One: The Tale of the Sneaky Princess
"Father, Father, tell us a story!" pleaded the little ones. Not that they were so very little any more: Verity was ten and Damascus twelve and three-quarters. They looked up at him with eyes in which he saw a hunger for adventure, a hunger which they had, of course, inherited from him (Maria was the most perfect wife in the universe, but she had not an adventurous bone in her body). Peter Markovski could never resist that look; nor could he resist telling a story; so he sat down on Verity's bed and proceeded thus:
"Once upon a time, in a land far, far away, there was a prince who did not want to get married. He - "
"Daddy, why didn't he want to get married?" asked Verity, creasing her smooth, fair brow in such a way that her flaxen hair began to stick up a little.
"Well, Vera, not all women are as wonderful as your mother is. In fact, some are quite scary. So scary, indeed, that this prince seriously considered running away from home..."
"And did he?" asked Damascus. (Day by day he looked more like Maria...)
"No," said Peter. "One day he organised to have himself kidnapped...but that's another story." He cleared his throat. "This prince - "
"Father," prodded Verity, "will this prince be handsome?"
"Oh yes," said Peter, "very handsome. He has rich auburn hair with a sort of wave to it...he's tall, broad-shouldered..."
"Please tell me this isn't going to be another story about Uncle Redmond," groaned Damascus.
"If you'd only sit back and listen," said Peter half-irritably, "you'd find out!"
"Sorry Father," murmured the children.
"Now, where was I..."
Once upon a time, when gypsies roamed the lands, there was a prince who did not want to get married. He had rich auburn hair with a sort of wave to it; he was tall, broad-shouldered, with pleasant features and agreeable manners. Princesses from kingdoms far and wide (this was long before the Commons was established) wanted to be his bride (oh, that rhymes; jolly good). So in demand was he as a husband by the age of sixteen (this was the legal age of marriage back then, you see, not eighteen) that there were competitions held as to who got to stay at his castle in the school holidays. Only the Best of the Best got to stay at Starcastle Palace, and even there they were subjected to examination.
The Prime Minister, who oversaw the preliminary contests, naturally wanted the prince to marry the Richest Princess of All Princesses, so time and again the winners ended up being pecuniarily viable. Unfortunately, the Richest Princesses were usually not only visual disasters but ill-mannered, selfish and snobbish, qualities of which the Prince was less than enamoured. Luckily, the Prince came up with challenges of his own for the princesses.
First of all, he would challenge them to a game of tennis. He explained to the Prime Minister that to be Queen of Starcastle, a princess must be kinesthetically adept and well-coordinated. This first round would eliminate maybe three tenths of the competitors. Secondly, he would have them compete against him in the composition of music and poetry; if within an hour's time the princess could not come up with a better lyrical aria and a longer ballad than he, she was sent home with a chocolate hamper to console her in her misery. The second round would sweep away probably half of the contestants. And then, for the third round, he would "verse" (as the colloquial term goes) them in a game of chess. Bang. One hundred percent of the princesses gone.
Goodness. I do believe that doesn't add up at all. Well...arithmetic was never my strongest suit. Or logic, either, come to think of it.
Anyway, by the end of the third round, there were invariably no princesses left, and Prince Redmond (yes, Damascus, it is your uncle; don't roll your eyes, now, I promise you haven't heard this story before) was left to put his feet up and study his Horace in peace and tranquility.
Until, of course, the day Princess Evelyn the Veritable Beauty said "Checkmate". Perhaps Redmond had been lulled into a false sense of security; perhaps in considering himself unbeatable he had committed the fatal error of slackening his defences. Or perhaps the princess was simply better at chess than he was. Whatever the case, she won, and that single word - "Checkmate" - wiped the smile - and the daydreamy look - clean off Redmond's face.
"I'm sorry," he said, "but what did you just say?"
"Checkmate," repeated the princess, raising her eyebrows. "See? Your king is trapped, this square is covered by my rook, that square by my pawn and..."
"I'm not blind," he broke in. "I just can't believe it, that's all. Are you sure you haven't been cheating?"
"Are you sure you've been concentrating?" retorted the princess. "Your opening consisted almost solely of pawn moves; your middle game was full of unnecessary blunders; and you spent the whole end game trying to put me in check...and mostly failing..."
"Of course I haven't been concentrating," snapped Redmond, "I have more important things on my mind. I'm a master of chess. I don't have to think while playing it."
"Whatever the case," said the princess, "you're not master any longer. You lost. I won. Therefore I have the privilege of becoming your bride."
She was prettier than most princesses; quite beautiful, in fact. But this made Redmond dislike her all the more. "Hold on a minute," he said, frowning. "You've completed the Three Challenges, of course, but you still have to undertake the Ultimate Test."
"Oh? I don't recall there being an Ultimate Test in the Terms and Conditions." Her eyebrows raised once more. Deuce take the woman.
"You actually read the Terms and Conditions?"
"Naturally," she said. "My father taught me to always read the fine print."
Holy smokes. "In that case you must have received an outdated version of the Terms and Conditions. There is a recent amendment of the document that states that, before wedding the Prince, the princess must complete the Three Challenges and the Ultimate Test."
"And what, pray, is this Ultimate Test?"
"It's...a surprise."
"I see. Well, tell me once you've decided what it is to be." And with that, she curtseyed and left the room. Redmond was left to boil, as it were, in his own juices.
The cave was lit by the faint light of glow worms. Inside it, five masked boys were discussing in desperate voices.
"What do we do, for goodness's sake?" piped one, who seemed the youngest. "We can't let him marry the desperada."
"Desperada?"
"Like desperado...signifying desperate."
"You made that up, Tom, didn't you?"
"Of course."
"This is a terrible problem," agreed another voice, belonging to a boy called Edgar.
"If Elf were here," said Tom, "she'd help us solve it. I mean, being a woman and everything, she knows...the ways of women, what goes on inside their heads." (Elf was Redmond's sister - yes, I know you know, Damascus; Verity, it was Aunt Esmerelda's pet name.)
"Unfortunately, she's not," said Edgar, "she's staying with some friends in Bridewell. She doesn't really like them, but..."
"Lucky her," said Redmond, "I'd rather be in Bridewell than here, in this pickle."
"It should be the prince who chooses the princess, and not the other way round," said Jimmy (Prince of Emereldom, by the bye...and yes, your Uncle James.) "It's a disgrace, this new law of Starcastle that gives Redmond so little choice..."
"It's all the PM's idea, believe me," said Redmond, sighing. "Him and his get-rich-quick strategies..."
"Anyhow," said Tom, "we've established that it's a problem. As the Masked Men, we need to figure out is how to solve it."
"Some incredibly difficult test that she can have no choice but to fail," said Edgar.
"Agreed," said Redmond. "Better still, something she doesn't even know about, so that she has no way of preparing herself...scheming little wench."
"Do you suspect she's been cheating?"
"I have no doubt about it," said Redmond, prickling up. "How else could she have won the tennis, the music match, and the chess?"
"Well, she might have just been better than you," suggested Tom.
"Nonsense," said Redmond. "Nobody's better than me."
"Someone really ought to teach you to take yourself less seriously, Redmond," said Edgar, shaking his head.
"I have an excellent sense of humour, thank you very much," said Redmond, puffing up like a peacock. "Now, to business. I propose a reenactment of the Princess and the Pea."
"What, you mean...?"
"Exactly. Only, of course, she won't have that many mattresses...it would give the game away."
"You mean...to test her without her knowing she's being tested?"
"It worked in the fairy tale..."
"Only the fairy tale ended with a happily-ever-after."
"But of course, this is not going to be a fairy tale. She is not going to know she's sleeping on top of a pea, so psychologically she will be prepared for a good night's sleep. I'll make sure to tire her out during the day. I might even put some valerian in her food...you know...the herb that makes people sleep soundly..."
"But that would be cheating," ventured Tom.
"Counter-cheating. A cheat for a cheat."
"I don't think that's wise," said Jimmy. "However badly people act towards us, we should never act badly towards them. It brings us down to their level, makes us culprits ourselves."
"Moralise all you want, Jimmy; it's either valerian or marriage to Her Cheating Highness."
"He simply can't take any risks," said Tom.
"Thank you, Tom," said Redmond.
"I don't know," said Jimmy. "So far you have been an honourable man of integrity. But if you start breaking the rules...you're on the best road to damning yourself."
"Lighten up, Jim," yawned Redmond. "Anyway, it's my life, my future we're talking about here. If you don't like it, then you can please yourself and leave..."
"I think I will," said Jimmy. "Such lack of consideration towards others, even if we don't like them, is...I can't help it, it's not right."
"I thought you were against me marrying the princess?"
"I am, but I still think you should find some honourable way of getting out of it, instead of becoming slippery and amoral as a fish."
"Slippery? Amoral? A fish?" Redmond sounded amused. "That sounds really fascinating. No wonder I'm so desired after as a husband."
"If you're not careful," warned Jimmy, "soon no princess will ever want to marry you."
Redmond merely yawned again, and settled down on the leather divan.
That evening, Redmond went into the kitchens, whistling a merry tune, and asked the head cook to give him something very simple: one small pea.
"Oh, I'm awfully sorry Your Highness," said Barbara Makepeace, tut-tutting away as she rolled out the dough for some cake or other, "but we've used up all our peas today."
"I don't understand," said Redmond, his smile falling. "How can that be? We had sackfuls of them only this morning!"
"That we did indeed," said Barbara. "But young Princess Evelyn came in here this afternoon and ordered pea soup for dinner."
"She what?"
"For the whole court...and special requests is special requests, see, 'specially from special visitors as she was."
"But - "
"And seeing as she will more than like be your bride soon..."
"This is ridiculous!" stormed Redmond. "That vixen seems bent on outwitting me! How can she have known?"
"Known what, sir?"
"Oh...never mind," muttered Redmond, stalking out of the kitchens. He would show that spoilt little rattlesnake who was master here.
The hut was small, dank and dirty, and inside it was a cauldron that bubbled and crackled and hissed and a black cat that stretched itself out like a lanky shadow. Redmond had followed the crone into this place; now he was wishing he hadn't.
"So you want my help," said the crone, throwing some parsley into the cauldron.
"Uh...yes," said Redmond, "it's a desperate situation, you see, I..."
"You don't want to marry Princess Evelyn," she said, cackling.
"How...how did you know?"
"Ah! The booksity almightity knewity everythingity!"
"Pardon?"
"It's called magic," she said, shrugging. "Spells. Books. Potions. - Knowledge."
"Oh. O...okay."
She threw what looked like a snakeskin into the cauldron; the steam rising from it immediately turned green. Redmond took a step back. "Do not be afear'd!" she exclaimed, cackling ever more loudly.
"I'm not afraid at all," said Redmond, "I'm..."
"You can save your lies, sonny, I know tha' you're afear'd. Now. Do you want to get rid of this bride of yours, or do you not?"
"Y-yes," muttered Redmond.
"Thank you." And she began murmuring some incantation or other that had a familiar Shakespearean ring about it. Then she bent down to pick something up; the next moment she was holding a phial full of green liquid.
"Empty this into the wedding cake mixture. Make sure that nobody but the bride eats it; you will be rid of her forever."
"I-I'm sorry," gasped Redmond, "but - I'm not administering poison!"
She cackled again. "It's not poison, m'dear," she said, "it's liquid magic. Whoever drinks it will undergo a magical transformation."
"What kind of transformation?"
"You'll see." She smiled. It made her warts seem larger. "Now. Will you take it or won't you?"
And, reluctantly, Redmond accepted the potion. What choice did he have?
The wedding was organised for the tenth of that month. Princess Evelyn was very gracious about it all; she did not even mention the Ultimate Test - or the night they had pea soup. The date edged closer and closer, and soon it was two days before the wedding. Evelyn summoned her fiance to her room.
"Dearest Redmond, how delightful of you to have come," she said.
"You called," he said brusquely.
"Yes, I did," she said sweetly. "But if I hadn't doubtless I would not have seen you at all until the day of the wedding! I felt it wise that we become better acquainted with each other before the big day."
"If you say so," said Redmond, determinedly avoiding making eye contact with her.
"Come. Tell me about yourself. What are your tastes, your interests, your pursuits? How are you feeling today? What is your favourite meal? I dare say it is not pea soup..."
"Princess," said Redmond, nostrils dilating with fury, "my tastes, interests and pursuits are, indeed, none of your business. I am feeling just rotten, because I am getting married to somebody I do not love; and I positively abhor pea soup."
"I see," she said, that catty smile on her face.
"Oh no you don't," he said. "You tricked me. You tricked me into losing, you tricked me with the peas and you tricked me with your dealings with the Prime Minister. If I marry you in two days then I'll be hanged."
"Actually," she said, "you're wrong. It is you who tried to trick me, tried to wriggle out of your word of honour by inventing an Ultimate Test that you didn't even tell me about, and now you're desperate for any means of getting out of what you promised. Very well. If you can guess my name -my real name - by the hour of the wedding ceremony, I will let you go. If you cannot guess, however, you will grant me any wish I please."
"Done," said Redmond. And as he turned to go: "Rumpelstiltskin?"
The smile grew in her eyes. "You'll have to do better than that."
Redmond consulted dictionaries, Name Your Baby guides and the old Magic Mirror (TM) he found in the attic, but with no results - that is, no correct results. She was not called Midge, Marge, Belle, Bara, Therese, Tara, Xena or Zara. From A to Z, all the names he pronounced were wrong, wrong, and wronger still. He called an emergency meeting of the Masked Men, but the strangest, most out-of-the-way name they could think of was Jane ("A fine help you lot are!" stormed Redmond); he sent a letter to his sister express post, only to have it returned by the Bridewell postman with a notice saying that Esmerelda was Unable To Receive Mail At Present (those royal nitwits were blocking her from receiving correspondence!). He began to despair that he would have to marry the horrid princess after all. Unless, that is, he used the mysterious potion. But he did not know if he could trust the witch. What if it really was poison?
On the day before the wedding, he slipped the contents of the phial into the wedding cake mixture. Surely it could do no harm. If the witch was right, it could save him from this marriage. If she was wrong...he could only hope that the side-effects wouldn't be too negative.
"Introducing His Highness Prince Redmond Rupert Ricardo, Son of the Crown!" The trumpets blared and a reluctant Redmond entered the grand ballroom. Lucky the pre-wedding traditions are so important here in Starcastle, he thought: it gives me more time to think. Though I seriously believe I have tried every female name that exists...
"Introducing Her Highness Princess Evelyn Erica Eritrea, Daughter of Moonshine!" Again the trumpets blared. Evelyn, check, Erica, check, Eritrea, check. Nothing, nothing, nothing. Evie, Eloise, Etherella, Eterasa, Enid, Erta...Redmond felt as though he had swallowed that Name Your Baby guide. Felise, Fara, Featherlight, Feverta, Felicity, Fenella, Ferasa, Fiona, Fay...she was cutting the cake (another part of the Starcastle pre-wedding tradition)...he screwed his eyes shut. But his eyelids flickered, and he saw her taking the ceremonial mouthful into her fingers, holding it up above her mouth...
"Stop!" he cried. He could bear it no longer. "That cake is poisoned!"
And she dropped the piece of cake as though it were Death itself.
A murmur rose in the crowd.
"How do you know it's poisoned?" exclaimed the princess.
"Because...I poisoned it."
Another murmur, louder this time, rising and falling like a wave, rippling on the surface...
"You poisoned it? Do you really want me dead?"
"No...not dead...not at all!" said Redmond. "I merely wanted to stop this marriage...it's a potion...a potion I obtained from a witch, I don't know what it does but it was supposed to stop it...only I think it might be poison..."
"If you thought it might be poison, why did you put it into the cake?" asked the princess.
"Because I fooled myself into thinking it couldn't be poison...that's what I wanted to believe," said Redmond desperately. "But now I know it must be - that is, I can't risk it..."
"But why a potion? Do you mean to say you have not guessed my name?"
"Alas, no. I have tried every means possible, but to no avail. It seems I am...destined to be your husband."
She smiled. "Do you remember the pact we made? If you cannot guess, then you must allow me any wish I please."
"Of course. I assumed this would be to marry me."
"Oh no," she said, shaking her head and laughing. "It was never my intention to marry you. Let me introduce myself." And there was a puff of green smoke; the crowd let out one simultaneous gasp.
Redmond's eyes leapt out of their sockets. Before him stood not a princess, but a gypsy girl.
"My name is Parsley," she said, smiling.
"Parsley?
"Parsley."
"No wonder I couldn't guess..." He paused. "How did you get past the Prime Minister?"
"Simple hypnosis. He thought I was the richest princess around." Her smile grew. "I'm actually of the Roma people passing through your country. Now let me explain. I saw it in your eyes when you were driving through the village in a coach: the pride, the vanity, the overarching self-esteem. I knew they had to be corrected.
"Of course a law that forces anyone to marry against their will is wrong, but to cheat almost every time to get out of it? I have seen it all in my crystal ball, so do not even try to deny it, Prince Redmond. You ensured the princesses had faulty tennis racquets, you wrote your music and your ballads long before any competition started, and you colluded with spectators or psychologically unsettled your chess opponents. Is this the truth or is it not?"
"It is," mumbled Redmond. "But I didn't cheat every time!"
"No - almost every time. Sometimes you had to let the princesses win, because otherwise your tactics would be suspect. Am I right?"
Redmond nodded his head reluctantly. The crowd gasped once again.
"Unfortunately for you, I switched the racquets back when you played me; I also happen to be very good at on-the-spot poetising and songmaking. As for the chess, my checkmate took you completely by surprise because I used some particularly sneaky tactics.
"For cheating in this way and possibly nearly poisoning me I should by rights at least turn you into a frog, but luckily for you we still have the matter of the pact. You have promised me that you will fulfill me any wish of mine if you cannot guess my name. You could not, and therefore I would like you for once not to endeavour to slip out of your responsibilities like a scaly amphibian. Will you uphold your word of honour, Prince?"
"Yes," he said, "I will."
"From now on I hope you shall always keep your promises, and become the upright, honest prince your kingdom deserves. My wish is quite simple. I wish that your kingdom shall be sanctuary to the gypsy people for ever more, even when they are persecuted everywhere else. Do you solemnly swear it?"
"I solemnly swear it."
"Now don't let me catch you breaking a promise or cheating ever again, or I shall really turn you into a frog."
"But what am I to do if some princess wins me for her husband one day? Am I to be sold off like a goat at the fair as a prize?" pleaded Redmond.
"Oh, you won't have to worry about that." She smiled. "According to the law of Starcastle, if on the Prince's wedding day his bride backs out of the marriage for any reason whatsoever, he has the right to choose his bride from then on. As I am indeed 'backing out' here, you will have a free hand from now on; you will nevermore be burdened by princesses in your summer holidays."
"I don't believe it," said Redmond.
"And this all," she said, "is fair and square. You see? It can be done. Now...thank you very much for the entertainment, but I must be off. Tata!" And before anyone could stop her, she had whizzed through the crowd to the nearest door and disappeared through it.
"Wait!" cried Redmond. And breaking into a run, he hurried after her.
But when he arrived at the corridor, the only thing left of the gypsy girl was an old shoe.
"Did this actually happen, Dad?" asked Damascus.
Peter's eyes sparkled. "Maybe it did, maybe it didn't. But can you think of any morals this story might have?"
"Don't cheat or try to get out of your responsibilities in any dishonourable way, as there will always be an honest solution," said Verity, sitting up straight in bed like a little queen.
"Very good," said Peter.
"Also, never trust a witch," said Damascus.
"I suppose," said Peter, "though we never did find out whether the green potion really was poison."
"Sometimes girls can be better at things than boys?" suggested Verity.
"Of course they can," laughed Peter, leaning down to tickle her. She shrieked and hid under the blankets.
"Never make promises you can't keep," said Damascus thoughtfully, "and always be upright and honest."
"Yes," said Peter.
"Father," piped Verity, emerging from under the covers, "Did Uncle Redmond ever find the gypsy girl?"
"That's another story," said Peter, leaning down to kiss her forehead. "And now to sleep, both of you, it's way past your bedtime!" The children began to groan, but he said, "Now now! I promise there'll be another story tomorrow night. Now hurry up and make speed towards Dreamland!"
"Very well, Father," said Damascus, "but we expect you to keep that promise."
"And not make up any Ultimate Test or so on to try to get out of it," added Verity.
"Never fear," said Peter, "you shall have your story. Now go to sleep!"
"Good night Father," said the children.
"Sweet dreams," said Peter, blowing out the candles and closing the door softly behind him.
A/N: What did you think? Clever or confusing, sensible or silly, brilliant or boring? Please review and tell me!