The Cinderella Theorem (6 page)

“We
thank you kindly for your attentions, Lady Potio. But, of course, we shall have
the apple tested for poison before we allow the princess to taste it.” He made
a motion, and a castle servant whisked the apple away. My beautiful, shiny, red
apple taken away to be tested and destroyed!

Lady
Potio spoke again, interrupting any plans I had for protesting. “Does Your Majesty
mean to insult?” She asked in a voice even more sickly, sugary sweet than
before and with a smile that showed she was not insulted.

What
game was she playing with my father?

“The
apples of Hemlock are well known in the realm for their delicious flavor.”

“Yes,”
my father shifted in his chair. “And every wise citizen uses their poison
testing kit before eating those same apples. Your skilled use of poisons is
equally famous in the realm. I believe your own stepdaughter would agree.”

She
laughed, actually laughed. I find nothing funny about a woman who grows
poisoned apples and has apparently poisoned her own stepdaughter. My desire for
the apple waned.

“Always
wise, King Matthew. You are right to test the apple.” She smiled. “But you will
find no poison on it.” She turned to me. “Won’t you open the other gift,
Princess? I assure you, there is no poison in that box.”

I
opened the purple present, still a little rattled by the poisoned apple (that
may or may not have been poisoned). Inside the box was a mirror. This, while a
little girly for me, was a normal gift. I relaxed.

Then
the mirror talked.

“What
a study is your face! Expecting danger in my place?”

Apparently,
it’s a rhyming mirror. Years of getting non-mathematical presents from my
mother enabled me to look at Lady Potio, smile, and say, “Thank you very much
for this mirror.”

“I
wish you great happiness.” She winked at my father. “And wisdom to equal our
King.” Then she turned and left the room; the servant boy followed.

Macon
stepped forward and announced, “Allow me to present you with a gift from the
whole of E. G. Smythe’s Salty Fire Land: the traditional box!”

He
pressed a wooden box into my hands. It was just like
The Box
I had of my
father’s, but instead of “HRHMS” mine had “HRHLS” engraved on it.

I
smiled. My own Box. “But what are the letters for?”

My
father leaned over. “Her Royal Highness Lily Sparrow.”

I
reluctantly let the servant take the box and turned my attention to the next
visitor.

“Prince
Harry and Princess Rapunzel of Pelo.”

Obviously
Rapunzel was the princess who had a lot of hair. So, when they gave me their
gift, I totally understood: a hairbrush. Harry and Rapunzel left and were
followed by Little Red Riding Hood (whose real name is Cerise) with a basket of
baked goods sent over by her mother.

“The
Sphinx,” Macon announced. The doors opened for a lion with the head of a woman.
This particular combination is not mathematical at all and rather puzzling. What
kind of food does the Sphinx eat? She has a human’s taste buds, but a lion’s
digestive system. And how does she fix her hair? Her paws don’t look very
dexterous to me. I drew myself away from the biological/mathematical quandary
in order to pay attention to what the Sphinx was saying.

“Your
Highness,” she bowed the front part of her body, touching her head to the
ground. “I do not come with a gift, but I bring a riddle. Listen well, for the
riddle contains a warning:
Because of a gift, a name becomes a threat.
”

While
I wondered how to respond to this in a proper princessly way, my mother asked,
“Can you tell us more, Lady?”

The
Sphinx bowed again and looked sorrowful, “You know I cannot, Your Majesty. But
heed the warning and beware.” Then she turned and left.

What
is going on? I have already received a possibly poisoned apple and now, an
ominous warning from a half woman, half lion. I turned to my mother, searching
for an answer, but I couldn’t catch her eye. She seemed upset.

Macon’s
voice brought me out of my wonderings. “Glenni, the fairy godmother,” he
announced.

Glenni!
Creator of floating math and prime number alarm clocks. As she entered the
room, I could see that she, too, was floating. Not only that, she was only
about three feet tall and dressed entirely in plaid. She carried a present and
a wand, with a trail of plaid sparks coming from it. (No, I do not know how to
mathematically explain “plaid sparks.”)

“Princess
Lily,” she said, bowing in mid-air. The she turned her bow into a somersault,
let go of the present, and used the plaid-sparking wand to float it to me.

“Open
it! Open it!” she ordered, pointing with her wand and sending plaid at me. The
present was wrapped in plaid paper. I opened it and discovered (to my great
delight) a pre-calculus book.

“Thank
you very much, Glenni. I love it.”

“Of
course you do, dear,” she nodded. “I’m your fairy godmother. How could I get
you something you wouldn’t love?”

I
smiled as she left. Glenni’s gift added a bit of respect to my equation about
fairy godmothers.

Hermes,
the messenger of the gods, brought over Ambrosia from Olympus. (But to be fair
to Lady Potio, my father wouldn’t let me have any. He told Hermes that as a
precaution all food gifts were being tested for poison.)

Hermes
was followed by Tom Thumb, who, being the size of a thumb, was very hard to see
from the throne. Tom’s gift was a tiny painting.
[20]
I held the painting carefully in my hands, trying to view it from different
angles, when Macon announced, “Anderson Grimm.”

The
servant who had whisked away all of my other presents took the painting, and I
turned my attention to the next guest. Anderson Grimm was very normal looking. He
wore a suit and tie. He didn’t have long hair, a stone arm, or appear to be
from a castle. Which fairy tale has regular people?

He bowed.
“An honor, Princess.” He smiled and gave me his gift. “It’s your Happiness
monitor.”

I opened
the present to find an ornate hourglass with plaid liquid pooling at the bottom.
A golden plaque inscribed with
Princess Lily Sparrow
was attached to the
top. The upper half of the hour glass was marked off into different levels:
Excessively Happy, Rather Happy, Moderately Happy, Averagely Happy, and More
Happy than Usual. At the exact middle of it, where the circumference was
smallest, was the Happy level. And the lower half contained levels for Less
than Happy, Less than Less than Happy, Could be Happier, Been Happier, Been a
lot Happier, and Unhappy. My plaid liquid was pooled at the bottom under
Unhappy. I frowned.

“I’m
not unhappy.”

“Of
course you’re not, Princess.” He smiled. “Your monitor doesn’t work yet. It
doesn’t activate until you begin to live Happily Ever After.”

“Oh.”

The
monitor was taken away as Anderson Grimm bowed himself out.

Princess
Okera (Sleeping Beauty) brought the next present: a pillow. I also received a
golden ball from the Frog Princess, Amphi. She said that the ball was an
improvement on hers: mine was supposed to float.
[21]
The can of peas that Princess Pois (from The Princess and the Pea) sent over,
was also taken away to be tested for poison. (Although, my father said poison
wasn’t a problem in that story.)

Macon
announced Cinderella, and she came in dressed in a blue ball gown, carrying a
pair of glass shoes on a pillow.

“Please
accept these shoes, Princess.” She bowed. “The elves and the shoemaker have
worked long hours to cobble them.”

As
Cinderella left, my mother leaned close and whispered, “It’s absolutely lucky
you got those. We’ve been trying for weeks to get a pair for tonight, but it
was impossible. I thought you’d have to wear regular dancing shoes. I finally
just borrowed a pair from one of the Twelve Dancing Princesses.”

I
opened my mouth to agree that glass slippers certainly did not equal everyday
dancing shoes, but the doors opened again before I could speak.

A
greasy-haired man dressed in all black entered.

I
knew very little about Smythian culture, but from the murmurings of the crowd,
I could tell the greasy man was not welcome.

Macon
moved to stop him. “You were not invited, sir. You may return to your master.”

The
greasy man laughed. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Macon, I know I wasn’t
invited
.”
He looked around Macon to my father. “Your hospitality has fallen of late, King
Matt.” Dark greasy hair fell over his black eyes.

“My
hospitality is as it ever was. It extends to those who would not seek to harm
my realm.” My father’s voice was cold.

“A
trivial matter, I’m sure.” Greasy stepped around Macon. “But whatever the
hospitality is or
isn’t
in Smythe’s SFL, the politeness of my Lord
Tallis could not permit him to ignore the presentation of your lovely daughter.”
He smiled at me. He looked vaguely familiar. Had I seen him before? “He has
sent a gift, with the compliments of the whole of Uppish Senna.” He lifted a black
box; it looked greasy.

My
father rose and walked down to where the man in black stood. “And how can we
trust your lord, Levi? His reputation precedes him.”

“Your
suspicion hurts me, King Matt.” He didn’t look hurt. “You will teach your
daughter to be untrusting.”

He
winked at me and then I realized why I recognized him. It was
his
portrait hanging in the forbidden library.

“I
do swear the present will bring her no harm.” His greasy voice oozed out of
him.

Great.
Another possibly dangerous present.
[22]

“You
would give your word?” my father asked. He glanced at Macon who snapped his
fingers. In a microsecond, seven guards surrounded the greasy man, their swords
drawn and pointing at him. “Would you swear now with your life at stake?”

Somewhere
in the back of my mind it registered that my father was threatening to kill
someone and, since he’s the king, this equation wasn’t likely to end with him
serving a prison sentence.

“King
Matt, you will lose all your friends if you continue to not trust them. I swear
to you: the present is not harmful. And before I forget, my Lord Tallis bade me
express his deepest compliments to you, Queen Ginnie. How fondly he recalls
your beauty.”

I
looked at my mother. Her eyes narrowed in disgust.

“Silence!”
my father shouted, with a sort of growl in his throat. “Open the present, Macon.
This fool shall pay if he lies.”

Macon
moved toward Levi, but the greasy man shook his head. “Very cautious, King
Matt. But the present will only open for dear Princess Lily.”

My
father pushed out an angry breath. “If she is harmed in
any
way—”

“I
have sworn,” Levi said quietly.

My
father looked at Macon. “Give the present to the princess.”

Not
a pleasant way to begin opening a present, and now I’m a little scared of my
dad. Is he really going to kill this guy if the present
is
dangerous? Macon
took the present from Levi and handed it to me.

A perfect cube.
[23]
Parallel lines ran around it, intersected perpendicularly on each side by more
parallel lines. The lid was engraved with the letters
U
and
S
. I
took a deep breath and opened it.

A note
lay on top of black tissue paper.

— Tandem Tallis

Hoping it was something sturdy and long-lasting,
like a rock or the Pythagorean Theorem, I moved the tissue paper to uncover the
present.

It
was a dead sparrow with a dead lily in its beak.

I
looked up from the death threat birthday present. Levi smiled at me; then he
disappeared.

No
popping noise or smoke. He was simply gone.

The
seven guards were taken by surprise, and several lowered their swords a few inches.
One stepped cautiously forward into the area where greasy Levi had been.
(Perhaps he thought Levi had just turned invisible.) His feet slipped out from
under him and he crashed to the floor. The others tried to help him up and fell
themselves.

My
mother sighed. “It’s always like that when Levi vanishes.”

I
looked at her, confused.

“Levi
leaves a grease spot when he disappears. The floor will be slippery for days.”

My
father was not in a happy mood. He walked over and grabbed the gift. (Perfect
cube box and all.) He read the note, saw the bird, and showed it to my mother
with a grim look. “Macon, I should like to meet with my council to discuss this
threat upon the Princess.”

“Certainly,
Your Majesty. I will summon them at once.” Macon bowed himself out.

My
father turned to me and asked softly, “Are you all right, Lily?”

“Honestly,
Matt.” Mom answered for me. “It is only a dead bird and a dead flower.” She
smiled. “It could have been much worse.”

My
father hesitated.

“Matt,”
she continued, “go. Lily and I will be fine.”

His
Majesty looked at Mom for a moment, nodded, and said, “I’ll be back as soon as
I can.” Then, he turned to address the still gathered populace. He assured them
that the evil at the edge of the kingdom would be kept back and that this was
just another example of the childish pranks that entertain Tandem Tallis. When
he finished, he went off toward the door, avoiding the greasy spot, which was
being roped off by two servants. Several other servants were collecting gifts
from those who hadn’t been presented yet. The dead bird and flower had ended
the ceremony early.

My
mother stayed a little while longer, greeting friends and thanking them for
coming to welcome me. I followed her around, being introduced to people, and
being amazed at my mother. She wasn’t behaving like my mother. She behaved
differently, almost like a queen or something.

Of
course, mathematically speaking, she
is
a queen, (marriage to a king =
status of queen), but I still thought of her as my famous author/distracted mother.
It’s weird to think that she had this whole other life and personality I didn’t
know about. A life that includes making sure her fairy tale subjects aren’t
overly panicky about greasy Levi’s present.

I
felt very unmathematical. Maybe that stupid bird affected me more than I
realized.

Once
we were alone on the elevator, my mother sighed. “Well,
that
was
certainly not supposed to happen today.”

“What
wasn’t supposed to happen?”

“Your
gift from Tandem Tallis. That whole disgusting Levi incident. I can’t stand
that greasy little man and his sarcastic smiling.”

Ah…my
mother was ranting. I’m glad to know she still rants as a queen.

“Why
did he come, if he wasn’t invited?”

Because
the Levi thing happened so quickly, there were several things that I still
didn’t fully understand.

(1)
Why did he come, if he wasn’t invited?

(2)
Why is he greasy?

(3)
Why is his picture in the forbidden library?

(4)
Who is this Tandem Tallis person, and why did he send me my dead name?

“Oh!”
I said out loud, not waiting for Mom to answer my first question. “I just
realized. The Sphinx’s riddle—”

“‘Because
of a gift, a name becomes a threat,’” my mother quoted. “She’s pretty accurate
with her riddles and predictions. Too bad she couldn’t tell us anything else. Maybe
we could have stopped that greasy sycophant.” She spat out “sycophant” like it
was disgusting to have it in her mouth.

“What’s
a sycophant?” I asked.

“Levi
is a sycophant. A lackey. A toady. A stooge. A minion. A servant Tallis keeps
around partly because of his flattery. Because he’ll do whatever Tallis wants
and do it while saying ‘Yes, Master.’” She imitated Levi’s greasy voice as she
finished.

The
elevator doors opened, and we started toward my room.

“But
why did Levi come, if he wasn’t invited?” I returned to my original question.

“I
imagine he came just to give you that dead bird. Levi works for Tandem Tallis.
Tallis is the Lord of Uppish Senna, a kingdom in the south of Smythe’s SFL.
Tallis, you’ll learn soon enough, loves to try to make people unhappy. He probably
thought you’d be distraught enough to vanish after seeing the bird.”

“To
vanish?” No one had said anything about me vanishing before. “What do you mean
vanish
?”

Mom
looked distracted, like she does when she’s trying to solve one of her story
world problems. “Lily, I’m really not the best at explaining all this. Can you
just wait for Grimm to explain it to you at work on Monday?”

I
stopped walking. “What do you mean ‘at work on Monday’? I have school on
Monday.”

“After
school, Lily. Your
after
school job.”

“I
don’t have an after school job.”

“Oh
no!” Mom’s exclamation was followed by a distracted: “Matt wanted to wait and
tell you on Sunday when we were back in the other world. Fiddlesicks! It can’t
be helped now.”

Mom
continued walking. I stayed where I was, stuck to the floor by Mom’s refusal to
discuss this job thing, and the fact that she referred to the real world as the
“other world.”
This
is the “other world.” The real one is home.

Is
it mathematically possible for me to come to the point where I feel that Smythe
is home, and the real world is the “other world”?

Surely
not. Right?

The
rest of the afternoon was pretty uneventful compared to the excitement at my
presentation. I tried to get Mom to answer some questions about the after
school job or Levi, but she was distracted. (Laurel of the story world was
apparently figuring out how she was going to keep Tressa from stealing the
prince.)

When
my father came in, he distracted my mother from her distraction. They talked
quietly by my window about heightened security. After murmuring together for a
few minutes, he left with a nod to me and a “See you at the ball.”

Mom
went to my closet. “Alright Lily. Here is your green dress for tonight. And
Beryl has brought in your glass slippers from Cinderella. I’m going to go
change; then I’ll be back for you in about twenty minutes.”

Twenty minutes later, the Sparrow family was assembled
in the hallway.

The
Sparrow family now = 1 kingly father + 1 queenly mother + 1 princessly daughter
complete with green dress and glass slippers. My father straightened the tiara
on my head with a proud smile; Mom cried.

As
we made our way to the ballroom, a pure mathematical fact came to mind. “I don’t
know how to dance.”

Mom
grinned. “That’s okay, Lil. Those aren’t
just
glass slippers you’ve got
on. They’ll take care of you.”

Here’s
a fact, Mom: a cryptic message does not equal comfort and reassurance.

Right
before our grand entrance into the ballroom, Mom gave final instructions.
“There’ll be refreshments all night long–that’s what we’re doing for supper.
Don’t worry about having a dance partner. You’ll have plenty of people asking
you to dance, but don’t decline too many of them. Later you can, but right now,
it would seem a little superficial if you refused, because you don’t really
know any of them. You know, princess etiquette and all. If you have any
questions, your father and I will be around.”

I
wanted to ask about my shoes, but the herald spoke first, loudly announcing:
“The Sparrow Family!”

After
we sat on our thrones, Macon came forward, bowed and said, “With your
permission, Your Majesty, we will commence the dancing.”

My
father stood and made another of his wordy speeches. I could only focus on it
for a few moments at a time, since I was nervously calculating the number of
people in the room and the probability of embarrassing myself in front of them.
He finally finished with, “Let the dancing begin.”

But
before the dancing began, Macon once again stepped forward. “Would it not
please the assembled parties if our ball began with our king and our newly
returned princess sharing a dance?”

What?
I haven’t had a chance to scientifically
or
mathematically determine how
to work these “magic” dancing shoes. I don’t want to dance in crazy glass
slippers with all these people watching. Not to mention how strange it is to be
dancing with a father I only met two days ago.

The
assembled parties cheered enthusiastically at Macon’s suggestion. Reluctantly,
I came down off my throne and took my place with King Daddy in the center of
the ballroom.

“I
don’t know how to dance,” I muttered.

“Trust
your shoes,” he whispered.

The
music started. My father bowed to me, and as I began to make a curtsey, I felt
the oddest sensation in my shoes. As unmathematical as this sounds, the shoes
were taking over, leading me, and I followed, trusting them. Trusting my
shoes
.

I
have to admit, all mathematical and scientific implications aside, it was kind
of cool to have these magic dancing shoes leading you around through any dance.

And
I do mean
any
dance. After my father and I danced a waltz, I danced
three English country dances with various princes. I also participated in (and,
here I should point out that I only know the names of the dances because Macon
Mind called them out as they started): two hulas, the Charleston, the
jitterbug, a Congo line, the Polish Marzuka, four polkas, a quadrille, three
reels, a rumba, a mamba, and a tarantella. Pretty amazing shoes.

After
the tarantella (which is hard to dance, even if you have magic shoes), I stepped
onto the balcony for some fresh air. Also, I wanted some time to think
logically about why I was having a good time at this ball. Shouldn’t polka-ing
with one of the Three Little Pigs upset a person? Does the irrationality of
dancing in a Congo line with both Paul Bunyan
and
Thumbalina mean it
can’t also be fun?

The
balcony was cool and refreshing. And empty. The perfect place for thinking and
catching your breath. I was just hypothesizing about the scale factor ratio of
the heights of Paul and Thumbalina when a movement to the right distracted me.

Specifically
a person climbing onto the balcony from the trellis.

Climbing
person = a boy, a little taller than me with curly brown hair and dark eyes and
his foot stuck in the ivy on the trellis

“Have
you seen Grimm?” he asked, agitatedly as he pulled his foot free.

“Anderson
Grimm?” I asked, instead of some other normal question like
Who are you?

“Yes,”
the boy said impatiently. “Have you seen him?”

“He’s
dancing.”

The
boy didn’t respond. He just continued picking leaves off his clothing.

“What
are you doing here? Why didn’t you come in through the door?” I asked.

“I
could ask you the same question.”

I
asked two questions. His reply, therefore, was lacking in clarity. And judging
from the annoying smile on his face, I would say it was intentional.

“Which?
Why didn’t I come through the door?” I can be annoying, too.

“What
are
you
doing here? I have a highly classified rendezvous with Grimm
here in…” he looked at his watch, “well, now.”

“A
highly classified rendezvous on the balcony during a ball that nine/tenths of
the kingdom are attending?”

“Look.
I’m not expecting a girl like you to understand official HEA business. But could
you please go away, if you don’t mind, so I can meet with Grimm….”

“A
girl like me?” My voice rose in direct proportion to my annoyance. I may not
have bought into the whole Princess Lily bit much, but my dislike of this boy
and his attitude was
infinitely
greater than my desire to be normal. I
was about to respond with something like “Just who do you think you’re talking
to? As the princess of this whole place I can be on any balcony I like.” But
what I actually said was:

“Ju—”
because at that moment Grimm walked out on the balcony, apparently for his
highly classified rendezvous.

“Good
evening, Princess. Calo.” He nodded to the boy. “I see you two have met.”
[24]

 “Good
evening, Grimm.” The idiot-balcony boy moved toward him. “I’ve just been trying
to clear the balcony of liabilities.”