Princess BMX

by Marie Basting

  Jeb whimpered as a car with flashing lights on its roof made a loud whirring noise. I wanted to cover my ears but I couldn’t put him down in case someone stood on him. There just wasn’t enough room for everyone. And the smells – dust, drains, hot chicken – they were making me feel sick. I needed a minute to catch my breath . . .

  Jeb had other ideas, though. He barked excitedly and broke free from my arms. He ran down the street towards a dog. A dog that looked exactly like him! It would have been cool, only – and you’re so not going to believe this – the dog belonged to the scary man from the boat. He picked Jeb up with one enormous hand and smiled.

  ‘Cockapoo?’ he said in his funny accent.

  How frightfully rude. I reached up for Jeb, and cuddled him close to me. That man should take a look at his own dog before calling mine names. In its studded-leather waistcoat, the poor thing looked like it was about to go into battle. And it was far too interested in the ruffles of my petticoat for my liking.

  The man smiled and grabbed his dog by its spiky collar. ‘That’s not fancy dress you’re wearing, is it, Your Highness?’ He winked and took a black rectangular object out of his pocket. He swiped his thumb over the rectangle and it lit up.

  Magic! Powerful magic like I’d never seen before. I stepped to the side of him and legged it down the street. Sorry, Dad, but those princess rules just weren’t working for me today. It was run or ruin.

  ‘Hey,’ the spiky-headed man shouted. ‘Stop. I can help you.’

  Like that was going to happen. I ran as fast as I could, wearing a gown and carrying a wriggling fluffball that kept licking my face, but the man followed me. And, yikes, he was catching up. I decided my best chance was to hide. But where? I was so obvious in my bright pink dress.

  I took a deep breath and darted across the road in front of one of the slow-moving cars. People poured out of a building with a sign on it saying ‘Underground’. I flung myself into the centre of the crowd and walked back the same way I’d come. The spiky-headed man stopped – his head darting from side to side like a dragon hunting its prey. Now was my chance. I stepped sideways out of the crowd and legged it down a side street. I ran. And ran. And ran.

  Cantelowes Gardens. I had no idea how I’d got to this place that looked like a public garden. I’d just kept running, weaving through the side streets and back alleys hoping to lose the spiky-headed man. Sure, I’d lost him, but I was totally lost too. I was never going to find my way to King’s Cross now. And I was, like, totally starving. Perhaps there’d be some toffee apples or cherries on the trees inside I could snack on.

  Perhaps not. It was the weirdest garden ever. Just past the entrance, before the sad-looking lawn and crowded picnic benches, sat a grey crater, sort of like a giant’s footprint, only the sides of it were smooth and sloped. It must have been dangerous because it was surrounded by a fence made out of chain mail. Not that the fence stopped the kids.

  There were two of them. They had these strange wooden boards with little wheels on them and were riding up and down the sides of the crater shouting things at each other like gnarly and sick. The one with straight dark hair poking out the bottom of his helmet was called Ollie. I know this because the other shouted ‘Nice Ollie’ at him when he flew into the air on the wheely-board. Ollie needed to pull his shorts up – I could see his underpants poking out the top.

  Jumping jelly beans, what was that? I stepped aside to make way for the strange mechanical contraption that whizzed around me and screeched to a stop outside the crater. Like, no way, it was a bicycle. Of course, if cars were real, why wouldn’t bicycles be real too?

  I put Jeb down on the floor and followed the bicycle over to the crater. The rider, a girl wearing a shiny silver helmet, must have been important because the wheely-boarders moved out of the way. They huddled against the fence, laughing and chatting. I so wanted to join in but a princess is not expected to waste her time on trivial matters like making friends.

  The tallest wheely-boarder smiled at me. He had boingy hair that sprang outwards in tight spirals. I smiled back but he turned away before I could think of something to say. This is what happens when you’re not allowed to go to school – social skills are so not my strong point. I can, however, embroider my initials on to a handkerchief in less than fifteen minutes. So that makes up for it – NOT!

  Ignoring the hollow feeling in my chest, I distracted myself by watching the bicycle. It wasn’t noisy like the cars, but it was definitely mechanical. The rider used her feet to wind up the pedals and make it go faster. Oh. My. Curly. Candy. What magic was this? She rode up the slope and flew high into the air, raising her arms out to the side like wings. Without even a wobble, she grabbed the handles again and spun her bicycle round, landing in the centre of the crater.

  Everyone seemed really happy about the girl’s flying trick. The wheely-boarders whizzed over to her, cheering. They thumped their fists together and talked super-fast, waving their arms in the air.

  Clutching the fence, I stared at the flying girl and her bicycle.

  I had to try this.

  I was too busy watching the girl to notice the second bicycle approach – the screech of the brakes made me start. Jeb barked and jumped up at the rider, a boy

  wearing tight trousers and boots made out of tent material.

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘It’s cool,’ said the boy, stroking Jeb’s head. He had a dimple in his left cheek, just like me. ‘I’ve seen her before,’ he continued.

  ‘I don’t think so. We’re not from round here. And Jeb’s a boy.’

  ‘Oh.’ The boy raised his eyebrow. ‘It’s just the bow—’ He looked at my dress and stopped. ‘Friendly little thing,’ he said. ‘Cockapoo?’

  Really! What was it with this place? I gave the boy a Dad-style disapproving stare and turned back towards the girl on the bicycle. Like, wow! She flew up into the air in front of us and lifted her feet off the pedals. Knees bent, she held the handlebars steady and spun the frame of her bicycle. Round and round it went like a spinning top.

  ‘Nice,’ said the boy.

  ‘Oh my giddy goblin, what magic is this? Is it the girl or the bicycle that’s charmed?’

  The boy pulled a face that made his forehead crinkle. His blond eyebrow looked like a question mark.

  ‘Is your bicycle charmed too?’

  The boy still didn’t answer. He stared straight ahead at the girl. Maybe he didn’t hear me. I should speak louder – everything here was loud.

  ‘Growling griffins, she’s amazing. I like her sparkly helmet. Back home, only the knights wear helmets.’

  The boy continued to ignore me. Maybe his hearing wasn’t great? I stepped closer. His bicycle looked older than the girl’s: the paint had faded and the black bits on the end of the handlebars were worn.

  ‘Can your bicycle fly too? Can I have a go?’

  He sighed and finally looked at me. ‘Dude, how old are you?’

  ‘A princess is not expected to reveal her age.’

  He put his hand to his face and shook his head like something really bad had just happened. When he spoke again his voice was softer. ‘Look, I’m going to do you a favour. Maybe where you’re from, pretending to be a princess and talking make-believe is OK but, I won’t lie, round here it’s going to get you in trouble.’

  I edged away from the boy. What was he talking about?

  ‘Don’t get upset. I mean, it’s cool that you’re into role-play games and magic, but, well, it’s a bit out there. You know what I’m saying?’

  What was his problem? I just wanted to know more about the bicycles. Was it really that crazy to think they were magic when the girl was flying around like that?

  Obviously, yes. The boy pointed at his head. ‘Are you OK?’ he said hesitantly.

  Oh my curly candy, he really did think I was away with the fairies. Did that mean everyone else here thought I was crazy too? I clicked my fingers at Jeb, but he ignored me and cocked his leg on the fence.
/>   ‘Sorry, Jeb forgets his manners sometimes.’

  ‘No, I’m sorry.’ Shoulders stooped, the boy ran his finger over a faded sticker on the front of his bike. ‘I didn’t mean to upset you.’ He pulled at his bottom lip and sighed. ‘Look, my name’s Ethan. The bike she’s riding’s a BMX. And I suppose you’re right in a way – it is kind of magic.’

  He smiled, but it was a sad sort of smile.

  I wanted to tell him my name too, ask him some more questions about the BMX bike, but the words jammed in my throat like a gobstopper too big to swallow. He already thought I was strange.

  ‘Well, see you then,’ he said, wheeling his bike towards the gate.

  ‘Ethan,’ called the girl on the BMX. ‘Come and show us what you’ve got.’

  This time Ethan’s smile reached his blue eyes. He opened the gate and the wheely-boarders stood up.

  ‘What’s up, bro,’ called the tall boy who looked too big for his board. ‘Where you been?’

  That hollow feeling again. What if this was it?

  The only chance I’d ever have to feel part of something? To know what it was like to have friends who weren’t canine.

  ‘Wait,’ I said. ‘Wait.’

  Time stopped as everyone around the crater stared at me. I didn’t mean to shout but that was the only way the words would come out. What was I thinking?

  Ethan smiled. He leant his bike against the fence and closed the gate again. ‘What’s your name?’ he said.

  I took a deep breath. ‘Avariella. Avariella Petulia Winifred Pandoro D’Allessandro of Biscotti.’

  ‘Right,’ said the boy his eyes widening. ‘Well, maybe we could just call you Ava?’

  ‘Sure.’ I mean, Ava sounded cool.

  ‘I’m practising tricks with Cleo right now. But, if you still want to try BMX, come back tomorrow. I’ll be here all day.’

  If you still want to try BMX, come back tomorrow.

  That would be brilliant, yes. But there was a small problem. For that to happen, I had to get home in the first place. I’d been sitting next to the bridge where the fireplace had spat me out long enough to knit a scarf, but I still couldn’t work out how to make the mist come back and take me home. I’d tried wishing, jumping up and down while pinching my nose, and saying ‘open sesame’ three times, but nothing worked.

  The King’s Cross plan had been a total disaster. Getting there was OK. With Ethan pointing me in the right direction and the black signposts, it was easy to find. Shame then there wasn’t actually a king at King’s Cross. Nope – you are so not going to believe this – but King’s Cross was a train station. Yes, I know, cars, bikes, trains, they have them all here. In fact, they seem to have everything – EXCEPT A KING. So much for getting a message to my parents.

  Thank the good goblin, I noticed the red mechanical carriages. There were loads of them, lined up outside the station. Just like the carriages at home, they had signs on the front saying where they were going. I scooped Jeb up and sneaked on to the back of the one going to Camden. Easy-peasy, ogres are measly – it brought me right back to the high street.

  I might have known my luck wouldn’t last. I mean, that thing I said earlier about the scarf, well, it was a lie. I could have knitted two scarves by now. Two scarves, a hat and a pair of mittens! And I’m rubbish at knitting. But anyway, that’s not the point. The point is, I’d been here for like ever.

  And now it was starting to rain. I mean, it wasn’t even a Monday. This place just got weirder and weirder.

  ‘Come on, Jeb.’ I ducked to avoid the screeching pigeon that flew from the arch of the bridge towards my head. Ugh, the pigeons in this place were the worst. They were all mangy and dirty. The bridge wasn’t any better. I curled up my nose and leant back, placing my foot flat against the wall behind me. Clang.

  Like, what? There was a grid sunk into the bricks. In its bottom right corner was an engraving of a shield. I leant forward and rubbed it, but it was still too dirty for me to see it properly. I spat on my fingers and rubbed again. Yes, I know, disgusting, and not what’s expected of a princess, but it was only a little bit of spit and like you’ve never done it! And anyway, before you get all hoity-toity, wait until you hear what happened next. Because under the dirt there was a tiny unicorn emblem just like the one on the fire grate in the ballroom where Jeb had been licking. I felt a pulse in my fingers and the shield began to glow.

  The familiar smell of marshmallows was followed by a violet mist. It oozed through the grille holes and wrapped itself around my ankles. Grabbing hold of Jeb, I shut my eyes and let its cold, wispy tentacles pull me backwards. When I opened them again, I was falling, the gap in the floor I’d been sucked through sealing up until all I could see was darkness – darkness, followed by an explosion of violet light and a whirl of rainbow colours. Still clinging to Jeb, I shot out of the fireplace and slid across the ballroom. We were home.

  I stared up at the crystal chandelier and allowed myself to catch my breath. That was so totally awesome. I couldn’t wait to go back to the Kingdom of Camden again.

  Jeb woofed and licked my face. ‘You’re right, Jeb. We should get out of here before people start arriving back from the bazaar.’ The castle was still deserted but it had to be nearly teatime. Dad and co would be back any minute. I glanced over at the grandfather clock: 9.45 a.m? It must have stopped. There was no way it could still be morning. With Jeb at my heels, I pegged it to my chambers, throwing the door open so hard it slammed against the wall.

  Tick.

  Tick.

  Tick.

  The gold clock on the mantelpiece said 9.49 a.m!

  Tick.

  Tick.

  Tick.

  I shook it to make sure the hands weren’t jammed. I mean, it just wasn’t possible. I’d been stood by that bridge in Camden for like ever. I must have been dreaming, or something.

  I put the clock down and stuck my face into the water bowl on the washstand. When I resurfaced nothing had changed. The morning sun was still pouring through my window and, according to the clock, it was barely an hour since my parents had left for the Bubblegum Bazaar. The magic that opened the portal was obviously more powerful than I’d thought.

  I wiped my face on a gold-trimmed towel, leaving dirty streaks all over the soft cotton. Eew! My dress was disgusting too. I took it off and chucked it, along with the towel and my mud-stained shoes, into the snake-charmer washing basket. The black python hissed. I closed the lid and it grew silent again – it’s just a hologram, thank goodness!

  All the dresses in my walk-in closet are the same – pink, and reeking of Mum’s bad fashion sense – so I pulled out the first on the rail. Zipping it up in front of the mirror, I noticed my hair was a total mess too. I picked out the bits of dead grass and ruffled it with my fingers. The Kingdom of Camden really was disgusting . . .

  So how come going back again was all I could think about? Going back again and riding on one of those cool BMX bikes. And then there were the cars and the trains and the weird people. I mean, brill or what? It was just like the stories Great-aunt Maude used to read me when I was little. In fact, I still had the book.

  I ran around the bed to the bookshelves. Yes, there it was, my fairy tale collection. Throwing myself down on the bearskin rug, I flicked through the pages until I reached a story called ‘The Land That Magic Forgot’. Holding my breath, I ran my fingers over the image of the busy high street lined with cars. It looked just like the place I’d visited today.

  What? I stared at the frayed binding where some of the pages had been torn from the book. I’d never noticed how the story about this strange ‘Other World’ suddenly cut off, probably because Aunt Maude never stuck to the book anyway. Maybe it was because the pages had gotten damaged? Or maybe there was something about the story somebody didn’t want me to know?

  The five hours I had to wait to ask Aunt Maude about the book were the longest five hours of my life. Jeb had disappeared with Doreen, and there was only so much sack-racin
g a girl could do. Plus, I was so desperate to find out what had happened to the missing pages, I couldn’t concentrate on anything.

  Like, where was she? I sat on the sandstone step outside the kitchens waiting for some sign of life from Maude’s yellow-and-red gypsy caravan. Nothing. Had she decided to go to the Bubblegum Bazaar? Mmm, maybe another kip would help pass the time. With the biscuit-coloured stone warming my back, I lay down on the patio, my eyes wandering towards the fierce gargoyles that lined the castle wall. What was the point of them? If Cook’s miserable face didn’t scare away bad spirits, nothing would. There was no point to the griffin weathervane on the Central Tower either. The weather was always fine in this part of Biscotti. Except for every second Monday when there was a short rain shower . . .

  Oh my sherbet fountain, just listen to me. I was so bored! Bored. Bored. Bored. I shut my eyes and, digesting the almond cookie dough I’d pinched out of the larder, watched the orange blotches floating in front of my eyelids. When I opened my eyes again, the first sun was low in the trees by the boating lake and there was smoke coming out of the caravan chimney.

  I picked up the fairy tale book and ran down the steep hill, through the rose gardens, and across the croquet lawns to Maude’s caravan. The fairy lights were on, and I could hear the pixies singing. Before I’d even climbed the steps on to the lopsided yellow decking, the house sprite opened the door.

  ‘Your Highness.’

  He bowed and, spinning across the deck like a tiny turquoise tornado, disappeared. He’d be back as soon as I left, to keep an eye on things.

  Maude was sitting in her rocking chair, the heavy lace curtain billowing in the window behind her. Good job the breeze was warm because she was wearing her bathing suit again, the ruffled knickerbockers the same shade of navy as her rubber gardening boots.