert to old arguments when I have so many new ones to look forward to." Though it was said with an attempt at light-heartedness the knight could hear the forlorn note behind it. Sitting upright she draped her forearms over her knees and leaned forward.

  "It is never too late to take you back, Helena. One word and I'll drag you out of here."

  The princess shot her a disturbingly gentle look. "When I stepped into that tower I was no more than a child with glamorous ideas of romance, Crispin. I really, truly, believed that once my prince appeared, life would be exactly as it was meant to be, and I would be happy ad infinitum. Now I know that there's a world beyond my own, a world which does not necessarily conform to the perception that I had." Closing her eyes she smiled, perhaps at a pleasant memory, before she continued. "After that you can't just take me back and put me in a tower, Crispin. Not when I know what exists outside it."