Porcelain Princess (12 page)

‘
Oh,
will she
never
grow out of this stupidity?’ Kilita’s parents
sighed.

*

One night, the
village was hit by a storm the likes of which had never been seen
before, or would ever be seen again.

The rain
pummelled even the hardened soil of the roads into a muddy swamp.
Wind clawed and tore at the thatch of the houses, threatening to
strip many of them bare. It overturned small carts, and tossed
discarded farm tools around the streets, transforming them into
devilishly dangerous weapons. The thunder rumbled as loudly and
regularly as if the whole world were waging war on the poor
village. It was so dark that anyone could have been forgiven for
believing the sun had been permanently banished.

The only light
came from the lightning that struck the ground so hard it shook it
and made it tremble. Where the ends of the lightning forks
stretched out, they set afire trees, hayricks and barns.

With a crack and
crackle of triumph, a bolt reached out for Kilita’s home. The
thatch immediately burst into flame, the supporting timbers quickly
following it. The stored chemicals and pottery glazes inside
exploded and burned ferociously, giving no one any chance of
escape.

When the storm
finally began to ease and the villagers finally dared to leave
their homes, very little but a charred mass of timers and stone
remained of the pottery. Despite the still heavy rain, the
villagers began to frantically search amongst the wreckage in the
hope of finding someone alive. Timbers that had been transformed
into little more than charcoal were hefted aside, still smouldering
hay from the thatched roof was carried away, heavier pieces were
hauled clear by urgently harnessed horses. As the rain at last
began to ease and their task became easier, however, it soon became
plain to everyone that they were no longer searching for survivors.
All they would find now, they all agreed, would be the bodies of
the two potters and their daughter.

Even so, their
hopes were suddenly raised when they uncovered a section of the
workshop that had fallen in on itself in such a way that it had
protected a whole area of shelving, with every piece of pottery
saved from being even slightly cracked. The heat of the flames had
been so intense here, however, that it had not only hardened the
porcelain to a gleaming white but, on the side where the flames had
been strongest, it had also turned it a bright fire red.
Encouraging glimpses of the edges of a white lace dress amongst the
shelves similarly turned to disappointment when it was found it was
nothing more than the doll Tiko, her face white and smiling, her
golden hair transformed into a flaming scarlet matching the red
glow of the surrounding pots.

There wasn’t a
single sign of the family, not a single sign that anyone had even
lived here.

No one can
remember who first noticed an odd thing about the hardened
pots.

Down one side,
between the band of red and white, there was a bright mosaic of
miniature squares, each one of which contained a mix of intense
colours. They were incredibly small sections of Kilita’s book,
someone realised, which must have shredded and burned in the fire,
the individual pieces being carried aloft by the hot air until they
stuck to the clay of the pots.

Down the other
side of each pot, however, there was something even more
remarkable, a pattern of purest magenta running from the red of the
flames into the cool safety of the snow white porcelain. And this
pattern was the same on every jug, every dish, every
jar.

A young girl, a
woman, and a man, all holding hands as they fled the
flames.

And here, of
course, the tale could end.

You could, after
all, decide for yourself how the story has ended.

Is it a sad
ending, the family having perished in the fire, even though they
have at least being immortalised in a popular piece of
pottery?

Or is it a happy
ending, the pattern being merely a hint that the family have indeed
survived?

Perhaps you
prefer your endings to be even more magical, in which case you’ll
prefer to believe that all the love and life Kilita had poured into
Tiko had been returned by the now lifeless doll, ensuring that the
girl and her parents continued to live on amongst the patterns of
their own pottery.

Whichever of
these descriptions best describes you, perhaps you should read
on.

*

As you’re
probably aware, the pottery created in the fire became a highly
sought after style, leading to countless copies being made and sold
around the world. On the rare occasions that an original piece
becomes available at a respected auction house, it can expect to
command ridiculous prices, as well as much envious squabbling
amongst its many collectors.

One of those
collectors, we are reliably lead to believe, is the Porcelain
Princess herself. She owns at least five pieces, and perhaps even
Tiko herself.

Even here
though, there are disagreements about how she came to acquire these
rare and valuable pieces.

As one version
would have it, the Princess had been intrigued by the tales that
she had heard and – already in possession of a truly remarkable
room made entirely of porcelain – she had sent her soldiers and
courtiers far and wide in search of as many original items as they
could discover and purchase.

According to
another version, however, only Tiko had been acquired in this way,
with the aim of reuniting her with the pots that had magically
appeared within the porcelain room on the very night of the
fire.

But thankfully
both versions agree on one thing; when the Porcelain Princess had
curiously run her fingers across the porcelain pot, she had felt a
connection, a tingling of life. The girl in the pattern moved,
turned to her, smiled.

The girl held
out her hand, the Princess graciously allowing her to tightly grasp
her finger. Gently pulling her finger back, the Princess smiled as
first the girl’s hand and then her arm came free of the porcelain.
More and more of the girl appeared from the pattern of the pot,
gradually growing in size as she stepped completely
clear.

The girl, of
course, didn’t let go of her mother’s hand. And so her mother was
next to step out of the pattern. Kilita’s father followed on close
behind as he, too, continued to hold his wife’s hand, ensuring the
connection of new life flowed between them all.

They all looked
about themselves in bewilderment. One minute they were trapped in a
ferocious fire, and now they were standing in a fabulously
beautiful room made entirely of porcelain. And even more amazingly,
the Porcelain Princess was standing directly in front of
them.

‘
Are
we dreaming? Have we somehow ended up in a fairy tale?’ Kilita’s
parents wondered.

Kilita was as
amazed as her parents, but for completely different reasons. She
had always believed in the existence of the Porcelain Princess, of
course; but as she had grown older, she had also begun to believe
that she would never, ever meet her.

‘
Your
highness!’ she gasped excitedly, bowing low before her

Kilita’s parents
fell to their knees, unsure how to behave or what to do.

The Princess
held a hand to Kilita, telling them all to stand.

‘
This, I believe, is yours,’ she joyously said to Kilita,
reaching out for and handing Tiko to her.

Gasping in
wonder once more, Kilita tightly hugged Tiko close to her
cheek.

And Tiko, of
course, smiled.

For she couldn’t
have been happier that this particular story had ended in this
way.

*

The clapping and
cheering at the end of the show was the most enthusiastic they had
ever experienced. The crowd that had gathered around them, of
course, was the biggest they had ever drawn. Added to this,
however, each and every person in the audience had risen to their
feet and were now clapping as if the show had been the most amazing
they had ever seen.

‘
I
told you all we had to do was fall down and they’d all cheer!’
Ferena chuckled excitedly to the others as they trooped on stage to
take their curtain call.

This was the
first time they had ever taken a curtain call in which they didn’t
have to pretend they were puppets. They waved and bowed with
exhilarated flourishes.

‘
Er,
actually,’ Peregun said doubtfully, ‘has anyone noticed that
they’re not looking our way?’

It was true;
everyone in the crowd had turned slightly to look towards the
palace.

Carey and Grudo
had also noticed the crowd’s strange behaviour. They curiously
stepped out from behind the theatre as the others leapt down from
the stage. Moving towards and mingling with the front rows of their
audience, they followed everyone’s gaze.

Everyone was
looking up towards the palace’s balcony, where first the curtains
and then the immense French windows were slowly being drawn
open.

There was a
flash of brilliant white in the darkness lying beyond the
windows.

And then the
Porcelain Princess stepped out onto the balcony.

*

Carey had
thought the cheering at the end of their show would be the loudest
she would ever hear, but now the cries of jubilation were
deafening.

The Porcelain
Princess was more resplendently beautiful than Carey had ever
imagined. The dress alone glittered as if suffused with the richest
pearls, the purest diamonds. Her skin shone in the sunlight as if
it were the most glorious mother-of-pearl.

And her smile;
her smile was the most gracious smile Carey had ever seen. Carey
knew this for sure, even though she was much too far away to see if
the Princess was actually smiling or not.

Even more
amazingly, she was smiling directly at Carey. Somehow, the Princess
had spotted her amongst this vast crowd, singling her out amongst
so many to smile at her, and her alone. Welcoming her to the
Porcelain Kingdom.

In a daze, Carey
moved through the crowd, wanting to get closer, ever closer, to the
Princess standing on her balcony. She dimly realised that she must
have left her friends behind, but she knew they wouldn’t mind, they
would understand.

Carey was
halfway through the massed crowd when the Princess gave a last,
prolonged wave – then vanished once more into the palace, the
French windows silently closing behind her.

The crowd
sighed, a mix of pleasure and disappointment.

Carey blinked,
as if awaking from a dream.

Was that
it?

Had she come all
this way, only to be rewarded with only the very briefest glimpse
of the Porcelain Princess?

It dawned on her
that she hadn’t thought of how she would manage to arrange an
audience with the Princess, let alone the Illuminator.

What if they
didn’t want to see her?

What if they
were too busy?

Even though she
was smaller than most of the people standing around her, she could
see the high, white walls surrounding the palace rising above the
heads of the edges of the crowd. In many places the wall was
plastered with posters announcing their show, particularly around
the tall white gate pillars, where they had been pasted over other,
older posters.

The crowd sighed
again. And the gates began to slowly open.

*

The crowd
obediently parted as the white carriage made its way through
them.

How had the
Princess managed to get down from the balcony and into the carriage
in such a short space of time? Carey wondered. She didn’t think it
was possible, yet, realising the carriage was heading in her
direction, Carey moved aside with everyone else to clear the way
for it, hoping to catch another glimpse of the Princess as it made
its way past her.

But the carriage
was empty.

She wasn’t the
only one to be disappointed by this. There were many exclamations
of surprise, giving Carey the impression that this was all very
unusual.

There were even
more astonished gasps as the carriage suddenly stopped in the
middle of the crowd.

The door
opened.

A set of
glitteringly white steps dropped down from the bottom of the
doorway, the last step hanging just slightly above the
floor.

‘
Well, go on then, my dear.’

Carey felt a
gentle push in her back. She looked back over her shoulder. A woman
was smiling down at her.

‘
What?’ Carey said, confused. ‘I’m sorry; what do you
mean?’

The other people
standing around her were also smiling knowingly at her.