6:30 AM. I am sitting in bed, sipping cold-brewed iced Kaffee through a twisted straw while attempting to memorize a Shyspeak-to-English dictionary. I have been up like this since four, but now that I notice that a noonlike brightness is already pouring through the window, Dark Land smog be damned, I extinguish the torchlights and pull the curtain over to shield myself from the blinding glare.
At the start of this summer, I found the Dark Land heat to be a completely foreign climate, not at all to my liking. I am however growing used to, even dependent on it, almost as though my thermoregulatory system is giving way to the cold-bloodedness of my ectothermic ancestors. Still, the heat can be a nuisance when I find myself licking molten Milka bar off the wrappers, and I have a greater appreciation now for iced beverages and rising before dawn, when the weather is not cool but not yet sweltering.
Another reason I enjoy early mornings is because it gives me time to enjoy a bit of research or violin practice before the rest of the family is up. The younger children require feeding and discipline, and the King requires treatment and tending to.
When I administered the initial treatment at the hospital several days ago, he began to feel better almost immediately. I found Kamek and told him that His Majesty had, by some miracle, recovered enough to check out of hospice.
"Eh? Oh, did he really, now?"
"What can I say? I suppose the disease is not as deadly as I thought." I could not allow him to know that I am capable of mercy. He is my future minion after all. He must FEAR his leaders.
"Oh, is that so? Hmm, ok then, I see." Kamek smirked wisely, which worried me that perhaps he really DID see.
The King's recovery is progressing at a swifter rate than I had expected. I was prepared to develop treatments to combat the zoo of microbes that he must have been contaminated with at that filthy hospital, but now that the Koopa Immunodeficiency Virus's stranglehold on his immune system is gone, Kamek's folk remedies seem to be working.
"Have any scientific studies been done on this?" I asked when Kamek initially asked me to dress my father's infected wounds with Queen Bee's Royal Jelly and Honey Blend, which, according to the jar, was sourced from "Queen Bee Planet, Honeyhive Galaxy". Kamek seemed convinced that it has miraculous antimicrobial, tissue-regenerating, and immunity-boosting properties.
Kamek cackled sardonically at my inquiry. "I'm afraid not, my Prince, last time a grant proposal was submitted, by yours truly as a matter of fact, it was turned down, reason given was that they had too much vested in other interests. So, hehe, why don't you do yourself the honor of conducting the first study?"
I just might. In any case, the apian by-product is quite delicious; Kamek nagged me more than once about sticking my fingers in the jar.
The King is now well enough to walk around and play with his kids, although he still aches somewhat and has a lingering cough. My job now is the same as it was for Larry - to run blood tests, check his vital signs, and be ready at all times to help out in the occasional case of emergency, although he puts up a much greater fuss than Larry did about being pricked with a needle, which does not make my job one bit easier.
First Larry and now him. I snarl under my breath in protest of how tedious my life has become. This chore is wearing thinner on me than I have allowed anybody to witness. When I was woken up two nights ago at 3 AM to help out when the King was gasping stridently for breath through airways obstructed by Koopa croup, it took an exhausting degree of executive function to inhibit the urge to verbally snap at Kamek and slam him into a wall for robbing me of that one hour of blessed slumber. Or was it three nights ago? No, the croup symptoms had cleared by the next day, which was the twelfth, which was yesterday.
Which makes today the thirteenth.
My birthday.
I gasp at this realization. Did anybody remember?
I suddenly remember the box of presents in the corner that my family in Austria sent me, to not be opened until my birthday of course.
My heart jolts with excitement and I tear open the box, giggling. I have never been so thrilled to receive gifts before. The presents from Mutter and the grandparents are wrapped in royal blue wrapping paper with a matte finish; the ones from Onkel are wrapped with graph paper that had formerly been used for scratch work to solve math problems, although a few garbled - and probably failed - plans on how to destroy his nemesis Herr Klavier have found their way onto the paper as well.
I open a narrow box from Mutter - it's a clarinet, similar to the one that Roy destroyed, but newer. I play a few notes on it before placing it back in its box and carefully tucking it away.
There are some larger boxes which, based on their dimensions, obviously contain clothing. I open them and, sure enough, they contain handsome dress attire with matching dress shoes and cravats. I bite the monogrammed golden cufflinks. Solid gold.
Großvater's gift is an antique book of sheet music for violin, some of which he had composed himself. Großmutter's is an old-fashioned gold-plated pocketwatch, also monogrammed with my initials, and studded with a few peridots around the face.
The small box of approximately square dimensions contains a coffee mug printed with the notes and libretto to the fourth movement of Johann Sebastian Bach's cantata Schweigt stille, plaudert nicht - which, by the way, is a Baroque love song about Kaffee. It is stuffed with a small bag of Kona Kaffee beans
The larger box of approximately square dimensions contains exactly what I hoped it would contain - sweets, including Milka bars and Manner wafers, including a bag of Wiener Kaffee flavored ones, and a violin-shaped box full of Mozartkugel marzipan filled chocolates, and a box of Katzenzungen, which, because of the kittens on the package, one would initially assume were cat treats, but what they really are is chocolates, of a similar size and shape to a cat's tongue. It does not make sense to one that does not speak German.
Now to open Onkel's presents. First is an espresso maker that I am almost certain he built out of parts from one of his brain-zapping machines that he probably would have tested on me at one point if Großmutter Josephine did not grab him by the hair and explain to him why it is morally reprehensible to perform electroconvulsive experiments on his nephew instead of on vegetables or rats or the brain embryos he grows in petri dishes.
His other package is also in a clothing box shape. It is a labcoat, with patches and splattered with his patented bleach-resistant chemical dye, and human molars sewn on in place of buttons. This is the labcoat that Onkel used to wear when he roleplayed as an evil Nazi-era dentist, one of his favorite "characters", but he somehow made it smaller so that it fits me. At the bottom of the box is a photocopied piece of sheet music, with Fur Elise on the front and Onkel's birthday message on the back.
"Alles Gute zum Geburtstag mein lieber Großneffe!
Sorry for the sloppy handwriting, my left hand got injured when I reached down to pet one of my test subjects so for the time being I've got to learn to be right-handed!
Remember this? I made a shrink ray so that it would fit you just perfectly! Now you've got a real lab coat and you can also run around and frighten your Geschwister with it! I want to hear about what you've been working on, you haven't let your mind go to waste living with that barbarian Vater of yours have you? No offense if you got attached to him or anything.
We're all doing fine back here, I had a great birthday myself and I only had to take a solitary vacation TWICE so far this summer. Herr Klavier has been awfully quiet since, maybe I should offer him some brandy and see if he's all right.
See how there are no Kaffee spots or Kaffee rings on this letter? That's because I'm quite addicted to that stuff - like Großonkel like Großneffe, am I right? - and so I've decided to kick the habit, at least until I'm done writing this letter. Then I will treat myself to a Doppelmokka at the cafe as a reward. I want you back sooooo bad, I know how much it must be killing you that you can't go out to the cafe for your birthday! I know you're missing out on the Perseids meteor shower too, since they don't have that over there do they?
All the best,
Your Großonkel Wolfgang XOXOXO"
This is not all there is to Onkel's letter, and Onkel knows that I know it. That last paragraph said enough.
I dip my fingers into the iced coffee and smear them over the letter. Onkel and I had invented an invisible ink together that is only rendered visible in the presence of caffeine molecules. Only Onkel and I know about it, so Mutter had certainly not checked. The rest of the message appears between the lines of the visible letter, white like crayon on a dyed Easter egg under the stain of Kaffee.
"Haha I knew that one wouldn't slip by you! Check the teeth on your labcoat, one of them has a filling. It's filled with molten lead, but at the core is 13 micrograms (by the time you open this on your birthday) of pure Plutonium. Your Mutter would never have let that in the gift package had she known, here's hoping it gets by the gentlemen at the post office as well! XOXOXO"
He is the best Großonkel ever! Now to read Mutter's birthday card:
"Alles Gute zum Geburtstag mein lieber Sohn!
Please let me know if the new outfits fit you. I know you must have outgrown all your old dress jackets by now, but you haven't written to me in a while so I don't know what sizes you wear. I have been really worried about you, I am very sorry that things had to be this way. It was completely out of my hands at this point, and I hope you are not holding it against me, although I cannot say that I blame you if you do. I hope your father is treating you with respect. I know he's not what you expected him to be, but please try to get along with him, he really does love you, and try to get along with your siblings as well. Try to be a good influence on them. Perhaps your love of Musik will grow on them?
Never lose sight of the bright side to all of this - one of these days, you will be King, and you can change things according to your own design. But do not become too impatient for that day to come either. You are still a child, after all, and as much as you may think you know about music and math and science and whatever else, there is still much you can learn from the lives of others around you, your father especially. Make sure to make the effort to get to know him; ask what his life was like growing up, what his family was like, what his parents and grandparents had told him about their parents and grandparents, what mistakes he has made from his life and what he has learned from them. Make sure, because one day, even if it seems like an infinitely distant time from now, he will be gone, and all those stories will be lost to you forever.
You father, I believe, has agreed that you can visit us for a week or so once a year, so let me know when; if you would prefer to visit during the holidays or during Easter. Get on his good side, and maybe he'll let you visit twice.
All my love,
Your loving Mutti"
I place the letter down, my throat tight. I put on the purple dress jacket with the peridot-studded cravat and the matching breeches and stockings and shoes. Everything fits like a glove. Now I shall check to see if anybody else had remembered.
I head down to the dining hall, carrying the box of Katzenzungen, sucking on one like a pacifier while rubbing it all over the inside - and somehow, also outside of my mouth. The children are being seated for breakfast, as usual. The King, looking in better health even than yesterday, lumbers toward his seat, turning his face around to meet mine after catching me in the corner of his eye.
"Hey Kooky, nice costume, your mother got you that?"
I remain silent, my mouth full of chocolate as a convenient excuse.
"Hey, what's that you're eating?"
He takes the box I am holding and looks at it. "Katze... what? Are you eating cat treats, Kooky?"
"Uuhh, JA." I lie, not wanting him to know that it's chocolate lest I be coerced into sharing it.
"Eeww, you weirdo Europeans. And I thought mayonnaise on French fries was gross." He continues to read the box. "Fur... Nasch... katzen? What does that mean?"
"It means for nice cats," I continue to lie, taking the box back. The truth is that Naschkatzen is German for what Anglophones call having a sweet tooth.
I slowly make my way to the table, trying not to pout. He did not so much as acknowledge the significance of this date.
"Eh... what would you like for breakfast-" Kamek begins to ask, but I interrupt.
"I'm not hungry." Yet I continue to nibble at the chocolate kitten tongues.
By the time I am all finished with the chocolates, I notice that everybody has left the table. I am alone. Abandoned.
Until Kamek comes running down the stairs, apparently flustered.
"AH! There you are, my Prince... eh, th-the King would like to see you at once. Follow me."
See me for what? Is this the birthday surprise I have been waiting for, at long last? Perhaps not... I brace myself for disappointment. I follow Kamek as he takes me to a corner of the castle that I have never ventured to before. As I enter a narrow room with a winding staircase that can only lead to the top of a high tower, I recall... I do believe that my father has expressly forbid me from entering such parts of the castle as the high towers?
I follow Kamek up the staircase, which from the bottom looking up appears to be a long and grueling hike against gravity, but it is neither as long nor as exhausting as it appears. The brightness through the top is encouraging...
"SURPRISE!"
I have just barely emerged from the stairwell, only to nearly stumble back down into it. I blink and rub my eyes as they adjust to the brightness of this lofty room.
Bowser, Roy, Wendy, Morton, and Larry are all present, here in a spacious, circular room with a high, pointed ceiling and tall windows of thick, prismatic glass that allow sunbeams, some nearly split into rainbows, to pour in from every direction. It is cooler in here than in any other part of the castle that I have been in, and also brighter; so bright I can see dust particles swirling, illuminated by the golden-white sunlight.
And then I gasp, in fact nearly scream, when I see what else is illuminated by that golden-white sunlight.
Do my eyes deceive me, or are they really reeling from the sun-bright glare of the object before me... is it really...?
IT IS!
The golden piano! My father hadn't thrown it out after all!
I take a moment to caress the piano, admire the texture of the gold and the ebony and the ivory, and blow the dust off it and watch it spiral off. It has been too long... too long without a piano, and far too long without this beauty...
"So do you like it? This room, I mean." Bowser grumbles.
"The King and I decided that you could have this room as your music room," Kamek says. "Since I figured you would find the acoustics up here to be most to your liking-"
"And so you can stop annoying everybody with that racket down where we can all hear it," Bowser adds.
"Do I like it? No... I LOVE IT!"
I begin to play scales over the keys. My muscle memory falters slightly, my skill having atrophied just a bit from lack of practice, but my fingers are still plenty strong, so I should be able to play my latest masterpiece after some warming up. After playing the scales through four octaves in every key, not quitting until each key is done perfectly, I play arpeggios along the entire length of the keyboard. It is while doing this that I realize just how much I have grown in the time since I have last played at a keyboard - I play the arpeggios more quickly and smoothly than I expected, and it strikes me that this is because each of my hands now easily spans a perfect fifth in C major.
"Eh, I know you're busy there, my Prince, but there's something else that..." But I ignore Kamek, because I am indeed busy.
Very busy...
"GRRR BWAAAAH BLAST IT TO HELL! I SHOULD HAVE KNOWN HE WOULD BE GLUED TO THAT INFERNAL THING! PRINCE LUDWIG VON KOOPA! AS YOUR FATHER THE KING I COMMAND YOU TO STOP PLAYING THAT DAMN PIANO AND TURN AROUND BEFORE I SMASH IT!"
I huff and ball my fists, and turn reluctantly to meet his gaze.
The King and the children step aside to reveal something hidden beneath a velvety red tarpaulin. Something enormous, and ostensibly impractical to gift-wrap He pulls it away with a single swift tug, and my eyes are greeted with the sight of a... A PIPE ORGAN!
I scream, ecstatic, nearly religiously so. This is just what I wanted... I've only played one a couple of times in my life... I've begged Mutter to let me have one but she said that the von Shellz manor was no place for anything larger than a basic church organ...
"Kamek said you wrote a magnificent theme song for the pipe organ," said Bowser. "Let's hear it."
This pipe organ is perfect. It's not quite as humongous as the others I've played, but it is tailored perfectly for my small size, so I can reach the pedalboard. I crack my knuckles and test out each of the keyboards with a double arpeggio. I nearly tear up with joy at the sheer sound, so wicked and lovely. I play an A minor chord and hold it - it does not stop until I lift my fingers from the keys. Perfect. This will serve my purpose quite nicely.
The first measure leaves the children - and indeed, even the King in shivers. I resist the urge to evilly cackle, for I am channeling all of my cackles into the music.
Bowser hugs Larry tight as I continue to play. The other children huddle up to him as well; Roy even audibly whimpers. I hear a few shrieks as I thunder out the sforzando bits, but that is only to be expected from children, after all.
I do not hear a peep from the children throughout the rest of my performance, which is softer and carries fewer surprises, but I do hear a low, moist sniffing.
Oh? Has my music soothed this savage beast? Has the tension and subtle despair in this piece stricken a chord with His Royal Unculturedness?
I finish with one last repetition of the final measure, played diminuendo. I hear applause only from Kamek - the children have not been raised well enough so far to know better than to not award a master's performance with a standing ovation, and the King, provided he does have that modicum of etiquette, is too overwhelmed by tears of what can only be rapture to mind his manners. Which, I must admit, is hardly any less satisfying.
"BWAAAAA... Bravo, my son, bravo. That was beautiful... so beautifully, so brilliantly evil, so... grrr I have no words for it! Maybe you do what with that superior vocabulary of yours?"
"I have no words for it either. There are no words. That is why it is music."
The King seizes me from the organ seat and places me atop his shoulders. "Happy birthday son. I know it's your first birthday with us, and you miss your mother and that crazy great uncle of yours and that fancy city of theirs and we can't measure up to them no matter how hard we try, but we tried..."
"And you did a marvelous job!" I tell him. "Why, I could not have asked for a more perfect fifth birthday! Thank you for everything, King Dad."
"Oh, but it's about to become even more perfect, just wait until you see the cake!" said Kamek.
"You're gonna love it!" King Dad says as he piggybacks me down the stairs. I almost ask what kind of cake it is, but then I rather vaguely recall a rather amusing anecdote of Mutter's about her own wedding cake...
That was the Super Mario World Castle Theme he played on the pipe organ! :)
