Finally, his anger collapsed. “Larkie, why do you want to harrumphy him?”
“He makes me laugh.” And he treated her like she was an ordinary person. And she loved to be with him.
The king thought about it. There was nothing wrong with laughter. But laughing with a commoner was vulgar. Laughing with a prince was excellent.
Hmm . . . He summoned the Royal Chief Scribe.
“We wish to harrumph a proclamation.”
The scribe unrolled a scroll and dipped her pen in ink.
“Hear harrumph. Hear harrumph.”
Hear ye. Hear ye, the scribe wrote.
“Insofar and inasharrumph that we have a harrumphter . . .”
Insofar and inasmuch as we have a scepter . . .
“Not this harrumphter.” The king raised his scepter. “That harrumphter.” He pointed at Lark.
. . . daughter . . .
King Harrumphrey continued.
Lark listened, horror-struck.
“And said harrumphter, Princess Harrumph, is old harrumph to marry—”
“Father!”
He ignored her and went on.
The scribe wrote, . . . and said daughter, Princess Lark, is old enough to marry, then let it be known that we will bestow her hand upon any . . . She was stuck again. She thought for a moment and wrote, . . . man who. . . .
King Harrumphrey tapped the scroll. “Not that ‘any harrumph.’”
The scribe wrote noble in tiny letters to the left of man.
The king was getting annoyed. “Not ‘any harrumphman.’ ‘Any harrumph.’”
“He means ‘any baker’s son,’” Lark said.
King Harrumphrey frowned, and the scribe knew better than to write baker’s son.
The king roared, “Harrumph! Any prince who can make said princess harrumph.”
. . . any prince who can make said princess harrumph. The scribe crossed out harrumph. Happy! Must be. She wrote, happy.
“Not ‘harrumphy.’” King Harrumphrey paused. He wanted Lark to be happy. And she would be. The proclamation would make sure of it. “Not ‘harrumphy.’ ‘Harrumph.’”
In turn the scribe tried wise, good at checkers, able to speak six languages, say harrumph more often, live a long time. The scroll was getting messy, and she was going to have to copy it all over, if she ever figured out what it was supposed to say.
At last, the king shook his belly and said, “Har har har harrumph.”
She got it.
Hear ye. Hear ye. Insofar and inasmuch as we have a daughter, and said daughter, Princess Lark, is old enough to marry, then let it be known that we will bestow her hand upon any prince who can make said princess laugh.
After he finished chopping wood, Robin returned to the bakery and started kneading again. He felt so joyful that new jokes were coming to him as fast as he could think.
Nat said, “Father has splenthrillous news, Robin.”
“THE KING ROARED, ‘HARRUMPH!’”
Today’s a good day for good news, Robin thought, smiling.
Jake cleared his throat and announced that Nat, Matt, and Robin would wed Holly, Molly, and Golly in two weeks. He added, “From then on,
“Nat and Matt will roll dough for the pie tin,
While Robin fluffs up pillows at the hotel.”
Robin’s jokes stopped coming, and he almost screamed. Golly was the last person he wanted for a wife. She didn’t have a bit of Lark’s sweetness, Lark’s sense of humor, Lark’s complete lovableness.
He took a deep breath. He was going to marry Lark. She’d tell her father about their betrothal, and then she’d come to him or send for him, or whatever royalty would do.
But what if the king didn’t want him to marry her?
Well, maybe he wouldn’t at first. But she’d persuade him. She’d tell him how much they loved each other. He’d understand.
Eight
Lark couldn’t sleep all night. What if a real prince made her laugh? What if he told a joke almost as good as one of Robin’s, and she laughed before she caught herself? She wouldn’t love the prince, but she’d be stuck with him.
She worried about it till dawn. Finally she decided that she had to make herself sad, so sad there’d be no chance of a laugh, no matter what any ridiculous prince said.
While she dressed, she thought of the calamities that befell people every day. They stubbed their toes, lost their favorite hat feathers, put spoiled raspberries into their mouths, were stung by bees, misspelled words, dropped their candy in the dirt. The list was endless.
A tear trickled down her cheek.
While she waited for the first prince to come, she read tragedies in the Royal Library. Within a few days she was weeping steadily. She cried herself to sleep at night and woke up crying in the morning.
King Harrumphrey hated to see her cry. It made him feel like crying too. He would have done almost anything to make his Larkie happy. Anything but let her marry a commoner.
A week before Robin’s wedding to Golly, the first prince arrived at Biddle Castle. He was taken to the Royal Tournament Arena to perform before an audience of Lark, King Harrumphrey, Dame Cloris, the Royal Councillors, and any Royal Nobles who wanted to come. No commoners allowed.
The prince juggled cheeses while a mouse stood on his head. The councillors and the courtiers and the king laughed and slapped their knees. Lark wept.
In the next five days, more princes came and performed. A prince told shepherd jokes. His best joke was Why is a bandit like a shepherd’s staff? The punch line was They’re both crooks. The audience hooted with laughter. Lark rolled her eyes and wished for Robin. Then she wept.
A prince talked to his foot and pretended it was answering him. Lark recited under her breath, “Suffering, tribulation, death, drought, plague . . .” She wept.
After each performance she asked for permission to marry Robin, but the king always harrumphed no.
Two days remained before the wedding. Robin had heard nothing from Lark, and he was desperate to know what had happened. While he kneaded bread, he worried that the king had refused to let her marry him. He also feared she had decided his jokes weren’t any good and had changed her mind about loving him.
“THE PRINCE JUGGLED CHEESES WHILE A MOUSE STOOD ON HIS HEAD.”
Golly, standing at his elbow, talked about going to Ooth Town for their honeymoon to see the roundest clock in Biddle. Then she left to try on her wedding dress.
Someone in the bakery said the word princess.
Robin’s head shot up. He stopped kneading.
“What seems to be the princess’s troublicament?” Nat asked the schoolteacher.
“She never stops crying. Give me six scones.”
Oh, no! Robin tried not to shout. “Why is she crying?”
“I’m not sure, but the king is going to marry her off to the first person who makes her laugh.” The schoolteacher didn’t know the person had to be a prince. “The contest is being held in the tournament arena.”
Robin knocked over the kneading table and rushed out of the bakery. He had to think.
Back inside, Matt said, “The lad is flipliddified and madaddlated.”
Robin paced up and down in the bakery yard. When the schoolteacher had said that Lark was weeping, Robin had thought it meant the king had refused to let them marry. And then, for one glorious moment, when the schoolteacher had described the contest, he’d thought it was for him, that it was Lark’s way of bringing them together. But if it was, then why was she crying?
Something terrible must have happened.
He started striding to the castle. He’d tell the guards he wanted to compete in the contest, so they’d let him in. He had to find out what was going on, although he wouldn’t be able to compete. He was much too upset to make up jokes.
But the Royal Drawbridge Guard wouldn’t let him pass. The guard didn’t even let him say what he was there for.
Robin was beside himself. He’d have to marry Golly, or he�
�d have to run away, far from Lark. Either way, he’d lose his love. On his way home, he broke down and cried.
Golly thought a weeping Robin was the funniest thing she’d ever seen. Jake gave her towels to dry off the dough as Robin kneaded it. She wiped and laughed for an hour or two. Then she went back to the Sleep In, to monogram an extra dozen handkerchiefs for her trousseau.
Through his tears Robin watched her go. He wished Golly were a princess and that Lark were an innkeeper’s daughter. He wished the guard had let him in. He wished Lark were here right this second. He wished.
Nine
Late that night the fairy Ethelinda flew over Biddle. She’d been flying for seven years, ever since she’d left the court of Anura, the fairy queen. Anura had scolded her for not giving a single reward or punishment to a human in centuries. Ethelinda had explained that she was afraid to because she’d bungled it the last time.
“Conquer your fear!” Anura had commanded. “Mingle with humans. Reward and punish. Do not disobey me!”
Ethelinda hadn’t obeyed, but she hadn’t disobeyed either. She’d just stayed in the air. But now she had to land. Seven years of flying were too much, even for a fairy. She was exhausted. She looked for a secluded spot where humans were unlikely to come. Ah. There.
She landed in a clearing in Snoakes Forest and stretched out under a pine tree, where she fell fast asleep.
The next morning, Jake packed a breakfast for Nat and sent him off early to chop wood. There was a lot to do today, and he wanted his two smart sons there to help him. He had to bake the usual quantities of bread, muffins, and scones, and he had to make the wedding cake for tomorrow.
Nat entered Snoakes Forest and went straight to the clearing where Ethelinda lay sleeping.
His footsteps woke her. She jumped up and took the shape of an old woman. She hoped whoever was coming wouldn’t do anything that required a reward or a punishment.
Nat entered the clearing. Ethelinda frowned at his basket, hoping he didn’t have food in there. “Good day,” she said in a voice that wavered.
“Good day.” Nat smiled and bowed. He opened the basket and took out a jug of blackberry juice, three hard-boiled partridge eggs, and two fig-and-almond scones.
The dreaded meal! Ethelinda thought. The fairy rules were very clear. She had to ask the human to share. If he did share, she had to reward him. If he did not, she had to punish him.
“Kind sir,” she said, “would you share your victuals with me?”
Nat knew Jake’s rule. “No, Mistress. I am enormvastically sorry, but our family doesn’t give our edibles or sippables to anyone.”
She had to punish him! “So be it,” she said. So be what? What should she do? She was shaking like a leaf.
Nat ate his breakfast.
Ethelinda thought of making him choke on a bone. But eggs and scones don’t have bones. She didn’t want to make snakes and insects come out of his mouth, because that hadn’t been a great success the last time.
Nat patted his mouth with his napkin and stood up. “Please excusition me. Time to get to work.” He picked up his ax and went to an oak tree.
She got it! She waved her wand, which was invisible because of her disguise.
Nat swung the ax. It slammed into the air six inches from the tree and stopped. It wouldn’t go an inch closer no matter how hard he pushed.
“Huh? What—” He swung again. The ax stopped again.
He examined the ax. The blade was as sharpcuttable as ever. Something was protecting the tree. He reached out, expecting the something to stop his hand. But nothing did. He swung again. The ax slammed into the air and stopped again.
He frowned at the old lady. Did she cause this?
But she was leaning back against an elm tree with her eyes closed. Besides, what could she have done?
It must have been that tree. He went to a pine tree and swung the ax. It stopped six inches from the bark.
He ran from tree to tree, trying to chop down one after another. But he couldn’t, not a single one. He screamed, not an invented word, not a word at all, only a scream. He ran out of the clearing, still screaming.
Ethelinda resumed her fairy shape. She’d done it. Anura should be satisfied. Ethelinda flapped her wings—and barely got off the ground. She was still exhausted. She landed in a heap and stayed there.
When Nat got home from the forest, he was muttering to himself and swinging the ax wildly. Matt feared that he might have become as goofdoltish as Robin, and Jake agreed. They pinned Nat to the ground and took the ax.
Robin didn’t notice. Tomorrow was the wedding. It would be the end of everything.
Matt packed a brunch. If Nat couldn’t cut down a tree, he, Matt, certainly would be able to. Hadn’t he been axchopperizing trees since he was seven years old? He set off while Jake mixed batter for three dozen muffin tins.
As soon as Ethelinda heard Matt coming, she turned herself back into the old lady. When he too refused to share his meal, she punished him exactly as she’d punished Nat.
Jake became seriously worried when Matt returned in the same state as Nat. Jake thought,
Now all my sons have lost their wits,
And Nat and Matt are having conniptions.
Jake couldn’t go to the forest himself. He had twenty-seven loaves of bread in the oven plus all those muffins and no sane son to watch them. Robin would have to go. Jake packed a lunch and put the ax in Robin’s hand. He watched Robin go and then got to work on the wedding cake.
Ethelinda was delighted to see Robin. This punishment was terrific. She couldn’t wait to use it again.
Robin put down his basket. It didn’t occur to him to eat. He wasn’t thinking at all. His mind was just bleating Lark! Lark! again and again. He staggered to a maple tree and raised his ax.
“Wait, kind sir!” Ethelinda went to him and stopped his hand. “Don’t you want your lunch?”
What was she saying? Something about his lunch? He mumbled, “Don’t want it.”
“Oh, kind sir, may I have some?”
Lark! Lark! He raised the ax again.
“Kind sir!” Ethelinda shrieked. She grabbed the ax and wrestled it away from Robin. She faced him, panting. “May I eat some of your lunch?”
Lark! Lark! “Go ahead.”
Go ahead?
Oh no! She handed the ax back to him. Now she had to reward him, which was where she’d made her biggest mistake the last time.
She opened his basket and took out a wedge of Snetter cheese and a poppy-seed roll. What could she give him? She couldn’t think of a single foolproof reward.
Robin began to chop down the maple.
Then Ethelinda remembered a reward the fairy queen, Anura, had told her about. It was a bit odd, but Anura said she’d used it hundreds of times and it had always worked.
Robin raised the ax again. One more chop and the maple would go over.
Ethelinda raised her invisible wand.
Robin swung the ax.
Ethelinda waved the wand.
The tree went over.
Honk! A golden goose stood on the stump, ruffling her golden feathers.
“HONK!”
Ten
Robin didn’t notice the goose. He began to hack off the maple’s branches.
“Oh,” Ethelinda said, “what a beautiful golden goose!”
Robin felt a stab of exasperation. “You can have her.”
Ethelinda stared in shock at him. And saw how unhappy he looked. “Why, what’s the trouble, kind sir?”
He shook his head and chopped the maple into logs.
She made her voice sympathetic and comforting. “You can tell me. I’ll understand.”
The sweetness of her voice reached him. He looked up. Ethelinda made her expression kindly and patient.
He found himself talking. “I love Princess Lark and I hate . . .” He told the whole story. It was a relief to tell someone.
Ethelinda wasn’t sure what good the goose would do, but she had fai
th in Anura. “Pick up the goose,” she said. “Take her to the castle.”
“I won’t be able to get past the guards.” He didn’t move.
“Pick up the goose!” Ethelinda bellowed.
He began to pick up the logs.
“With that goose, no one will stop you.” Ethelinda didn’t know if this was true, but she’d make it true.
He dropped the logs and picked up the goose.
Honk!
He didn’t believe no one would stop him, but he’d try anyway.
Ethelinda asked where he was going, just to make sure.
“To the princess.”
At last. “The goose is sticky, so you may need these words: Loose, goose. Don’t forget them.”
The goose was sticky? What did that mean? Robin picked up a fallen leaf and touched it to the goose’s feathers. It stuck. He said, “Loose, goose.” The leaf fluttered to the ground.
Hmm. He had an idea. He left the clearing, walking fast.
Ethelinda brushed grass off her skirts. She felt rested, refreshed. She hurried after Robin. “I’ll come too, kind sir. I may be able to help if anything goes wrong.”
When he got near the Sleep In, Robin slowed to a saunter. If Golly didn’t see him, he’d bang on the door. If he had to, he’d shove the goose up against her.
Upstairs in the inn, Golly was embroidering and looking out the window. Huh! she thought. There was Robin, with a goose in his arms and an old woman at his side. Golly squinted. What a fine golden goose. She frowned. Why wasn’t he bringing the goose to her?
Because he was her dim-witted dearie. She laughed. “Look!”
Holly and Molly came to the window.
“We could cook the goose and share the feathers,” Golly said.
The three of them ran downstairs and crowded out of the inn. Robin pretended not to see them and hurried off again.
“Dearie,” Golly called, laughing. “Wait for me.”
He kept going. They ran after him. Golly reached him first. She grabbed the goose’s tail and pulled.
Honk!
Golly laughed. “Dearie!”
Robin heard her, but he didn’t turn around. He hoped Holly and Molly would touch the goose too, and he hoped they’d stick too. Otherwise Golly had better look very funny, because she was all he’d have to make Lark laugh.
The Fairy's Return and Other Princess Tales Page 19
