A Royal Affair

Prologue

"Outta my way Geekbait!"

Arnold Shortman felt himself make contact with the cold, wet asphalt as Helga Pataki, the school bully, shoved him hard to the ground. Arnold sighed and dusted himself off as he picked himself up off the ground.

Great, Arnold thought to himself, Now my pants are all muddy.

It had been raining all morning and the ground was still damp. Now Arnold was too. He groaned and picked up his equally sullied backpack and followed Helga into the entrance of Hillwood High School. What a wonderful day today was turning out to be. Arnold continued to stare at the back of Helga's head as he made his way through the hallway. The years had flown by and they were now teenagers on the cusp of adulthood and yet, Helga had remained the same. If you asked Arnold, she had even gotten worse over the years.

Arnold had never quite been able to figure out why Helga was so mean-spirited. There had been that one time when they were nine years old when she had kissed him on the rooftop of Future Tech Industries and for awhile, Arnold felt that Helga secretly harbored a crush on him all these years. But his hypothesis was quickly proven wrong when things had returned to normal. In fact, worse than normal and Arnold never saw the gentle side of Helga again. Was there even a gentle side? When he was younger, Arnold always thought that she did. From time to time it even seemed to surface for a brief second or two. But Arnold was older now and jaded from all the torment Helga had put him through. He didn't know if he believed there was a deeper side to her anymore. Maybe all this time she really was a bully and if he had believed otherwise, it was only in a naive misplaced attempt to try to see the good in everyone. Arnold sighed for the umpteenth time. Maybe there was no good side to Helga G. Pataki. Maybe there never was.

"Hey look! Football Head has gone and shit himself!" Helga's shrill voice rang out in the classroom of Mrs. Deacon's English class.

The entire class turned to laugh and point at Arnold's muddied pants.

"Very funny Helga." Arnold glared at her.

Arnold made his way to his seat and slung his backpack over the chair. He took out his books and pretended to focus on them.

Don't pay attention to her He said to himself, She wants you to get angry. Don't get angry.

But it was hard to keep his cool when Helga continued to insult him with taunts like 'Past for brains' and 'Douchnozzle' all while simutaneously throwing wadded up pieces of paper at least she had graduated from spitballs, though not by much.

"Good Morning Class." Mrs. Deacon said as she walked into the classroom.

Arnold breathed a sigh of relief as Helga finally gave her taunting a temporary reprieve, so as not to get caught by the teacher.

"Good Morning" the class repeated back to her in a robotic fashion.

"So continuing off from our last lesson, we were learning about combining simple sentences to form complex structures"

Mrs. Deacon turned to the chalkboard and wrote three sentences on it.

"Can anyone come up to the board and combine these three sentences I have just written, to form one complex sentence?" she said as she scanned the room looking for a volunteer.

No one raised their hand.

"Anyone?" she repeated.

Helga coughed under her breath, "Arnold".

"Arnold?" Mrs. Deacon said pointing her chalk in his direction, "Would you like to give it a try?"

Arnold sighed and looked up.

"Sure, Mrs. Deacon" he replied.
He made a move to get up but was quickly slung back down in his chair. It was as if he was literally glued to the chair, he couldn't budge! He looked back at Helga and she smirked at him knowingly. Arnold groaned at the realization that Helga had put super-glue on his seat before he came to class. How juvenile could she get?

"Arnold? Is everything alright?" Mrs. Deacon said, raising an eyebrow.

Now he had the attention of everyone in class as they all stared at him. He had to get up, he just had to. Otherwise he would have to admit that he was glued to his seat and become the laughingstock of the class. Arnold tried with all his might to get out his chair. He pressed hard against the surface of his desk until finally he felt himself come free from the seat. Unfortunately for him, the loud ripping noise that echoed across the silent room signified that his pants had also chosen to come free from him.

Arnold's eyes practically popped out of his head as he turned to look at at the gigantic tear in his jeans. The unmistakable white glare of his underwear showed from beneath. For a moment the entire class was silent and then all at once, everyone errupted with loud, boisterous laughter. Arnold felt his entire face turning a deep scarlet red as looked up at all the mocking faces of his classmates. They were pointing and jeering at him, their faces turning into twisted caricatures of themselves. It was a kid's worst nightmare come true; being in his underwear in front of the entire class. Arnold felt sick to his stomach. He could feel it twisting and turning, churning the hot acidic bile that crept up the base of his throat. He had to get out of here. Arnold slammed his chair back and hit the ground running.

He ran right down the hallway and right out of the school. He kept on running until he felt like his body couldn't physically handle it anymore. By then he found himself at the local park. Arnold picked up a small stone from the pathway and turned it over in his fist, feeling the jagged sharp edges against the suppleness of his skin. In the small pool of water before him, he pictured Helga's face and threw the stone at it, causing the water to ripple and the image to fade. Arnold groaned angrily as he ran his hand through his hair. Why did Helga make it her life's mission to make his a living hell? What had he ever done to her, except try to be nice? Why did she hate him so much? Arnold felt his nails digging into the soft flesh of his palm as he tightened them into fists.

"I wish I was somewhere else!" he screamed to no one in particular, "I wish I was someone else!"

Who was he kidding? He couldn't be someone else no matter how desperate he wished it. Arnold jammed his hands into the pockets of his jeans and kicked up the dust on the pathway, coating the white tops of his Converse sneakers. It was only mid-morning but he couldn't go back to school, not with his ripped pants. Home was the only option now. He sighed and headed out of the park.

Unbeknownst to him, a shrouded figure in the trees had heard him. An enigmatic smile curled up the sides of the woman's cheeks.

"Be careful what you wish for" she whispered.

Dejectedly, Arnold trudged up the stairs of the boarding house.

"What's wrong Shortman? You're home early." Grandpa called to him from the bottom of the stairs.

"I don't want to talk about it Grandpa." Arnold said as he slammed the door to his bedroom.

He kicked off his ruined jeans and crashed onto the mattress. From the bed he could see the sky through the clear glass rooftop. He put his arms behind his head and stared at the clouds overhead. They seemed to be moving ever so slowly as if the passage of time did not affect them. It was therapeautic in a way. Arnold felt his eyelids grow heavier and heavier as he continued to watch the clouds. He struggled to stay awake, but a deep sleep already had him within its grasp. Before he knew it, his eyes closed and he was in a land far away.

It was the smell of the room that woke Arnold up. Dank and musty, like mothballs and mildew. Darkness greeted him when Arnold finally opened his eyes. How long had he been asleep? Certainly not long enough for him to have slept the whole day. He thought for sure Grandpa would at least have woken him up for lunch or dinner. He sat upright and felt around the side of his wall for the light switch but try all he might, his hands found no lightswitch. Where was it? Arnold waited for his eyes to adjust to the darkness and once they finally did he gasped in surprise.

This wasn't his room! Arnold bolted up off the bed and surveyed his surroundings. It looked like a broom closet; dark and dingy and about the size of a shoebox. All he saw was a dirty cracked mirror hanging over an equally grimy sink. Where was he? Had he been drugged and kidnapped by human traffickers? Arnold had seen that sort of thing happening in a movie once.

"Okay, stay calm" Arnold said to himself as he tried to suppress the rising panic.

He looked around for anything he could use as a weapon should the need arise. There was almost nothing in the room, save for some garments of clothes and a bar of soap on the sink. Finally he spied an empty wine bottle in the corner of the room. It would have to do. He grabbed it and headed for the door way. Arnold felt his heart pounding out of his chest as he slowly turned the doorknob. To his utter surprise, it actually opened.

Arnold groaned and shielded his eyes from the bright white light. It was indeed still morning and the sunlight practically blinded him. He blinked a few times and looked around. It was not at all what he had expected. He thought he would see a bunch of shady looking men in the trafficking ring and was prepared to fight them off with..well...a wine bottle. But instead he saw that he was inside a sprawling, luxurious mansion. The finely tapestried walls climbed so high that Arnold had to crane his neck to see where the walls stopped and the ceiling started. There were several large glass windows from which beams of sunlight shone through. All around the mansion were people bustling about dressed in what looked to be mid 19th century clothing.

So was he on the filming set of some historical drama? How had he gotten here? Had Helga beaned him so hard that he suffered from permanent brain damage that caused lapses in memory? Or was he plain going crazy?

"There you are!"

Arnold looked up to see an 19th century version of Harold marching towards him.

"Harold?" Arnold called out.

"You will address me as Cook!" Harold yelled at him. He looked Arnold up and down with disdain on his face. "Why are you standing here so indecently dressed? Get dressed at once and get to work you lazy sack of bones! Don't you know the Lord and lady will be home soon from their journey and they'll be wanting their breakfast!"

Arnold looked down at himself. He was wearing a slightly dirty white night shift and long white drawers tucked underneath wooly socks. He blushed as he realized this must be the olden day's equivalent of being in your underwear. He hurriedly ran back to the broom closet he assumed was his bedroom. Arnold looked through the articles of clothing that was hanging over the poster of his bedframe. Arnold put on a pair of gray slacks with suspenders attached to them and a starchy white buttoned shirt. He grasped his head for a moment. This had to be a dream. One big twisted dream.

When he got back out, Harold threw a mop and bucket at him.

"Put yourself to use, you worthless street urchin!"

"Harold?" Arnold said as he grasped the handle of the mop.

"I said," Harold snarled, "You are to address me as cook!"

"Cook,"Arnold began again, "What year is this?"

Harold looked at him as if he had lost his mind.

"1859" he replied, "Now stop yer yammering and get to work or it'll be no supper for you tonight!"

1859? This had to be some kind of sick joke right? Arnold felt himself go weak in the knees. He had no time to process it however as Harold barked another order at him.

"Servant-boy! Go down to the cellar and get me a bottle of sherry! Quickly now, go!"

Arnold placed the mop and bucket to the side and left the kitchen. Where was the cellar? He felt an encompassing sense of shock and bewilderment at his current situation. He idled outside for awhile being bumped and pushed around by other busy servants around the mansion. Finally he worked up the courage to stop one of the maids and asked her, "Excuse me miss, where is the cellar?"

She looked at him as if he was insane for the second time that day and pointed down the stairs to his right. Arnold muttered his thanks and ran down the steps. In the dark, cool room of the cellar he finally found some peace. Arnold sat down one of the wooden crates and placed his head in his hands. He hoped that if he just squeezed his eyes shut tight and long enough, he'd somehow wake up in the boarding house again in present day. A few minutes later, he opened his eyes to no such luck.

"Where is that useless servant-boy with the sherry?"Arnold heard Harold bellow from upstairs.

Arnold sighed and looked through the bottles of alcohol. He had no idea which one was the sherry. In fact, he had never even drunk the stuff before. He was only sixteen, how was he to know? He picked a random bottle and hoped for the best as he bounded up the stairs.

The bottle of sherry made a deafening sound as it shattered against the hard wooden floor. Arnold stood there petrified as if he had just seen a ghost. As far as he was concerned, he had, for standing there in front of him was Helga G. Pataki.

"Helga?" Arnold whispered in disbelief.

The girl turned toward him in mild surprise. Was it really Helga? She had the same face, but everything else looked so different. Helga's blonde hair, was now set in ringlets and tied in the back with a big pink bow. She donned a full skirted cream dress with bell sleeves and a high collar.

"Helga!" Arnold yelled again.

Just then, Harold came bursting out of the kitchen to see what had caused the commotion.

"Bite your tongue Servant-boy! How impudent you are to dare call the lady of the house by her Christian name! You shall always address her as Lady Helga or Milady. Do you understand?" he yelled at Arnold, "I shall have you whipped for such gall!"

"That's quite enough cook. He meant no harm." Helga said to Harold. She turned to Arnold and said with a gentle voice "Are you alright, Boy?"

This couldn't have been Helga, Arnold thought to himself. She was much too..soft. Too gentle. The Helga he remembered would have screamed insults at him. But then why did she have Helga's face? And why did the man standing next to her look so much like Bob Pataki?

"I beg for forgiveness milord, this boy is a new servant to the household. I've bought him just last night at the market. He's an orphan and my poor, weak heart took pity on the fool. Please milord, do forget this incident. It'll not happen again."

"It had better not Cook. You'd do well to keep these boys in line, or it'll be you out on the streets" Bob threatened.

Harold nodded ferociously in understanding and obedience.

"Come Helga, we shall adjourn to the resting room." he called out gruffly as he walked to an adjoining room.

"Yes, father."

Helga endeavored to stare for a few moments at the curious dirty, blonde boy who had called out to her as if he had known her his entire life though it was the first time in her life that she had seen him. Yet she got a peculiar feeling as if she had seen him somewhere before. Then she laughed a little to herself. She had been reading too many novels it seemed and the fantasies had started to seep into her mind. That was all. Helga shook her head as if to shake off any feelings of unsettlement and picked up her skirts to join her father.