THE PRACTICAL PRINCESS and Other Liberating Fairy Tales (2 page)

BOOK: THE PRACTICAL PRINCESS and Other Liberating Fairy Tales
5.72Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

He rode to the tower and looked up at Bedelia.

“Aha!” he croaked. “So you are safe and snug, are you? And will you marry me now?”

“Never,” said Bedelia, firmly.

“Then stay there until never comes,” snarled Lord Garp.

And away he rode.

For the next two days, Bedelia felt very sorry for herself. She sat wistfully by the window, looking out at the empty plain. When she was hungry, food appeared on the table. When she was tired, she lay down on the narrow cot and slept. Each day, Lord Garp rode by and asked if she had changed her mind, and each day she refused him. Her only hope was that, as so often happen in old tales, a prince might come riding by who would rescue her.

But on the third day, she gave herself a shake.

“Now, then, pull yourself together,” she said, sternly. “If you sit waiting for a prince to rescue you, you may sit here forever. Be practical! If there’s any rescuing to be done, you’re going to have to do it yourself.”

She jumped up. There was something she had not yet done, and now she did it. She tried the door.

It opened.

Outside, were three other doors. But there was no sign of a stair, or any way down from the top of the tower.

She opened two of the doors and found that they led into cells just like hers, but empty.

Behind the fourth door, however, lay what appeared to be a haystack.

From beneath it came the sound of snores. And between snores, a voice said, “Sixteen million and twelve …
snore
… sixteen million and thirteen …

snore
… sixteen million and fourteen …”

Cautiously, she went closer. Then she saw that what she had taken for a haystack was in fact an immense pile of blond hair. Parting it, she found a young man, sound asleep.

As she stared, he opened his eyes. He blinked at her. “Who-?” he said. Then he said, “Sixteen million and fifteen,” closed his eyes, and fell asleep again.

Bedelia took him by the shoulder and shook him hard. He awoke, yawning, and tried to sit up. But the mass of hair made this difficult.

“What on earth is the matter with you?” Bedelia asked. “Who are you?”

“I am Prince Perian,” he replied, “the rightful ruler of-oh, dear, here I go again. Sixteen million and …”

his eyes began to close.

Bedelia shook him again. He made a violent effort and managed to wake up enough to continue, “ - of Istven. But Lord Garp has put me under a spell. I have to count sheep jumping over a fence, and this puts me to slee-ee-ee-”

He began to snore lightly.

“Dear me,” said Bedelia. “I must do something.”

She thought hard. Then she pinched Perian’s ear, and this woke him with a start. “Listen,” she said,

“It’s quite simple. It’s all in your mind, you see. You are imagining the sheep jumping over the fence-No!

Don’t go to sleep again!”

“This is what you must do. Imagine them jumping backwards. As you do,
count
them backwards and when you get to
one
, you’ll be wide awake.”

The prince’s eyes snapped open. “Marvelous!” he said. “Will it work?”

“It’s bound to,” said Bedelia. “For if the sheep going one way will put you to sleep, their going back again will wake you up.”

Hastily, the prince began to count, “Six million and fourteen, six million and thirteen, six millions and twelve …”

“Oh, my goodness,” cried Bedelia, “count by hundreds, or you’ll never get there.”

He began to gabble as fast as he could, and with each moment that passed, his eyes sparked more brightly, his face grew livelier, and he seemed a little stronger, until at last, he shouted, “Five, four, three, two, ONE!” and awoke completely.

He struggled to his feet, with a little help from Bedelia.

“Heavens!” he said. “Look how my hair and beard have grown. I’ve been here for years. Thank you, my dear. Who are you, and what are you doing here?”

Bedelia quickly explained.

Perian shook his head. “One more crime of Lord Garps,” he said. “We must escape and see he is punished.”

“Easier said than done,” Bedelia replied. “There is no stair in this tower, as far as I can tell, and the outside wall is much too smooth to climb.”

Perian frowned. “This will take some thought,” he said. “What we need is a long rope.”

“Use your common sense,” said Bedelia. “We haven’t any rope.”

Then her face brightened, and she clapped her hands. “But we have your beard,” she laughed.

Perian understood at once, and chuckled. “I’m sure it will reach almost to the ground,” he said. “But we haven’t any scissors to cut it off with.”

“That is so,” said Bedelia. “Hang it out of the window and let me climb down. I’ll search the tower and perhaps I can find a ladder, or a hidden stair. If all else fails, I can go for help.”

She and the prince gathered up great armfuls of the beard and staggered into Bedelia’s room, which had the largest window. The prince’s long hair trailed behind and nearly tripped him.

He threw the beard out of the window, and sure enough the end of it came to within a few feet of the ground.

Perian braced himself, holding the beard with both hands to ease the pull on his chin. Bedelia climbed out of the window and slid down the beard. She dropped to the ground and sat for a moment, breathless.

And as she sat there, out of the wilderness came the drumming of hoofs, a cloud of dust, and then Lord Garp on his swift horse.

With one glance, he saw what was happening. He shook his fist up at Perian.

“Meddlesome fool!” he shouted. “I’ll teach you to interfere.”

He leaped from the horse and grabbed the beard.

He gave it a tremendous yank. Headfirst came Perian, out of the window. Down he fell, and with a thump, he landed right on top of old Lord Garp.

This saved Perian, who was not hurt at all. But it was the end of Lord Garp.

Perian and Bedelia rode back to Istven on Lord Garp’s horse.

In the great city, the prince was greeted with cheers of joy-once everyone had recognized him after so many years and under so much hair.

And of course, since Bedelia had rescued him from captivity, she married him. First, however, she made him get a haircut and a shave so that she could see what he really looked like.

For she was always practical.

STUPID MARCO

The youngest son of the King of Lirripipe was called Marco. That is, he was called Marco-or Your Highness-in public. But among themselves, people spoke of him as “Poor dear Marco,” or “Alas, poor Marco,” or just sighed and rolled their eyes. This was because, although he was cheerful and good-hearted and handsome, he was not bright enough to tell his right hand from his left.

He was not exactly stupid. But then, neither was he exactly as brilliant as a prince ought to be. His two older brothers quickly passed all their classes in government, politics, courtly bowing, economics, arithmetic, and science. But Marco looked out the window and smiled and hummed and made up poetry, but on every one of his classroom papers his instructor sadly wrote,
Failed
.

However, Marco had three great accomplishments.

In the first place, he was so charming and pleasant a person that no one could help liking him and wanting to help him. Secondly, he could whistle very loudly between his fingers. And thirdly, he knew an infallible cure for hiccups.

In consequence, people found excuses for him.

Nobody minded very much his being a little slow-witted, and he was popular everywhere in the kingdom.

One day, his father called Marco into the throne room.

“My dear boy,” he said, “the time has come for you to undertake your Quest. As you know, it is the custom in Lirripipe for every young prince, when he has finished his schooling, to go forth and rescue a princess for his bride. Your two older brothers have successfully done so. Now it is your turn.”

“Yes, father,” said Marco. “My turn for what?”

The king sighed and patiently repeated what he had said. “I am going to make it easy for you,” he went on.

“There is a very nice princess named Aurelia, who is being held prisoner in a tower not far from here. I have written instructions for rescuing her on this piece of paper. You will set out tomorrow morning early and go three miles to the south. When you come to the fork in the road, turn left and continue until you come to the tower. Then follow the instructions.”

“Certainly, Father,” said Marco. “But how will I know which way is left?”

“I have thought of that, too,” said the king, taking up the golden pen and inkwell which stood beside his throne.

The following morning, Marco set out. Mounted on his fine black steed with his sword by his side he looked handsomer than ever. And on the backs of his hands were written the
right
and
left
.

His mother kissed him good-bye and then stood back to wave. “Oh, dear, I hope he can stay out of trouble,” she murmured to the king.

“Well, my love,” said the king, “he does have certain accomplishments. He is so amiable and attractive that I am sure he will find people to help him wherever he goes. And as a last resort, he can cure someone’s hiccups, or whistle.”

Off went Marco. For the first mile, he rode merrily enough. Then it began to rain. Down it came, until the feather on his hat was bent, and his clothes were drenched. Of course, he had forgotten his raincoat.

He kept up his spirits, however, by singing songs to himself, and at last he came to the fork in the road.

He looked down at his hands. But on the back of each there was only a blue smear. The rain had washed away the ink.

“I’ll just have to make a guess,” said Marco. And he took the road to the right.

He traveled on and on. The rain stopped, the sun came out and warmed and dried him. Mile after mile he traveled, for many days. At last, one day after he had ridden to the top of a hill, he saw spread out below him a glittering city. He rode down it and entered the gates.

In the center of the city was an elegant castle. In the downstairs window of one it its towers a maiden sat with her chin on her hand, staring into space. Her smooth brown hair hung in long braids tied with golden bows, and her eyes were the color of forget-me-nots.

Marco took off his hat. “Good morning!” he said.

“Are you the Princess Aurelia?”

The girl yawned. “Never heard of her,” she said.

Marco shook his head. “Ah, well, I’ve done it again,” said he. “You see, I have to rescue the Princess Aurelia. My father said she was in a tower not far from our kingdom, but I’ve traveled for miles and miles. I must have taken the wrong road. I
thought
it seemed rather a long way. I’m afraid,” he finished with an engaging grin, “I’m not very smart. I can’t even tell my right hand from my left.”

The girl stopped yawning and looked at him more closely. Then she smiled in return, “My dear,” she said, “you aren’t fit to be out alone. You need someone to look after you. I’d better go along with you and help you find this princess.”

“That would be marvelous,” said Marco. “But I haven’t the faintest idea where she is.”

“Well,’ said the girl, “my father has a magical parrot which can answer any question put to it. If you’ll wait a moment, I’ll get the bird, and we’ll see if we can locate her.”

She helped Marco climb in through the window.

“My name,” she said, “is Sylvia.”

Marco introduced himself. Then Sylvia went off and fetched the parrot. It was made all of ivory, with emerald eyes, and it sat on a perch of gold.

Sylvia asked, “Where is the Princess Aurelia?”

The parrot whirred and ticked. Then it said, “She is shut up in the Green Glass Tower among the hills of Gargovir.”

“Ah,” said Sylvia. “And how do we get there from here?”

Again, the parrot ticked and whirred. “Only one person can tell you how to reach the Green Glass Tower,” it croaked “A maiden named Roseanne who lives in the village of Dwindle.”

BOOK: THE PRACTICAL PRINCESS and Other Liberating Fairy Tales
5.72Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

Other books

Life in a Medieval City by Frances Gies, Joseph Gies
Tron by Brian Daley
A Bedtime Story by L.C. Moon
Bender by Stacy Borel
Unknown by Unknown
Dead of Winter by P. J. Parrish
Just Joshua by Jan Michael
The Magic Labyrinth by Philip José Farmer