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Authors: Danbert Nobacon

3 Dead Princes: An Anarchist Fairy Tale (8 page)

BOOK: 3 Dead Princes: An Anarchist Fairy Tale
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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
 
S
tormy 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 performers 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.’
 
BOOK: 3 Dead Princes: An Anarchist Fairy Tale
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