Читать книгу The Hero’s Guide to Saving Your Kingdom - Christopher Healy - Страница 7

Frederic wasn’t always helpless. There was a time when he aspired to become a hero. But it seemed it wasn’t meant to be.

From the moment he was born—and immediately placed into the delicate swishiness of a pure silk bassinet—Prince Frederic led a life of comfort. As heir to the throne of the very wealthy nation of Harmonia, he grew up with an army of servants standing ready to pamper him in every way imaginable. While learning to crawl, he was fitted with lamb’s-wool knee pads to keep his baby-soft skin from getting scuffed. When he wanted to play hide-and-seek, butlers and valets would hide in the most obvious places—behind a feather, under a napkin—so that the boy wouldn’t have to work too hard to find them. Pretty much anything young Frederic could have wanted or needed was handed to him on a silver platter. Literally.

The only thing Frederic had to do in return was live the life of a proper gentleman. He was allowed to attend as many poetry readings, ballroom dances, and twelve-course luncheons as he wanted. But he was forbidden to take part in any activity that could be considered remotely risky or dangerous. Appearances were very important to Frederic’s father, King Wilberforce, who vowed that no one in his family would ever again suffer the cruel mockery that had been heaped upon his great-grandfather, King Charles the Chicken-Pocked. “Not a scar, not a bruise, not a blemish” was the motto of King Wilberforce. And he went to extreme measures to keep his son away from anything that might give him so much as a scratch. He even had Frederic’s pencils pre-dulled.

For most of his early years, Frederic was perfectly happy to skip out on pastimes like tree climbing (twisted ankles!), hiking (poison ivy!), or embroidery (pointy needles!). King Wilberforce’s warnings about the hazards of such endeavors sank in good and deep.

But at the tender age of seven, Frederic was inspired to try something daring. He was in his private classroom, being taught to write his name with fancy curlicue letters, when a commotion down the hall caused his tutor to cut the lesson short. Frederic followed his tutor down to the palace gates, where many of the servants had gathered to gawk at a visiting knight.

The old warrior, who was battered and exhausted from a recent bout with a dragon, had staggered up to the palace seeking food and shelter. The king invited the weary visitor inside. This was the first knight Frederic had ever seen in real life (and frankly, even the ones he’d read about in books weren’t very exciting—his favorite bedtime story was Sir Bertram the Dainty and the Quest for the Enchanted Salad Fork). During the knight’s short stay, a fascinated Frederic followed him everywhere, listening to his tales of ogre battles, goblin wars, and bandit chases. There was a look in the man’s eyes that Frederic had never seen before. Frederic could sense the knight’s thirst for thrills, his yearning for action. The knight was a man who thrived on adventure the way Frederic thrived on tea cakes.

That evening, after the knight departed, Frederic asked his father if he could take sword-fighting lessons. The king dismissed his request with a smile: “Swords are sharp, my boy. And I need a son with both ears attached.”

Young Frederic was undaunted. The next day, he asked his father if he could take a shot at wrestling instead. King Wilberforce shook his head. “You’re what they call petite, Frederic. You’d have your spine snapped in an instant.”

The day after that, Frederic requested a spot on the jousting team. “That’s more dangerous than the other two combined,” the king moaned disapprovingly. “You’ll be skewered like a cocktail weenie.”

“Archery?” Frederic asked.

“Eyes: poked out,” the king insisted.

“Martial arts?”

“Bones: broken.”

“Mountaineering?”

“Eyes broken. Bones poked out.”

By the end of the week, King Wilberforce couldn’t take it anymore. He needed to put a stop to Frederic’s thrill-seeking dreams. He decided to set his son up for a fall.

“Father, can I try spelunking?” Frederic asked eagerly.

“Cave exploration? You’ll fall into a bottomless pit,” the king chided. Then he changed his tone. “But you can try animal training if you’d like.”

“Really?” Frederic was stunned and thrilled. “You mean with wild animals? Not hamsters or goldfish?”

The king nodded.

“You don’t think I’ll be eaten alive?” Frederic asked.

“Oh, I fear that you will, but if you’re so determined to put your life at risk, perhaps I shouldn’t stand in your way,” his father said, weaving his deception.

The next day, with his heart racing, Frederic was led down a winding basement corridor to a storeroom in which all the old coats of arms, spare scepters, and crates of outgrown baby clothes had been shoved up against the walls to make room for an enormous cage. Inside that cage: a pacing, panting tiger. The animal let out a low growl as soon as it saw the young prince.

“Wow, I didn’t know we’d start with something so big,” Frederic said, considerably less eager than he had been a minute earlier.

“Are you ready for this, Your Highness?” the animal’s trainer asked. Frederic barely had time to nod before the trainer slid back the bolt and let the cage door fall open. The trainer uttered a quick word to the tiger, and the big cat burst out into the room, rushing straight at Frederic.

Frederic screamed and ran. The giant tiger, easily three times his size, dashed after the boy. Frederic darted among the crates of tarnished goblets and out-of-tune lutes, looking for someplace to hide. “Why aren’t you stopping it?” he shouted at the trainer.

“I can’t stop it,” the trainer replied. “It’s a wild animal. Your father told you this would be dangerous.”

Frederic ducked under a heavy wooden table, but the tiger swatted it away as if it were nothing more than a piece of dandelion fluff. Frederic scrambled across the floor in an attempt to get away from the beast, but was soon backed up against a stack of rolled tapestries. There was nowhere left for him to go. With tears running down his face, Frederic shrieked as he saw the tiger’s open mouth coming at him.

When the tiger snatched him up into its maw, Frederic was too terrified to realize that the animal had no teeth. The big cat calmly carried the limp, weeping boy back to its cage and set him down gently on the floor—which is what it had been carefully trained to do. For this was no ordinary tiger: This was El Stripo, the talented and cooperative star of the Flimsham Brothers Circus. The Flimshams were famous for their visually horrifying—but impressively safe—act in which El Stripo’s trainer would stuff the tiger’s mouth with up to five infants from the audience and then instruct the animal to spit them back to their mothers. The babies almost always landed in the correct laps.

It took Frederic a few seconds to realize he hadn’t been eaten. At which point his father appeared. Frederic ran into the king’s arms, burying his wet face in his father’s royal robes.

“Do you see now?” the king asked. “Do you see why I say you can’t do these things?” Behind Frederic’s back, he flashed El Stripo’s trainer a thumbs-up.

King Wilberforce’s plan had worked. The prince was so deeply frightened by his experience with the tiger, so chilled to the core, that he never asked to try anything daring again. Father was right, he thought; I am not cut out for such bold escapades.

Fear ruled Frederic from that moment on. He even found a few Sir Bertram the Dainty stories to be a little too scary.

Instead Frederic focused his energies on taking etiquette lessons, putting together stylish outfits, and becoming exactly the kind of prince his father wanted him to be. And he became pretty darn good at it. In fact, he began to love it. He was proud of his excellent posture, his artful flower arranging, and his flawless foxtrot.

More than a decade passed before the thought of adventure found its way back into Frederic’s mind. It happened on the night of the big palace ball, at which it was hoped that Frederic would find a bride (he never left the palace, so this type of event was the only way for him to meet girls). Among the dozens of elegant women at the ball that night, there was one girl who caught Frederic’s attention immediately—and it wasn’t just because she was beautiful and elegantly dressed. No, she had something else: a daredevil gleam in her eyes. He’d seen that look only once before—in that old knight all those years ago.

Frederic and the mystery girl had the time of their lives dancing together. But at midnight she ran off without a word.

“Father, I have to find that girl,” insisted Frederic, newly inspired and feeling a bit more like his seven-year-old self again.

“Son, you’ve never been outside the palace gates,” the king replied in a foreboding tone. “What if there are tigers out there?”

Frederic shrank away. That tiger episode had really done a number on him.

But Frederic didn’t give up entirely.

He instructed his trusted valet, Reginald, to find the mystery woman for him. It turned out that Ella (that was her name) wasn’t a noblewoman at all; just a sooty cleaning girl. But her story—the way she mixed it up with a fairy and used magical means to escape her wicked stepfamily—intrigued Frederic (even if he hoped he’d never have to meet any of her relatives).

When he told his father he wanted to marry Ella, the king sputtered in surprise. “I thought I’d fixed you, but apparently I didn’t,” the king scowled. “You don’t get it at all, do you? An ill-bred wife would destroy your image more than any scar or broken limb ever would.”

Up until that point, Frederic had always believed that the king enforced strict rules because he feared for his son’s safety. But now he saw that wasn’t necessarily the case. So, for the first time, Frederic stood up to his father.

“You do not rule me,” he stated firmly. “Well, technically you do, being as you’re the king. But you do not rule my heart. My heart wants Ella. And if you don’t bring her here to be with me, I will go to her. I don’t care how dangerous it is out there. I would ride a tiger to get to her if I had to.”

In truth, Frederic was utterly intimidated by the thought of venturing out into the real world. If his father refused to meet his demands, he had no idea if he would be able to follow through on his threat. Luckily for him, the king was shocked enough to give in.

And so, Ella came to live at the palace. She and Frederic were officially engaged to marry, and the tale of the magical way in which the couple met became the talk of the kingdom. Within days, the minstrels had a new hit on their hands, and the tale was told and retold across many realms. But while the popular version of the story ended with a happily-ever-after for Prince Charming and Cinderella, things didn’t go as smoothly for the real Frederic and Ella.

Ironically, it was Ella’s bold and venturesome spirit—the very thing that Frederic found so attractive about her—that came between them. Ella’s dreadful stepmother had treated her like a prisoner in her own home and forced her to spend nearly every waking hour performing onerous tasks, like scrubbing grout or chipping congealed mayonnaise from between fork tines. While Ella suffered through all this, she dreamed of a more exhilarating life. She fantasized about riding camels across deserts to search ancient temples for magic lamps, or scaling cloud-covered peaks to play games of chance with the rulers of hidden mountain kingdoms. She honestly believed that anything could happen in her future.

When Ella met Frederic at the ball, it was the climax of a day filled with magic and intrigue, and she assumed it was the beginning of a nonstop, thrill-a-minute existence for her. But life with Frederic was not quite what she’d expected.

Frederic tended to sleep in. Sometimes until lunch. And he’d often spend over an hour grooming himself to his father’s specifications. By the time Ella finally saw him each day, she would be more than ready for some sort of excitement. But Frederic usually suggested a more subdued activity, like picnicking, listening to music, or quietly admiring some art.

Don’t get me wrong: Ella enjoyed all those things—for the first few days. But by the fourteenth picnic, she began to fear that those same few activities were all she was ever going to do at the palace. Her unchanging routine made her feel uncomfortably like a prisoner again. So one morning, she decided she would speak frankly with Frederic about what she needed.

That morning, as usual, Frederic slept late. When he eventually got up, he spent fifteen minutes (pretty quick for him) browsing a closet filled with ultra-fancy suits, before finally deciding on a crisp white outfit trimmed with gold braiding and tasseled shoulder pads. The five minutes after that were dedicated to straightening his short, light-brown hair. Unfortunately, a few stubborn strands refused to stay in place, and so the prince did what he did whenever he got frustrated:

“Reginald!”

Within seconds, a tall, slender man with a thin, pointy mustache popped into the prince’s bedroom. “Yes, milord?” he asked in a voice stiff enough to match his rigid posture.

“Good morning, Reginald,” Frederic said. “Can you fix my hair?”

“Certainly, milord,” Reginald said, as he grabbed a silver brush and began using it to tidy the prince’s bed head.

“Thank you, Reginald,” Frederic said. “I’m off to see Ella, and I want to look my best.”

“Of course, milord.”

“I think I’m going to have Cook surprise her with breakfast in bed.”

Reginald paused. “I’m reasonably sure, milord, that the young lady has already eaten breakfast.”

“Drat,” muttered the prince. “So it’s happened again. How long ago did she wake up?”

“About three hours ago,” Reginald replied.

“Three hours! But I asked you to wake me when Ella got up.”

“I’m sorry, milord,” Reginald said sympathetically. “You know I’d love to help you. But we’re under strict orders from the king: Your beauty sleep is not to be disturbed.”

Frederic burst from his seat, waving away Reginald’s brush. “My father ordered you not to wake me? He’s still trying to keep me and Ella apart.”

He rushed to the door of his bedroom, then quickly back to the mirror for one last check of the hair, and then out and down the hall to look for his fiancée.

Ella wasn’t in her room, so Frederic headed to the gardens. He paused briefly to sniff a rosebush, when he heard the sound of approaching hoofbeats. He looked over his shoulder to see that a large white horse was bearing down on him, tearing through the garden at a fast gallop, leaping over one hedgerow after another. The prince tried to run, but the golden tassels of his jacket caught on the shrub’s thorns.

Frederic tugged frantically at his stuck sleeve as the horse’s rider pulled up on the reins and brought the steed to a halt. From the saddle, Ella looked down at him and laughed. She wore a distinctly unfancy blue dress, and her tied-back hair was disheveled from the ride. Her strong, athletic build and warm, healthy glow were a stark contrast to Frederic’s slender frame and sun-deprived complexion. “I hope you haven’t been stuck there all morning,” she said, only half joking.

“No, this just happened,” Frederic said, relieved. “I don’t suppose you could possibly hop down and lend me a hand?”

Ella slid off the saddle, patted her horse’s nose, and crouched down to help free the prince’s jacket from the thorns. “I told you those tassels would get you into trouble someday,” she said.

“But they’re what all the most fashionable noblemen are wearing these days,” Frederic said brightly.

He brushed himself off and struck a chest-out, hands-on-hips pose to show off his outfit. He hammed it up to get a laugh out of Ella. It worked.

“Very nice,” Ella said with a chuckle. “I’d love to see you up on a horse sometime,” she hinted, petting her mare’s pink nose.

“Yes, I’m sure I’d look positively heroic up there,” Frederic said. “It’s a shame I’m allergic to horsehair.” He wasn’t allergic; he was afraid of falling off.

“A terrible shame,” Ella sighed.

“I didn’t realize you knew how to ride,” Frederic said. “Considering the way your stepmother kept you under lock and key, I wouldn’t have thought you had much time for equestrian lessons.”

“I didn’t,” Ella said. “Charles, your head groom, has been teaching me these past few weeks. I usually practice in the mornings, while you . . . um, while you sleep.”

Frederic changed the subject: “So, have you heard the song that Pennyfeather wrote about you? That bard of ours certainly has a way with a quill. The song is very popular, I hear. Supposedly, the minstrels are singing it as far as Sylvaria and Sturmhagen. Before you know it, you’ll be more famous than me. Or even more famous than Pennyfeather. Though I don’t really like the fact that he called you Cinderella. Makes you sound dirty and unkempt.”

“I don’t mind,” said Ella. “I was dirty and unkempt for years. I was always covered in soot and cinders from cleaning the fireplace, so at least I see where he got the name from.”

“Speaking of names,” said Frederic, “have you noticed that the song refers to me as ‘Prince Charming’? My real name’s not in there at all. People are going to think I’m the same prince from that Sleeping Beauty song or the Rapunzel one. Here, listen and tell me what you think.” He called out to a passing servant, “Excuse me, my good man. Could you please fetch Pennyfeather the Mellifluous for us? Tell him that the prince and Lady Ella would like a command performance of ‘The Tale of Cinderella.’”

“I’m sorry, milord,” the servant replied. “Mr. Pennyfeather is unavailable. He hasn’t been seen for days, actually. It’s the talk of the palace; we assumed you would have heard by now. No one knows where the royal bard is.”

“Well, that explains why I haven’t been getting my lullaby these past few nights,” Frederic said thoughtfully.

“Frederic, maybe something awful has happened to Pennyfeather,” Ella said, sounding a bit too excited by the prospect. “We should check into it. Come on, let’s go. We need to figure out the last person to see him. Let’s start by asking at the gate—”

“Oh, I’m sure it’s nothing so dramatic,” Frederic said quickly. The only thing he had a harder time imagining than a crime occurring within the royal palace was himself investigating such a crime. “He’s probably just off at a bard convention somewhere, one of those gatherings where they vote on the precise number of feathers a minstrel should have in his cap—that sort of thing. But don’t worry, just because Pennyfeather himself isn’t here doesn’t mean we can’t have music. I’ll just send for—”

“Never mind the song, Frederic,” Ella said, taking a deep breath. “Remember how we were just talking about my sheltered childhood?”

Frederic nodded.

“Now that I’m free, I want to have new experiences. I want to find out what I’m capable of. So, if we’re not going to look into Pennyfeather’s disappearance, what can we do today?” she asked. “What kind of adventure can we have?”

“Adventure, right.” Frederic pondered his options briefly. “It is a lovely day. Nice and sunny. I’m thinking picnic.”

Ella slumped. “Frederic, I need to do something different.”

Frederic stared at her like a lost baby rabbit.

“I hear there’s a troupe of traveling acrobats in town,” Ella suggested. “Maybe we could get them in here to teach us some tumbling.”

“Oh, but I’ve got that problem with my ankle.” He had no problem with his ankle.

“How about a treasure hunt?” Ella proposed excitedly. “Some of the kitchen staff were gossiping about a bag of stolen gold that one of your father’s old valets hid in the tunnels below the castle. We could try to find it.”

“Oh, but I can’t go below ground level. You know what dampness does to my sinuses.” Dampness did nothing to his sinuses.

“Can we go boating on the lake?”

“I can’t swim.” This was true.

Ella huffed. “Frederic, what can we do? I’m sorry if this sounds rude, but I’m bored.”

“We could have a different kind of picnic,” Frederic offered hopefully. “We could do breakfast food for lunch. Croissants, poached eggs. How’s that for shaking things up?”

Ella walked back to her horse and hopped up into the saddle. “Go ahead and order your picnic, Frederic,” she said flatly. “I’m going to ride a bit more while you wait.”

“Okay,” Frederic said, and waved to her. “I’ll stay right here.”

“I’m sure you will. You’re very good at that,” Ella replied. And she rode off.

An hour or so later, Frederic sat out on the palace lawn (well, on a carefully unfolded blanket, actually—he didn’t want to get grass stains on his white pants), waiting for his lunch and his fiancée to arrive. A servant arrived and set down a tray of breakfast delicacies in front of Frederic. “Milord,” the man said, as he bowed and backed away. “There’s a message there for you.”

Frederic saw a folded piece of paper nestled between a bowl of grapefruit slices and a plate of chocolate-chip waffles. He picked up the note, with a sudden sinking feeling about what it might say.

Frederic dropped the letter onto his empty plate. So, he thought, the ball was the most romantic night of her life, huh? Well, that’s not saying much coming from a girl whose typical nights consisted of scraping dead spiders out of cracks in the floorboards. And look how she signed it. “All the best”? That’s how you sign a thank-you note to your dog walker. Frederic had completely lost his appetite.

“Reginald!”

“Am I really that boring?”

Frederic was back in his room, sitting slumped on the edge of his cashmere-covered bed, while Reginald, rigid as ever, stood next to him, awkwardly patting the prince’s head.

“There, there, milord,” the valet answered. “I don’t think the Countess of Bellsworth would call you boring. Do you remember how elated she was when you taught her how to cha-cha? You have many, many admirers, sir.”

“Yes,” Frederic said sorrowfully. “But Ella is apparently not among them.”

“It seems that Lady Ella simply seeks a different kind of life than that which you can provide for her here at the palace,” Reginald said.

“Poached eggs! How stupid can I be?” Frederic smacked himself on the forehead.

“There will be other women, milord.”

“I don’t want any other women. I want Ella. Reginald, what do you think I should do? And be honest with me; don’t just tell me what you think my father would want you to say.”

Reginald considered this request. He’d been caring for Frederic since the prince was a child. And he’d never been more proud of Frederic than when he saw the young man stand up to his overbearing father. Frederic could use someone as feisty and fearless as Ella in his life.

“Don’t let her get away,” Reginald said, dropping his overly stiff posture and speaking in an unusually casual tone.

“Wow,” Frederic gasped. “Did you just get two inches shorter?”

“Never mind me,” Reginald said. “Did you hear what I told you? Get a move on! Go after Ella.”

“But how?” Frederic asked, still bewildered to hear his longtime valet speaking like a regular person.

“We’ll put you on a horse. Charles can show you the basics. You don’t need to be the world’s best rider; you just need to be able to get around. Stick to the roads and you’ll be fine.”

“But—”

“I know you’re scared, Frederic. But here’s my advice: Get over it. Ella wants someone as adventurous as she is. A real hero.”

“Then I’ve got no hope.” Frederic sulked. “I’m a fantastic dresser. My penmanship is top-notch. I’m really good at being a prince, but I’m pretty lousy at being a hero.”

Reginald looked him in the eye. “There’s a bit of courage in you somewhere. Find it. Go catch up with Ella, wherever she is. And just see what happens. She might be impressed enough that you’ve left the palace.”

“There’s no way my father will allow me to do this.”

“We won’t tell him.”

“He’ll notice I’m gone eventually. And when he does, he’ll send his men to retrieve me.”

“Whichever way you go, I’ll send them in the opposite direction.”

“I’m still not sure I should. It’s really dangerous out there.”

“That’s your father talking,” Reginald said. “Look, if you go on this journey, you’re not just doing it for Ella, you’re also doing it for that little boy who once wanted to try everything.”

“You mean my cousin Laurence, who broke his leg trying to fly with those wax wings?”

Reginald looked at him soberly. “Frederic, you don’t really remember your mother, but I do. And I know what she’d want you to do.”

Frederic stood up. “Okay, I’ll go.”

“That’s the spirit,” said Reginald.

Frederic marched out of his room. A second later, he marched back in.

“I should probably change into something more appropriate for the outdoors,” he said.

Reginald put his arm around him. “You don’t own anything more appropriate for the outdoors,” he said with a smile. “Come, let’s get you down to the stables.”

The next morning, after several hours of secret, intensive riding lessons, Prince Frederic trotted out through the palace gates on horseback, with Reginald and Charles the groom waving him good-bye. His eyes were tightly closed, his arms wrapped around the horse’s neck. Then something dawned on him.

“Wait,” he called back to Reginald. “I don’t know where I’m going.”

“Ella’s note said she was going to find that Rapunzel girl,” Reginald said. “Those bards are never very good about telling you exactly where their stories take place. But based on the clunky rhymes, I’m pretty sure ‘The Song of Rapunzel’ is the work of Lyrical Leif, the bard from Sturmhagen. Humph. With a name like Lyrical Leif, you’d think the guy could come up with better lines than, ‘Her hair was real long, not short like a prawn.’ Anyway, I’d try Sturmhagen. Head south.”

“But Sturmhagen? Isn’t it supposed to be full of monsters?” Frederic said, his eyes growing wider by the second.

“Ride fast,” Charles the groom called out. “With any luck, you’ll catch up to Lady Ella before you reach the border.”

“I can’t ride fast,” Frederic said. “I’m trying hard to make sure I ride forward.”

“Then so far you’re succeeding,” Reginald yelled. “Stay strong!”

Frederic gripped his horse tighter, wondering what in the world he’d gotten himself into. Within twenty-four hours, he would be sniffling through a rainstorm, wishing he’d never left home. In a little over a week, he’d be quivering in the shadow of a raging giant. Another week after that, he would end up at the Stumpy Boarhound. But for now, he was on his way to Sturmhagen.