The Fairy's Return and Other Princess Tales (15 page)

After they both said “I do,” and after they kissed, Christopher turned to Sonora. “Do you know if dragons burn the roofs of their mouths?”

“Yes, I know. No part of a dragon burns. You see, the essence of a dragon is fire . . .”

And they all lived happily ever after.

To Nedda, zesty, kind, and true—my dear friend.

—G.C.L.

One

E
llis was always lonely.

He lived with his older brothers, Ralph and Burt, on a farm that was across the moat from Biddle Castle. Ralph and Burt were best friends as well as brothers, but they wouldn't let Ellis be a best friend too.

When he was six years old, Ellis invented flying powder. He sprinkled the powder on his tin cup, and the cup began to rise up the chimney. He stuck his head into the fireplace to see how far up it would go. (The fire was out, of course.)

The cup didn't fly straight up. It zoomed from side to side instead, knocking soot and cinders down on Ellis' head.

Ralph and Burt came in from the farm. Ellis ducked out of the fireplace. “I made my cup fly!” he yelled. The cup fell back down the chimney and tumbled out into the parlor. “Look! It just landed.”

Ralph didn't even turn his head. He said, “Rain tomorrow.”

Burt said, “Barley needs it. You're covered with cinders, Ellis.”

Ralph thought that was funny. “That's funny.” He laughed. “That's what we should call him—Cinderellis.”

Burt guffawed. “You have a new name, Ellis—I mean Cinderellis.”

“All right,” Cinderellis said. “Watch! I can make my cup fly again.” He sprinkled more powder on the cup, and it rose up the chimney again.

Ralph said, “Beans need weeding.”

Burt said, “Hay needs cutting.”

Cinderellis thought, Maybe they'd be interested if the cup flew straight. What if I grind up my ruler and add it to the powder? That should do it.

But when the cup did fly straight, Ralph and Burt still wouldn't watch.

They weren't interested either when Cinderellis was seven and invented shrinking powder. Or when he was eight and invented growing powder and made his tin cup big enough to drink from again.

They wouldn't even try his warm-slipper powder, which Cinderellis had invented just for them—to keep their feet warm on cold winter nights.

“Don't want it,” Ralph said.

“Don't like it,” Burt said.

Cinderellis sighed. Being an inventor was great, but it wasn't everything.

In Biddle Castle Princess Marigold was lonely too. Her mother, Queen Hermione III, had died when Marigold was two years old. And her father, King Humphrey III, was usually away from home, on a quest for some magical object or wondrous creature. And the castle children were too shy to be friendly.

When Marigold turned seven, King Humphrey III returned from his latest quest. He had been searching for a dog tiny enough to live in a walnut shell. But instead of the dog, he'd found a normal-size kitten and a flea big enough to fill a teacup. He gave the kitten to Marigold and sent the flea to the Royal Museum of Quest Souvenirs.

Marigold loved the kitten. His fur was stripes of honey and orange, and his nose was pink. She named him Apricot and played with him all day in the throne room, throwing a small wooden ball for him to chase. The kitten enjoyed the game and loved this gentle lass who'd rescued him from being cooped up with that disgusting,
hungry
flea.

King Humphrey III watched his daughter play. What an adorable, sweet child she was! Soon she'd be an adorable, sweet maiden, and someone would want to marry her.

The king sat up straighter on his throne. It couldn't be just anyone. The lad would have to be perfect, which didn't necessarily mean rich or handsome. Perfect meant perfect—courageous, determined, a brilliant horseman. In other words, perfect.

When the time was right, he, King Humphrey III, would go on a quest for the lad.

Two

W
hen Cinderellis was old enough to start farming, his brothers gave him the rockiest acres to work, the acres that went halfway up Biddle Mountain, the acres with the caves he loved to explore.

“It's a small section,” Burt said, “but you're no farmer, Cinderellis.”

“Not like us,” Ralph said. He smiled his special smile at Burt, the smile that made Cinderellis ache with longing.

“Do we have any popping corn?” Cinderellis asked, excited. This was his big chance to prove he
was
a farmer. Then Ralph and Burt would smile the special smile at him too.

He took the popping corn and mixed it with flying powder and extra-strength powder. Then he stuffed the mixture under the biggest rocks on his acres. He added twigs and lit them.

The corn popped extra high. The rocks burst out of the ground and rolled to the bottom of the mountain. The soil became light and soft and ready for planting. Cinderellis mixed his seeds with growing powder and planted them. Then he set up an invention workshop in his biggest cave.

At harvesttime Cinderellis couldn't wait for his brothers to see his vegetables. His carrots were sweeter than maple syrup. His tomatoes were redder than red paint. And his potatoes were so beautiful, you could hardly look at them. Ralph and Burt would have to admit he was a farmer.

Cinderellis sprinkled balancing powder on his vegetables and loaded them on his wheelbarrow. Then he pushed the wheelbarrow to the barn without losing even a single ruby-red radish.

Ralph and Burt were still in the fields, so Cinderellis arranged his vegetables outside the barn door. Using more balancing powder and a pinch of extra-strength powder, he stacked the tomatoes in the shape of a giant tomato and the beets in the shape of a giant beet. His masterpiece was the carrots, rising like a ballerina from a tiny tiny tip.

Finally his brothers drove up in the wagon behind Thelma the mule.

Burt took one look and said, “Tomatoes are too red.”

Ralph tasted a carrot and said, “Carrots are too sweet.”

Burt added, “Potatoes are too pretty.”

Cinderellis said, “But carrots should taste sweet, and tomatoes are supposed to be red.” He shouted, “And what's wrong with pretty potatoes?”

“H
IS MASTERPIECE WAS THE CARROTS, RISING LIKE A BALLERINA FROM A TINY TINY TIP
.”

Ralph said, “Guess I'll load them on the wagon anyway.”

Burt said, “Might as well take them to market.”

Cinderellis left them there. He went to his workshop and screamed.

When Marigold was seven and a half, King Humphrey III left Biddle Castle again, to go on a quest for water from the well of youth and happiness. Marigold missed him terribly. She told Apricot how miserable she was. Apricot purred happily. He loved it when his dear lass talked to him, and he was sure it meant she was in a good mood.

Marigold patted the cat. Apricot was wonderful, but she wished for a human friend, someone who would understand her feelings, someone who would rather be home with her than be anywhere else in the world.

It was the end of the first day of fall, and Cinderellis was nine years old. He woke up exactly at midnight because his bed had begun to shake. On the bureau the jars of his wake-up powder and no-smell-hose powder jiggled and rattled.

But as soon as he got up to see what was going on, the shaking stopped. So he went back to sleep.

In the morning Ralph and Burt and Cinderellis discovered that the grass in their best hay field had vanished.

A tear trickled down Ralph's cheek. “Goblins did it,” he said.

Burt nodded, wiping his eyes.

Cinderellis walked across the brown field. Huh! he thought. Look at that! Hoofprints! He picked up a golden hair. “It was a horse with a golden mane,” he announced. “Not goblins.”

His brothers didn't listen. Ralph knelt and poured dirt from his left hand into his right. Burt poured dirt from his right hand into his left. Cinderellis got down on his knees too. Although he didn't see what good it would do, he poured dirt from his left hand into his right. Then he poured it from his right hand into his left.

Ralph said, “Get up, Cinderellis. Don't be such a copycat.”

Cinderellis stood, feeling silly. And lonelier than ever.

Three

D
uring the winter after the hay disappeared, King Humphrey III returned. He hadn't found the well of youth and happiness, but he'd brought home a flask of coconut milk that was supposed to be just as good.

The milk didn't make anyone a day younger or a smile happier, though. All it did was make people's toenails grow, a foot an hour. This kept the Chief Royal Manicurist busy for a week, till the effects wore off.

Marigold waited for her turn with the manicurist in the throne room with her father and all the nobles who'd had a sip of the milk. Everyone's boots and hose were off, and the smell made Apricot sneeze on his cushion next to Marigold's chair.

Marigold didn't mind the smell. She was too happy about seeing her father to mind anything—until he mentioned that he was planning a new quest, this time for a pair of seven-league boots.

Marigold would have left the room, if she had been able to walk with three-foot-long toenails. As it was, everybody saw her cry.

A year to the day after the hay vanished, Cinderellis' farmhouse shook again in the middle of the night. In the morning the hay was gone again from the same field, and Cinderellis picked up another horse hair, a copper one.

Every night for the next year, Ralph practiced a spell to scare away the goblins.

          
Goblins, go away NOW!

          
Go go go go GO!

          
Away away away away AWAY!

          
Now now now now NOW!

“The words are hard to remember,” Ralph said.

Burt agreed. “Almost impossible.”

Even though he knew that goblins had nothing to do with the disappearing hay, Cinderellis wanted to help. So he invented goblin-stay-away powder. It was made of dried vinegar and the claw of a dead eagle, the two things goblins fear most.

The first day of fall came. At night Ralph headed for the barn, which was right behind the hay field. He'd wait there for the goblins and say the spell.

“Let me come along,” Cinderellis said. “I'll bring my goblin-stay-away powder.”

“Don't need you,” Ralph said. He smiled his special smile at Burt.

Burt smiled back. “What good would you be?” he asked.

In the middle of the night Cinderellis was still awake, because he was having imaginary conversations with his brothers, conversations in which they were amazed at how wonderful his inventions were. Conversations in which they begged him to be their friend.

At midnight the ground shook. Cinderellis smiled. Now Ralph would see that he, Cinderellis, had been right all along. Now Ralph would see the horse.

The next morning Ralph was already eating his oatmeal when Burt and Cinderellis sat down for breakfast.

“Hay all right?” Burt asked.

Ralph shook his head. “Rain today.”

“Have to get the corn in,” Burt said. “What happened?”

“Ground shook. Said the spell. Went to sleep. Hay was gone.”

“Did you see the horse?” Cinderellis asked.

“What horse?”

“Didn't you look outside the barn?”

Ralph smiled at Burt. “What for?”

Burt guffawed.

Later that day Cinderellis found a silver horse's hair in the hay field.

The following year it was Burt's turn to spend the night in the barn. In the morning the hay was gone.

“My turn next,” Cinderellis said, picking up a golden horse hair from the bare field.

Ralph and Burt roared with laughter.

“My turn next,” Cinderellis insisted, turning red. He'd save the hay. His brothers would admire him at last. And he'd never be lonely again.

A month after Burt's night in the barn, King Humphrey III returned to Biddle without finding seven-league boots. What he had found were three shoes that walked backward, very slowly. They went straight to the Royal Museum of Quest Souvenirs.