The Fairy's Return and Other Princess Tales (3 page)

Rosella didn't know how to answer. Being engaged wasn't the problem, although marrying Harold might have its drawbacks. The problem was the jewels.

“Did you hear me, hon? I asked you a question.” He raised his voice. “Are you happy, sweetheart?” He cupped his hand under her chin.

Rosella spoke through her teeth so the jewels wouldn't get out. “Everybody wants me to talk, but nobody listens to what I say.”

“I'm listening, angel. Spit it out.”

“I hate wild boar, and I don't want guards to stand around. . . .” There were so many jewels in her mouth that one popped out, a hyacinth.

Harold put it in his pocket. The orchestra started to play.

She couldn't keep all these stones in her mouth. She spit them into her hand and made a fist.

“We're supposed to hold hands,” Harold whispered. “Give them to me. I'll take good care of them.”

What difference did it make? She let him have them.

The ceremony began.

Myrtle sat on the edge of the well to eat her muffins. After she ate them and licked her fingers, she headed for the stationer's shop. When she got there, an earwig and a spider bought her enough party invitations for everyone in the village. At the bottom of each invitation she wrote, “Bring presents.”

She gave out all the invitations, and everyone promised to come. Then she stopped at the tailor's shop, where she picked out a gown for the party. It was white silk with an embroidered bodice and a lace train.

She was in such a good mood, she even bought a gown for her mother.

The fairy Ethelinda was furious.

At the end of the betrothal ceremony, the First Chancellor placed a golden tiara on Rosella's head. She wondered if she was a princess yet, or still just a princess-to-be.

“Some people want to meet you, honey,” Harold said.

After a Royal Engagement, the kingdom's loyal subjects were always allowed into the palace to meet their future princess.

The Royal Guards opened the huge wooden doors to the great hall. Rosella saw a line that stretched for three quarters of a mile outside the palace. Everyone in it had something to catch the jewels as they cascaded out of her mouth. Pessimists brought thimbles and egg cups. Optimists brought sacks and pillowcases and lobster pots.

The first subject Rosella met was a farmer. “How are you?” he said.

“Fine.” A ruby chip fell into his pail.

That was all? His shoulders slumped.

Rosella took pity on him. She said, “Actually, my throat hurts, and this crown is giving me a headache.”

He grinned as stones clattered against the bottom of his pail. Rosella asked him what he planned to do with the jewels.

“My old plow is worn out,” he said. “I need a new one.”

“Do you have enough now?” she said.

“Oh yes, Your Princess-ship. Thank you.” He bowed and shook her hand.

Next in line was a woman whose skirt and blouse were as ragged as Rosella's had been yesterday. The woman wanted to buy a warm coat for the winter. Something about her made Rosella want to give her diamonds.

Rosella said, “Make sure your new coat is lined with fur. I think beaver is best.” Diamond, she thought. Diamond, diamond.

But only one diamond came out, along with a topaz, some aquamarine stones, and some garnets. Thinking the name of the jewel didn't seem to make much difference. Anyway, the woman caught the stones in a threadbare sack and left happy.

A shoemaker came next, carrying a boot to catch the jewels. “What's your favorite flower?” he asked.

“Lilacs and carnations and daffodils.” Rosella sang, wondering if singing would affect what came out—a diamond, a ruby, and a turquoise on the large side.

The shoemaker said he had been too poor to buy leather to make any more shoes. “But now,” he said, “I can buy enough to fill my shop window.”

Rosella smiled. “And peonies and poppies and black-eyed Susans and marigolds and—”

She was starting to get the hang of it. Long vowels usually made precious jewels, while short vowels often made semiprecious stones. The softer she spoke, the smaller the jewels, and the louder the bigger. It really was a good thing she hadn't screamed at her Royal Ladies-in-Waiting.

“That's enough. Don't use them all up on me.”

Rosella wished Harold would listen to this shoemaker. He could learn something.

Even though her throat hurt, she enjoyed talking to everybody. She liked her subjects! But why were so many of them poor?

Next was a boy who asked her to tell him a story. She made up a fable about a talkative parrot who lived with a deaf mouse. The boy listened and laughed in all the right places, and caught the jewels in his cap.

She smiled bravely and said hello to the next subject. Her throat hurt terribly.

Seven

T
he widow Pickering loved her new gown. She tried it on while Myrtle tried on her own new gown. The widow told Myrtle that she looked fantastic. Myrtle wrote that the new gown made her mother look twenty years younger.

They took off the gowns and hung them up so they wouldn't wrinkle. Then Myrtle went out into the yard to experiment. She hummed softly. A line of ants pushed between her lips. She hummed louder, and the ants got bigger. Even louder, and the ants got even bigger. She'd had no idea there were such big ants. These were as big as her big toe.

Enough ants. Myrtle opened her mouth wide and sang, “La, la, la, la. Tra lee tra la tra loo.” Moths, fireflies, and ladybugs flew out.

She hummed again. This time worms and caterpillars wriggled out. Hmmm. So she didn't always get ants by humming.

She tried speaking. “Nasty. Mean. Smelly. Rotten. Stupid. Loathsome.” She giggled. “Vile. Putrid. Scabby. Mangy . . .”

“T
HEY WERE CROWDING OUT—CRAWLING, FLITTING, SLITHERING
.”

They were crowding out—crawling, flitting, slithering, darting, wriggling, whizzing, oozing, flying, marching—escaping from Myrtle's mouth every way they could.

There were aphids, butterflies, mambas, lacewings, lynx spiders, midges, wolf snakes, gnats, mayflies, rhinoceros vipers, audacious jumping spiders, bandy-bandy snakes, wasps, locusts, fleas, thrips, ticks, and every other bug and spider and snake you could think of.

Myrtle kept experimenting. She had a wonderful time, but she didn't figure out how to make a particular snake or insect come out. All she learned was that the louder she got, the bigger the creature that came out.

After about an hour, she had worked up quite an appetite. So she and her mother went to the village to have dinner at the inn. Dinner was free, because the innkeeper wanted to keep Myrtle from saying one single solitary word.

The fairy Ethelinda was scandalized.

During the betrothal banquet Harold noticed that Rosella's voice was fading. He noticed because all he got were tiny gems, hardly more than shavings. So he didn't make her say much. But he did make her drink wild-boar broth.

“It's the best thing for you, tootsie,” he said when she made a face.

She gulped it down and hoped it would stay there. She picked at her string beans. “Why are your subjects so poor?” she whispered. A tiny sapphire and bits of amber fell onto the tablecloth.

Harold brushed the jewels into his hand. His betrothed was sweet, but she didn't know much. Subjects were always poor. “I wish they were richer too, cutie pie. Then I could tax them more.”

“Maybe we can help them.” A pearl fell into Rosella's mashed potatoes.

Harold dug it out with his fork and rinsed it off in his mulled wine. “Honey, you'll wear yourself out worrying about them. Take it easy. Relax a little.”

She fell asleep over dessert. Royal Servants carried her to her bedchamber. But she woke up when the three Royal Guards took their places around her bed. Then she couldn't fall back to sleep.

Eight

M
yrtle and the widow Pickering slept late the next morning. When they woke up, they strolled to the village. They stopped at the toymaker's shop for favors for the party guests. From the potter they ordered serving platters. The butcher promised them sausages and meat pies. By noon they had picked out everything for the party. Then they linked arms and sauntered home.

The fairy Ethelinda gnashed her teeth.

By morning Rosella's throat hurt worse than ever. She thought she had a fever, too. But her voice was stronger.

Breakfast was wild-boar steak and eggs. Before her Royal Ladies-in-Waiting had taken ten bites, Harold sent for her.

He was waiting in the library. As soon as she went in, she became very scared. There were thousands of books, but they weren't what scared her. She liked books. There were four desks. That was fine, too. There were a dozen upholstered leather chairs, and they looked comfortable enough. A Royal Manservant and a Royal Maid were dusting. They were all right.

The terrifying sight was the fifteen empty chests lined up in front of one of the leather chairs.

“Sweetie pie,” Harold said. “Am I glad to see you.” He led her to the chair behind the empty chests. “Wait till I tell you my idea.”

Rosella sat down.

“Did you have a good breakfast, cuddle bunch?”

It hurt too much to talk. She shook her head.

Harold was too excited to pay attention. “Good. Here's my idea. You've noticed how old and moldy this palace is?”

She shook her head.

“You haven't? Well, it is. The drawbridge creaks. The rooms are drafty. The cellars are full of rats. The place should be condemned.”

She didn't say anything. The palace looked fine to her.

“So I had a brainstorm. You didn't know you were marrying a genius, did you?”

She shook her head.

“This is brilliant. Listen. We're going to build a new castle. That's my idea. Picture it. Cream-colored stone. Marble everywhere. Hundreds of fountains. Taller towers than anybody ever heard of. Crocodiles
and
serpents in the moat. People will travel thousands of miles to see it. You'll be famous, sweetheart.”

“Me?”

Harold caught the tiny ruby. “Yes, you. I can't build a palace on current revenues. We need your voice. The kingdom needs you. So just make sure they land in the chests, will you, sugar?”

She was silent.

“I know. You're wondering how you'll ever think of things to say to fill fifteen chests. That's why we're in the library. All you have to do is read out loud. Here.” He pulled a book off a shelf. “This looks interesting.
The History of the Monarchy in the Kingdom of Biddle.
That's us, love.” He put the book in her lap. “You can read about our family.”

She didn't open it. What could he do to her if she didn't talk? He could throw her in a dungeon. She wouldn't mind if he did. Bread and water would be better than wild boar. Then again, he could chop off her head, which would hurt her throat even more than it was hurting now.

“I know you're tired, darling. But after you fill these chests, you can take a vacation. You won't have to say a word.” He got down on one knee. “Please, sweetheart. Pretty please.”

He has his heart set on a new palace, Rosella thought. He'll be miserable if he doesn't get one, and it will be because of me. Rosella opened the book to the middle. I'm too kindhearted, she thought. She started reading, trying to speak around her sore throat. “The fourth son of King Beauregard the Hairy weighed seven pounds and eleven ounces at birth. He had a noodle-shaped birthmark on his left shoulder. He wailed for . . .”

A stream of jewels fell into the chest. Harold tiptoed out of the room.

Rosella went on reading. “The infant was named Durward. His first word, ‘More,' proved him to be . . .” She was freezing. She looked up. The fire looked hot. “. . . proved him to be a true royal son. His tutors reported . . .” The room was spinning. “. . . reported that he excelled at archery, hunting . . .” What was wrong with this book? The letters were getting bigger and smaller. The lines of print were wavy. “. . . hunting, and milit—”

Rosella fainted and fell off her chair.

The Royal Manservant and Royal Maid rushed to the partly filled chest. They each grabbed a handful of jewels. Then the Royal Manservant ran to find Harold, while the Royal Maid used her apron to fan Rosella.

“Wake up, Your Highness. Please wake up,” she cried.

Nine

T
he fairy Ethelinda was appalled. This was the last straw. She had to do something.

Harold was in the courtyard, practicing his swordplay. She materialized in front of him. She didn't bother to disguise herself, hoping he'd be terrified when he saw the works—all seven feet three inches of her, her fleshy pink wings, the shimmer in the air around her, the purple light she was always bathed in, her flashing wand.

“You're a fairy, right?” Harold said when he saw her. He didn't seem frightened.