PRINCESS BEAST (9 page)

to visit and learn how royalty dwells."

The emperor's expression has changed to rapturous joy.  He claps his large hands together.  "Delightful.  Your voice is nearly as lovely as my clothes.  You must stay with me and be my court singer."

"I am honored, your majesty, but I must travel to Copenhagen where my transformation is certain," Rune answers.

The emperor's eyes shift nervously around the room.  "I used to have a dozen court musicians and singers.  They all left--everyone left not long after I made my grand parade through the city wearing my new clothes.  The weavers were the first to go, so I am extremely careful to preserve these fine garments."  The emperor juts forth his chin and makes a sweeping motion from head to toe. 

"Yes, I understand," Rune, replies, casting an eye toward the doors.  The emperor notices her furtive glance.  "You cannot go out into the streets without proper clothing.  The citizens will laugh at you.  Good Got, you wear no shoes!  Come with me and you can choose apparel appropriate for an enchanted princess."

As much as Rune wants to bolt for the door, the temptation of royal finery is stronger, and she follows the emperor's rolling buttocks into the east wing.  He stops before an archway with a sign reading:  The Royal Wardrobe.

"Enter," the emperor says with a grand sweep of his arm.  Rune can't believe her eyes, the room is four times the size of Cozy Cave, and the emperor's clothes are everywhere:  hanging from hooks, filling closets, spilling out of dressers, piled on the floor five feet high and coated in dust.  The emperor points to a corner closet. 

"That armoire belongs to the empress, a stout woman, bears a remarkable resemblance to the boar of Wilborg.  Have a look while I find her.  I know she will be thrilled to have a visitor, it's been so long . . . "  The emperor turns and strides from the room shouting, "Marika, Marika, my love."

Rune zigzags through the piles of clothes to the corner and opens the armoire doors.  She inhales sharply with delight at the five gowns hanging within:  the first is yellow and soft as butter; the second is pink as apple blossoms in spring, the third is deep emerald green, the fourth is sapphire blue, and the fifth, oh my, this is the one.  Rune reverently takes the pale violet dress from the closet. In the light from the windows she sees a blend of nacreous colors woven through the material.  Gingerly, so her talons won't snag the cloth, she slips the gown over her head.  The bell sleeves are a bit too short, and the hem drags on the floor, but otherwise, the gown fits well.  On the shelf above the dresses are five hats of hues matching the gowns.  The pale violet one is of the cap variety with seed pearls all round the rim and satin ties for under the chin.  Rune lifts it on top of her boulderish head where it sits precariously as a doll's hat.  The ties dangle at her temples, so Rune, being a resourceful young beast, wraps them around her ears.

Anxious to continue her journey dressed as a princess, Rune searches the closet's floor for shoes:  five pair, matching the five gowns, forms a satin rainbow.  However, for a woman of generous proportions, the empress has dainty feet.  Undaunted, Rune glances about and spies a pile of the emperor's shoes.  Although the emperor's feet are approximately the same size as Rune's, her beast feet, shaped like bricks, will not conform to a human's shoe.  She is able to pull a pair of velvet slippers over her feet, but as soon as she takes two steps, her sharp toe talons tear through the fabric and it falls away in shreds.  She digs to the very bottom of the pile and finds a pair of large wooden shoes and although they fit, they are homely beneath such a grand gown.

Rune sighs, lifts her chin, and--what is that vision in the mirror?  She approaches the gold-framed, full-length mirror and through the covering of dust, she sees a princess, a flaxen haired beauty in an iridescent violet gown, with a waist that curves like a figure eight between her shoulders and hips, with lips pink and moist as rose petals, with eyes bright as burnished chestnut. She is a princess who will win back the heart of Hans the hedgehog.  Far off within the castle the emperor's voice echoes:  "Marika--Marika!" 

Rune daintily lifts the hem of her gown and hustles toward the castle gates.

 

* * *

 

Having at last reached the Little Belt, Beauty pauses to consult the mirror. However, her attention is immediately drawn to a commotion midway out in the water.
Could be a whale
, she thinks
, from the Baltic Sea east or the North Sea west
. She lifts her cauliflower nose high and sniffs the air
. Doesn’t smell like a whale, but what else would cause those plumes of mist or move that fast through the water?
Beauty attempts to squint and is blinded by a flash from Holger the Dane’s shield.

In her fifteen years as a beast, Beauty has yet to encounter a being that did not fear her at first meeting. She decides she will wait for this whatever, swimming directly toward her, to come ashore and be frightened away. In the meanwhile, she has enough time to consult the mirror. She holds it before her face and speaks.

"Magic mirror will it be soon

That I may catch up to my daughter Rune?

Magic mirror if you care

Show me the distance from here to there."

The mirror reveals Rune in her violet gown, violet hat tied around her ears, clomping away from a castle in wooden shoes. The view expands to reveal to Beauty that, once swimming this narrow section of the Little Belt, she can easily catch up to Rune within an hour.

 

* * *

 

Elora and Croesus sit side by side on plush red velvet seats in the Deco Palace Theater. They forego their usual treats of popcorn, jujubes, snowcaps, and super size Dr. Pepper. They are both still recovering from the Samhain feast. Upon the gilt edged screen, Beauty is addressing the mirror and does not realize how close Holger has come. Croesus’ ears droop and his pupils dilate. “If you cover your eyes, I swear, I’ll pin your ears back. This promises to be a royal rumble of wrestlemania,” Elora says.

Holger rises up before Beauty like Poseidon, sword in one hand, shield in the other. As his shadow falls on Beauty, she raises her bulging eyes and at the sight of Holger, she releases a beastly roar that parts Holger’s beard. Holger drops both sword and shield, momentary stunned as is Beauty. The beast and the Dane stare at each other for a few brief seconds before Holger looks down to locate his weapons and Beauty grabs him in a bear hug. Holger’s arms and legs fling outward like a wooden toy with a string through the center. Beauty’s mind has turned to full beast mode, the princess in some far recess of her brain. She will keep fighting until she smells fear.

Elora watches with glee. “We need some canned heat,” she says, snaps her fingers and crowd noise fills the theater.  “The Dane rallies and applies an arm bar to Beauty, savagely twisting the shoulder joint, ooh, that’s gotta hurt,” Elora says in the voice of Joey Styles, The Voice of WWE.  “Look at this, look at this, the Beauty has grabbed a foreign object, that’s a rock, isn’t that a rock, Croesus?” Croesus barks three times.

“Oh my god, Beauty smashes that rock into the Dane’s head and it’s a gusher, the blood is flying. Is he . . . hold on, I believe the Dane is smiling as he staggers and wipes his forehead with his beard. Hold onto your seats, whoa, the Dane just executed the fastest fireman’s carry I’ve seen executed in the history of WWE. And yes, the Gorilla Press, who’d have believed it possible fans!” Elora shouts and the canned heat cheers.

“Is Beauty talking to the Dane? What the hell did she say? Look at the expression on the mighty Dane’s face. Oooh, a clever ploy fans, she’s got him in a chin lock and yes, yes--the Camel Clutch! Oh, the cold arrogance on Beauty’s face. Wait, wait, the Dane frees one arm, reaches up to grab Beauty’s throat . . . oh my god, oh my god it’s the Tonga Death grip and it’s over, fans, Beauty is down and unconscious.”

 

* * *

 

Rune follows the castle lane to its end at the road leading into Middelfart. She walks slowly, feeling quite the grand princess, but also because she has never worn shoes and these shoes cut into her ankles and heels. The road turns to cobblestone at the village entrance, and Rune stops, staring with rapture at the two-story stone houses and shops lining the street. They are painted bright yellows and blues and have paned glass windows. Pots of autumn flowers hang over doorways and gardens surround the houses. She sees ships in the harbor, and boys fishing from the pier. She had seen drawings of villages and towns in her mother’s books and longed to be part of them, if only for a day. But Beauty had always been stern in her warnings about city humans.
We belong in the forest, as part of nature’s harmony, not the cities where people fear and hate us because we are different than they.

Beauty’s words ring in Rune’s mind as she steps onto the cobblestones with a clack-clack of her wooden shoes. Because she is afraid, Rune decides she will hurry through the village, singing as she goes.

"Walking through Middelfart

Is a good way to start

My day. I’d like to say

I could easily leave my heart

In lovely Middelfart."

Housewives stick their heads out of windows, children drop their tops and toys, a funeral procession halts, men working in the fields lean on their rakes, and fishermen in their boats all turn their heads toward the heavenly sound of Rune’s voice. The women and children rush toward Rune and she quickens her step. “Do not stop singing please,” a woman cries.

“You must be an angel in disguise,” says a small girl, “may I kiss you.”

“Kiss my flower,” says a small boy, holding up an orange mum.

Rune is confused; should she hurry out of town? Will they keep following her? If she stops now and kisses the flower, will they be nice to her and perhaps help her get to Copenhagen? She bends and kisses the flower and the village cheers. A portly man wearing a red vest with medals dangling and a top hat on his head pushes through the crowd. “Make way for the Mayor of Middelfart,” he says, a rictus grin spread across his face.

He looks her over, head to toe. “Perhaps you are an angel in disguise, but you could easily be a goblin, or a witch, or a troll for you are certainly very ugly. Which of those are you?”

The crowd closes in and Rune suppresses glottal clicking.

“With such a voice, she must be beautiful on the inside. Let her sing,” shouts a fisherman dangling a string of cod.

Rune immediately breaks into her berry picking song and eyes the crowd nervously. However, their faces have lost all suspicion and smooth into adoration. When she finishes the song, the Mayor holds his hands aloft to quiet the crowd. “Now she must tell us her story, a good and true story, before another note passes her lips. Hers must be a terrible story for never has such great ugliness appeared in Middelfart.”

The crowd murmurs, recalling the ugliness of various witches, trolls and goblins and agreeing with the mayor that Rune is a good bit more ugly. Once again the mayor raises his hands for quiet and turns to Rune, “Do tell.”

“I know I am not a witch, goblin, troll or angel,” she says. “My name is Rune and I’m a girl from Grimm Land. My mother looks just like me only bigger, and she says we are the only two of our kind.” Rune tells the story of falling in love with Hans, finding her mother’s magic mirror and seeing a princess within. She continues by telling of the swan that brought her to Andersen Land so that she could go to Copenhagen and transform by Christmas then return to her home. She does not tell them about the Bog King’s daughter, fearing they will suggest she is a creature from the bog.

The mayor pats Rune’s shoulder. “That was a good story; I would kiss you but you are far too ugly,” he says, again with the rictus grin.

“If she is going to Copenhagen, she needs fine shoes, not those homely shoes,” a voice calls out.

“Has she been confirmed? I cannot imagine a Bishop who would allow such a horribly ugly beast in his church without proper shoes and a gold cross, unless she sang for him. Oh, do sing again,” a second voice calls.

The Andersen Land philosopher alights on a branch above Rune, lifts his red tail feathers, and drops a pile of bird shit onto Rune hat. “At the bottom of enmity between strangers lies indifference,” he squawks.

Rune feels the poop running into her ear and she swipes it away, tears off the hat and drops it onto the cobblestones. Tears well in her huge hazel eyes and her voice quavers. “I don’t understand how you can be so nice one moment and so mean the next.” Rune stomps her foot, then runs down the road out of Middelfart.

 

* * *

 

“Passive-aggression,” sweet Rune, “with a whopping dose of ambiguity.” Elora says. She snaps her fingers and freezes the scene on the theater screen. “That is where repression leads, and the whole of Andersen Land is depressed with repression. Rune is made of stronger stuff than I’d imagined, she has the determination of her mother, the fortitude of the Beast, and the ego of Runyon. However, if my girl gets it in her head that she needs confirmation, I confirm I will be traveling north.”

Croesus wags his tail and licks Elora’s ankle as she unfreezes the screen.

 

* * *