THE PRACTICAL PRINCESS and Other Liberating Fairy Tales (7 page)

That night Albion led her to a loft above the stables. There, on perches, were seven great hawks.

“Tonight,” said he, “you must watch my falcons.”

As soon as Petronella was locked in, the hawks began to beat their wings and scream at her.

Petronella laughed. “That is not how birds sing,”

she said. “Listen.”

She began to sing in a sweet voice. The hawks fell silent. All night long she sang to them, and they sat like feathered statues on their perches, listening.

In the morning Albion said, “You are as talented as you are kind and brave. If you had run from them, they would have pecked and clawed you without mercy. What do you want now?”

“I want a ring for my finger,” said Petronella.

The enchanter gave her a ring made from a single diamond.

All that day and all that night Petronella slept, for she was very tired. But early the next morning, she crept into Prince Ferdinand’s room. He was sound asleep, wearing purple pajamas.

“Wake up,” whispered Petronella. “I am going to rescue you.”

Ferdinand awoke and stared sleepily at her. “What time is it?”

“Never mind that,” said Petronella. “Come on!”

“But I’m sleepy,” Ferdinand objected. “And it’s so pleasant here.”

Petronella shook her head. “You’re not much of a prince,” she said grimly. “But you’re the best I can do.”

She grabbed him by the wrist and dragged him out of bed. She hauled him down the stairs. His horse and hers were in a separate stable, and she saddled them quickly. She gave the prince a shove, and he mounted. She jumped on her own horse, seized the prince’s reins, and away they went like the wind.

They had not gone far when they heard a tremendous thumping. Petronella looked back. A dark cloud rose behind them, and beneath it she saw the enchanter. He was running in great strides, faster than the horses could go.

“What shall we do?” she cried.

“Don’t ask me,” said Prince Ferdinand grumpily.

“I’m all shaken to bits by this fast riding.”

Petronella desperately pulled out the comb. “The old man said this would help me!” she said. And because she didn’t know what else to do with it, she threw the comb on the ground. At once a forest rose up. The trees were so thick that no one could get between them.

Away went Petronella and the prince. But the enchanter turned himself into an ax and began to chop. Right and left he chopped, slashing, and the trees fell before him.

Soon he was through the wood, and once again Petronella heard his footsteps thumping behind.

She reined in the horses. She took out the mirror and threw it on the ground. At once a wide lake spread out behind them, gray and glittering.

Off they went again. But the enchanter sprang into the water, turning himself into a salmon as he did so.

He swam across the lake and leaped out of the water on to the other bank. Petronella heard him coming-thump! thump! -behind them again.

This time she threw down the ring. It didn’t turn into anything, but lay shining on the ground.

The enchanter came running up. And as he jumped over the ring, it opened wide and then snapped up around him. It held his arms tight to his body, in a magical grip from which he could not escape.

“Well,” said Prince Ferdinand, “that’s the end of him.”

Petronella looked at him in annoyance. Then she looked at the enchanter, held fast in the ring.

“Bother!” she said. “I can’t just leave him here.

He’ll starve to death.”

She got off her horse and went up to him. “If I release you,” she said, “will you promise to let the prince go free?”

Albion stared at her in astonishment. “Let him go free?” he said. “What are you talking about? I’m glad to get rid of him.”

It was Petronella’s turn to look surprised. “I don’t understand,” she said. “Weren’t you holding him prisoner?”

“Certainly not,” said Albion. “He came to visit me for a weekend. At the end of it, he said, ‘It’s so

pleasant here, do you mind if I stay on for another day or two? I’m very polite and I said, ‘Of course.’

He stayed on, and on, and on. I didn’t like to be rude to a guest and I couldn’t just kick him out. I don’t know what I’d have done if you hadn’t dragged him away.”

“But then-” said Petronella, “but then-why did you come running after him this way?”

“I wasn’t chasing him,” said the enchanter. “I was chasing
you
. You are just the girl I’ve been looking for. You are brave and kind and talented, and beautiful as well.”

“Oh,” said Petronella. “I see.”

“Hmm,” said she. “How do I get this ring off you?”

“Give me a kiss.”

She did so. The ring vanished from around Albion and reappeared on Petronella’s finger.

“I don’t know what my parents will say when I come home with you instead of a prince,” she said.

“Let’s go and find out, shall we?” said the enchanter cheerfully.

He mounted one horse and Petronella the other.

And off they trotted, side by side, leaving Prince Ferdinand of Firebright to walk home as best he could.

Sir Philbert Fitzhugh was not very brave. This wouldn’t have mattered had he been a merchant or a mason or a mouse-catcher, but he was a knight. Other knights went riding out to slay dragons or rescue princesses, but Sir Philbert stayed comfortably at home taking care of his health, curled up by the fire with a good book and an apple.

“After all,” he said, “I am the only one of me I have, and I have to take care of myself.”

Everyone said, “Knights ought to be brave as lions.”

“Maybe so,” replied Sir Philbert. “But
I
think it’s more important to keep your health.” And he went back to his reading and his fire and his apple. “An apple a day,” he added, “keeps the doctor away.”

Nevertheless, the doctor came one day and had dinner, and he poked Sir Philbert in the chest and looked at his tongue and felt his pulse. Then he shook his head.

“You’re getting flabby,” he said sternly. “Look at yourself! You’re pale. You’ve got the beginnings of a pot-belly. I recommend a long trip and a change of scene.”

“But I get homesick,” Sir Philbert protested.

The doctor snorted. “Fiddlesticks! Tomorrow morning,” said he, “three bold knights are going to search for the emperor’s daughter, who has been kidnapped by an enchanter named Brasilgore. I order you to go with them. The adventure will be the best thing for you.”

The next morning at half-past four, the three bold knights started out on their quest. With them was a fourth knight, not so bold. It was Sir Philbert.

He had plenty of warm blankets rolled up behind his saddle. He had plenty of food and medicine in his saddlebags. But he was far from happy.

The other three knights, however, were perfectly happy. They were named Sir Hugo of Brandish, Sir Armet of Anguish, and Sir Brian of Thump. Their armor was rusty and dented from many adventures.

In their saddlebags they carried nothing but bread and hard cheese. Their mustaches were as fierce as their talk.

“We’ll slay Brasilgore the enchanter, and find the emperor’s daughter, or die in the attempt!” roared Sir Brian.

“Then I certainly hope we find her,” mumbled Sir Philbert.

They traveled for many days until they came to a wide, sad plain. Nothing grew there but twisted thorn bushes and purple heather. A wind from the north blew steadily over it. They rode and rode through the heather and into the wind, and at noon they come to a tower. It was high and black. It had one window at the top and a door in front which was a good deal higher than a house.

As they gazed up at it, wondering what it was for, a maiden put her head out of the window.

“Help, help!” she cried.

Sir Brian shaded his eyes. “Are you a prisoner?” he called.

“Yes, I am. Please go away,” said the maiden.

“Eh?” Sir Brian looked puzzled. “But you just said,

‘Help, help.”

“Oh, dear, I know I did. I’m sorry. I said, ‘Help, help, but I meant go away.”

“But why?” asked Sir Hugo of Brandish.

Just then the enormous door opened. “That’s why,”

said the maiden. “Alas, alas, this is the end of you.

Goodbye.”

Out stepped a giant a good deal higher than a house. He drew a deep breath, stretched, and yawned.

It sounded like a thunderstorm overhead.

Sir Hugo lowered his lance. “Stand back, all of you,” he shouted. “This giant is mine!”

He rode straight at the giant’s ankle and thrust his lance.

“Oh, well done,” said Sir Brian.

The giant uttered a yell, “Hornets!” He stamped his foot angrily. Sir Hugo disappeared.

“Adventures!” groaned Sir Philbert. “I just wish that rotten doctor were here.”

The other two knights stared uneasily at each other and then at the giant who was grumbling like an earthquake.

Sir Philbert quickly unfastened his big roll of blankets. He shook them out. He turned his horse and began to gallop away, letting the blankets stream behind him like banners.

The giant saw Sir Philbert and made a giant stride to mash him. Sir Philbert let go of the blankets. They blew away in the endless wind. They flew up and plastered themselves over the giant’s eyes. He missed his footing, stumbled on a rock, and fell on his head with a crash. Since he was so much bigger and heavier than an ordinary person, he fell with a far bigger and heavier crash. It was the end of him.

Sir Armet and Sir Brian trotted over and stared at the giant’s body. They shook their heads.

“Listen,” said Sir Armet, “I don’t think that was very sporting.”

“It was nothing but an accident,” Sir Brian agreed.

“Philbert didn’t kill the giant. He killed himself.”

“Yes, I suppose he did,” said Sir Philbert. He opened his helmet and mopped his forehead. “But I came on this quest for my health, you know. It wouldn’t have been very healthy to go the way poor Hugo went, now would it?”

The maiden came running out of the tower. Sir Philbert took off his helmet, for he was always very polite.

“I’m glad to say you are no longer a prisoner, Miss,” he said.

“Oh, thank you,” smiled the maiden, who had large, merry brown eyes and long brown hair in two braids down her back. “I’ll just get my things, if you’ll wait a minute.”