The Fairy's Return and Other Princess Tales Page 10

  Finally Christopher came to Sonora’s bedchamber. Finally he came to Sonora.

  Generations of spiders had spun webs from post to post of her four-poster bed. Sonora slept under hundreds of layers of spiderwebs. The prince didn’t know she was Sonora. All he knew was she was disgusting.

  But she was probably noble, since she was on such a grand bed, or what used to be a grand bed. She might even be a princess. He had to do something. He coughed. Ahem.

  Nothing happened.

  He pulled out his sword and cut through the webs, which was a mistake. They all fell on top of her. Ugh. He brushed them away as well as he could with his cloak.

  What was that on her stomach? Hmm, a wooden sign. He picked it up with his cloak and brushed it off. Dust and cobwebs and peeling paint came off. Drat! I should have been more careful, he thought.

  He carried the sign to the window, where a broken pane let in a bit of sunlight. The paint had flaked off, but the wood was lighter where the paint had been. He could read it.

  I am Princess Sonora. Kiss me, prince, and I shall be yours forever.

  He didn’t want her forever! And he certainly didn’t want to kiss her.

  Maybe he could live without getting his questions answered. He could train himself not to care so much. He’d hack his way through the hedge even if it took a month. They could find some other way to cure the sheep.

  But what about all the people in the castle? And Princess Sonora, as sickening as she was? If he left, would they sleep till the end of time?

  Let some other prince kiss her. Somebody who didn’t mind getting ook and yuck and vech all over his face.

  Who would that be?

  Maybe he didn’t have to kiss her. He touched her lips with the hilt of his sword. “Princess? Wake up. Your prince just kissed you.”

  Nothing happened.

  He bent over her. He’d do it. But she wasn’t going to be his forever.

  What was that on her cheek and in the corner of her mouth? Spit? Bird droppings? Ugh!

  He straightened up and turned to leave. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t kiss her.

  Eleven

  “People float . . .”

  Christopher whirled around. She was talking. She was awake!

  Her eyes were closed. “People float because their essences . . .”

  She was talking in her sleep. She had a sweet voice—a little hoarse, but sweet.

  “People float because their essences are equal parts water and air. Stones sink . . .”

  Even in her sleep she knew things! Sonora knows. And she was Sonora. And he was going to ask her everything.

  He kissed her. He didn’t think about it. He just did it. It wasn’t so bad.

  It was suddenly quiet. Oh, Christopher thought, they’re all awake.

  “Sleep is pleasant.” Sonora’s voice was thoughtful. “Hmm. The purpose of eyelids is to cover your eyes. If you didn’t sleep, your eyelids would have little reason to close, except when the sun was too bright. But then you could just put your hands over your eyes. That’s right. If you didn’t have sleep, you wouldn’t need eyelids, so you have to have sleep. I made a mistake before.”

  Christopher was thrilled. She was answering questions he’d never even thought of!

  She raised her head. “It’s hard to open my eyes. I knew this would happen. My eyelids are covered with cobwebs and worse, aren’t they?” She sat up slowly. “Do you have any clean water?”

  “No. I’m sorry.”

  She opened her eyes and smiled at him. “You’re dirty too.”

  Her eyes were big and gray, and her teeth were white against her dirty skin. Her teeth looked clean. The inside of her mouth was probably clean too, so she wasn’t dirty all over.

  He looks nice, Sonora thought. There was something smiley about him. He was sort of handsome, but mostly he looked nice.

  He bowed. “I’m Prince Christopher.”

  Through the broken window, they heard people calling to each other.

  She stood and swept a graceful curtsy. “I am Sonora.”

  “The sheep of some of our shepherds are getting bald. Do you know why?”

  “Baldness in sheep is caused by scissor ants.”

  She did know! “Really! What cures it?”

  “String is their favorite food, not fleece. To get the scissor ants off the sheep, the shepherds have to put big balls of string near where the sheep graze. The ants will leave the sheep and go to the string. Then the shepherds can take the string and the ants away and get rid of them.”

  This was wonderful! “Do you like to answer questions?”

  She smiled again. “I love to answer questions.” Then she looked sad. “Only nobody likes to listen. They don’t even like to ask.”

  “I love to ask, and I love to listen.”

  They smiled at each other.

  The sign says she’s mine forever, Christopher thought. I like that.

  Sonora read the sign in Christopher’s hand. That fairy Adrianna! The nerve of her! Sonora was about to say something nasty, but being so smart came to her rescue. She’d never exactly belong to anyone anyway, so it would be all right if the sign gave Christopher a good idea.

  It did. He knelt on the dusty, cobwebby, bird-dropping-covered floor. “Will you marry me?”

  Sonora started to say yes. Her loving heart loved this prince.

  There were footsteps in the corridor.

  She remembered. Prince Melvin XX!

  The door opened. King Humphrey II and Queen Hermione II rushed in.

  “Are you all right, dear?” the queen asked.

  “You’re dirty too,” the king said. “Who’s this?”

  “THE ANTS WILL LEAVE THE SHEEP AND GO TO THE STRING.”

  “He’s Prince Christopher,” Sonora said. “The sheep in his country are going bald from scissor ants.”

  Christopher stood up and bowed. “I am Christopher, crown prince of Greater Kulornia, and I’ve just asked the princess to marry me.”

  “But Melvin XX is crown prince of Kulornia,” Queen Hermione II said.

  Prince Melvin XX? Christopher thought. But he disappeared ages ago. Oh! He fell asleep too.

  “Our daughter is betrothed to him. He—” King Humphrey II stopped in confusion. What did this fellow say about Greater Kulornia? Where did the “greater” come from?

  Sonora said to Christopher, “Since one of the purposes of sheep is to make wool, you might wonder if a bald sheep is still a sheep.”

  Christopher nodded eagerly. “Is it?”

  She nodded. “It is, because its other purpose is to become mutton stew, and it can still do that.”

  “That hadn’t occurred to me.” He couldn’t stop smiling at her.

  There were slow, heavy steps in the corridor.

  Here he comes! Sonora thought. What can I do?

  Prince Melvin XX came in, ducking to get through the doorway. “I fell asleep,” he said slowly. “I’m dirty. My hose are torn. So is my doublet. So is my crown. So are—” He saw Christopher. “Who is he?”

  Christopher bowed. “I am Christopher, crown prince of Greater Kulornia.” Did Sonora want to marry this guy?

  Prince Melvin XX drew his sword—fast! “I’m crown prince of Kulornia.” But he still spoke slowly.

  Sonora thought, Put that sword away! Don’t hurt Prince Christopher!

  Christopher thought, He probably won’t kill me if I don’t draw my sword. “And I just asked Princess Sonora to marry me.”

  Prince Melvin XX thought, I can’t kill him if he doesn’t draw his sword. I’m not a Bully. I’m a Man of Action. I used to be a Baby of . . .

  Nobody said anything. Prince Melvin XX lowered his sword.

  Sonora felt a little better. At least it wasn’t pointing straight at Prince Christopher anymore. She thought, I can think of a way out of this. I’m not ten times as smart as anybody else for nothing.

  Prince Melvin XX said, “I’m betrothed to Princess Sonora—”

 
Sonora had it! “Sir Melvin XX—”

  “I’m Prince Melvin XX. Not Sir.”

  Sonora shook her head. “We slept for a hundred years, so you’re not a prince anymore and I’m not a princess. You were betrothed to Princess Sonora, not to just plain Sonora. Right?”

  “I don’t know,” said Prince or just plain Melvin XX.

  She doesn’t want to marry that great big tree trunk, Christopher thought. But does she want to marry me?

  The king wondered if he was still a king, if Sonora wasn’t a princess.

  Sonora smiled at Melvin XX. “Your nature is to be strong and courageous.”

  Melvin XX nodded. “And Traditional and—”

  She went on. “You will be a wonderful, traditional knight. You can have adventures and be brave and strong—”

  “And Tall.”

  “And tall. I’m sure Prince Christopher would make you a knight.”

  Christopher didn’t wait for Melvin XX to say yes or no. Usually Christopher did his dubbing with his sword. But he was afraid to draw it, because Melvin XX still had his out. So Christopher reached way way up. With his naked, dirty hand he touched Melvin XX on his forehead.

  “I, Prince Christopher, dub you Sir Melvin XX, knight of Greater Kulornia.”

  “Now you won’t need me to write your proclamations,” Sonora said.

  Sir Melvin XX said, “I will be a good knight. A Brave knight. A Strong—”

  Christopher knelt. “I’ve always been curious, but I’ve never wanted to know anything as much as this. Will you marry me, just plain Sonora?”

  “Yes, I will.” She nodded and took his hand. “In case you were wondering, sheep grow wool because of winter. The purpose of winter is to make ice, so people can have cherry or lemon ices in the summer. The purpose of wool is to keep sheep and then people warm while the ice is being made.”

  “Really? That makes so much sense.”

  She looks so happy, Queen Hermione II thought.

  “Are we still a king?” King Humphrey II asked.

  “Of course,” Christopher said, standing up. He’d work it out somehow.

  Then it’s all right, King Humphrey II thought. “In that case, we approve of the marriage. An excellent match.”

  Epilogue

  As soon as King Humphrey II said he approved of the marriage, a gust of wind blew through the bedchamber, and the fairy Adrianna appeared. She beamed at everyone and crowed, “My gift was the best!” Then she married Sonora and Christopher on the spot.

  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

  Ellis 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

  When 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 th
e 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?”

  “HIS 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.”