The Cherry Pie Princess

by Vivian French

  She ran through the orchard, jumping to pick any cherries that were low enough to reach, and a moment later she was swinging herself up through the green leaves of the oak tree. The sun had risen over the distant hills and Peony, whistling happily, climbed higher and higher in the summer morning air. A pigeon, disturbed on its branch, fluttered away, and she waved at it. “I always knew this would be a fabulous tree to climb,” she said. “Now … how much higher can I go?”

  After five minutes’ energetic climbing the princess found that she could see not only the palace roof sparkling in the sunshine, but the courtyard and driveway beyond, too.

  “Oh my goodness!” Peony gazed round in wonder. As she looked, her eyes caught sight of a distant movement. “Oh,” she said. “Isn’t that the milk cart?” And she watched it make its way towards the palace. The milk cart was soon followed by three bakers’ wagons, and Peony leant back against the tree trunk.

  All these things coming to the palace, she thought. They must be for the christening. What shall I do? Should I see if I can creep back to my bedroom? But what would Father say? She frowned as she considered. I’ve got to find the right moment to talk to him … and not make him angry again. That won’t help Mr Longbeard. Maybe I should wait until the christening is over and ask him then. Oh dear. I wish I knew the best thing to do.

  Yet another vehicle appeared, and Peony watched curiously as it slowly trundled up the driveway. That doesn’t look like a delivery cart…

  A second later she was leaning dangerously forward. An ancient travelling coach had stopped halfway up the hill and an enormous old woman was struggling out. She was too far away for Peony to hear what she was saying, but she was shaking her fist and stamping her feet. For a couple of minutes she stood and argued with the driver; he kept shrugging and pointing at his pocket. Then there was a puff of smoke and his horse turned pink. The driver gave a terrified scream and the horse set off back down the hill at a gallop, the coach bumping and rattling behind.

  “Goodness!” Peony stared in astonishment as the old woman rubbed her hands together in glee. “Who is she?”

  “That’s the Hag,” said a voice in her ear, and Peony all but fell out of the tree in surprise. The palace cat was sitting on a branch above her head, cleaning his whiskers. “And you can be sure that she’s up to no good. You need to watch her.”

  Peony stared at the cat. “Did … did you just TALK to me?”

  “Well, it certainly wasn’t the pigeon. Stupid things, pigeons.” Basil extended a paw, studied it, then began to clean between his toes. “Name’s Basil, by the way. How do you do?”

  “I … I’m very well, thank you.” Peony was trying hard not to keep staring. “Erm … can I ask you something?”

  Basil blinked his large yellow eyes. “I expect you want to know why I haven’t spoken to you before.” When Peony nodded, he went on, “I didn’t need to. That’s the answer. But if the Hag’s creeping round there’s going to be trouble, and I prefer a quiet life. Wickedness sours the milk.” He finished grooming his toes, gave them an admiring glance and sat up. “What’s she doing now?”

  Peony turned and looked down. The Hag, moving surprisingly fast for such a big woman, had scuttled into the bushes that bordered the wide driveway. Now she was zigzagging to and fro, gradually getting closer to the palace.

  “Is she a witch?” Peony asked.

  “She’s a bad fairy,” Basil told her. “I don’t suppose you happen to know if your parents invited her to the christening?”

  Peony rubbed her nose thoughtfully. “I don’t think so. They did invite three Fairy Godmothers – I heard them talking about it.”

  “Oh dear.” Basil shook his head. “That’s unfortunate. Don’t your parents know about these things? You must ALWAYS invite all the fairies who live in or near your kingdom, or the ones who are left out get terribly angry and cause no end of problems.” He paused. “The Hag will know the Fairy Godmothers have been invited. She’s clever, as well as evil. And she also knows they’re old. Very old. And – if you don’t mind my mentioning it – very underused.”

  “Underused?” Peony looked blank.

  “Fairies have magic powers, but their powers fade away if they don’t have the chance to practise. The Hag, on the other hand…” The cat rolled his eyes. “She’ll have been keeping her spells brewing, and they’ll have grown stronger and stronger.”

  “So what should we do? Should I tell Father?” Peony started to wriggle along her branch.

  “Certainly not!” The cat’s whiskers bristled. “Without wishing to be rude, Princess, that would be a disaster.”

  “Oh.” Peony rubbed her nose again. “I rather expected that you’d say that.”

  The cat gave her a sideways look. “So – it seems that it’s up to you.”

  “Me? Just me? Aren’t you going to help?” Peony asked.

  Basil considered the question. “Perhaps. I do prefer good to evil. And the Fairy Godmothers have always paid me well.” He stood up on the branch and stretched. “You keep watch from here for a while. I’ll go and see what’s happening inside the palace.” And with a twitch of his whiskers he was gone.

  Peony turned to see where the Hag had got to. She was in a clump of ornamental grass at the top of the driveway, and was fishing in her pockets.

  That’s a very strange dress, was Peony’s first thought. Her second was, Oh my goodness! What IS she doing? Why is she pulling that string out of her pockets? And look at all those carriages! The first guests are arriving already!

  Chapter Fifteen

  PEONY WAS RIGHT. She leant back against a branch and watched as carriages, coaches, horse-drawn traps and single riders made their way up the hill. All the important, grand and wealthy inhabitants of the kingdom had been invited to the christening breakfast and, as invitations to the palace were few and far between, they had all accepted. On and on they came as the sun rose higher and higher. They were dressed in their finest clothes; Peony glanced down at her torn and grubby dress as the last carriage trundled towards her. “I’ll definitely have to clean up a bit if I’m going to go to the party. Hello! Those must be the Fairy Godmothers.”

  The Fairy Godmothers were wearing their summery dresses, and their wings glittered in the sunshine. As they swept towards the palace the prime minister came out to greet them; Peony ducked down among the branches, although there was no way that Skeldith could see her. Cautiously peering out again, she noticed the Hag was no longer hiding in the grass. She had left a tangle of string behind her, but that was all.

  “Where can she be?” Peony wondered. Scanning the drive and the gardens, she climbed even higher and looked again. From her new viewpoint she eventually spotted the Hag hiding in the tangle of roses under her bedroom window. The fairy was bending down, tying string to the rosebushes.

  “That’s strange,” Peony murmured. “How did she get there without anyone noticing? Why haven’t the guards stopped her?”

  “She’s a fairy, remember.” Basil was back, strolling along the branch beneath her. “She can fade into the background, so nobody can see her unless they’re looking very carefully.”

  “Oh! She’s off!” Peony reported. “She’s going round the other side … and you’re right. She went straight past the guards at the front door and they didn’t notice her at all.” She shook her head in wonder.

  Basil shrugged. “That’s fairies for you. Don’t you want to know what’s going on in the banqueting hall?”

  “Of course I do.” Peony turned to look at him. “Has the christening started yet?”

  “There’s a lot of chitter-chatter.” The cat sniffed. “Your father has a remarkably splendid throne. Your mother looked a little peevish when she saw it. All the guests have arrived, by the way. They’ve closed the doors.”

  Peony leant forward. “Did you see my baby brother? Is he all right?”

  “He’s being looked after by that Beef woman.” Basil sounded less than enthusiastic.

  The
princess sighed. “I can’t help wondering – what if the bad fairy tries to hurt him?”

  The cat jumped up beside her, and put a furry paw on her hand. “We must make sure that doesn’t happen.”

  “Look!” Peony pointed. “She’s moving again … and she’s still holding loads of string. What IS she doing?”

  “Nothing good,” Basil said. “You can be sure of—”

  He was interrupted by the sound of trumpets. There was a long fanfare, a moment’s pause, and then another fanfare.

  “That’ll be Father arriving in the royal banqueting hall.” Peony looked down at the palace roof. “It feels odd to think the christening’s going on without me being there.”

  Basil wasn’t listening. His eyes had narrowed and he was watching the Hag with intense concentration. “She’s circling the palace,” he said. “That’s bad … very bad.”

  Peony had already begun to scramble down the tree. “I have to find out what’s going on,” she said. “I absolutely can’t stay here any longer.”

  The cat didn’t move. He had noticed something Peony had not: the bundles of string that the Hag was leaving behind her were beginning to glow a faint green. “Magic,” he said to himself. “Bad magic…”

  Several branches below, Peony looked up. “Aren’t you coming?” she asked.

  Basil was still staring. “Princess,” he said, “I think you ought to see this.” He began to hiss. Peony, hearing the urgency in his voice, swung herself back up the tree to join him – and gasped.

  The Hag had made a complete circle of the building and now she was dancing up and down waving her arms. “Wooooooo!” she chanted. “Woooooooo! Wooooooooo!”

  A faint green mist began to rise, a mist that quickly thickened into a dense fog that swirled and twirled until it had the look of a green hedge surrounding the palace. The fog drifted steadily closer and closer to the walls, and Peony saw first one and then another guard collapse in a snoring heap on the palace steps. The captain of the guard, who was tall enough to see over the top of the swirling green, opened his mouth to call for help, but the Hag flicked her fingers and a tendril of mist twisted round his head. His eyes closed and he sank to the ground. In another moment not one guard was left standing.

  “Oh my goodness.” Peony was breathless with astonishment. “Oh my goodness gracious me!”

  “Not much goodness about it,” the cat said. “That’ll gradually seep in through the doors and windows, and send them all to sleep.”

  “Wooooooo! Woooooooo!” The Hag was still dancing, her voice growing shriller and shriller. “That’ll teach them to forget me! Tee hee hee hee! Sleeping twine, sleeping twine … all asleep, that baby’s mine!”

  Peony was very pale. “I was right: she wants the baby! We’ve got to do something – we’ve got to save him!”

  “Of course,” Basil said. “But what about the fog? You saw how quickly those guards went to sleep.”

  “Mmmmm…” Peony was thinking as hard as she could. “What if I could get higher than the fog? So I don’t breathe it in?”

  “Above it?” Basil considered this idea. “But how could you? You’d need to be quite remarkably tall – much taller than the guards.”

  “Exactly!” Peony’s eyes were shining. “Mr Wells – he’s taller than everyone! I could ride on his shoulders and the fog wouldn’t come near me. And guess what?” She was quivering with excitement. “I’ve had another idea! The musicians’ gallery … the gallery above the hall. You can see everything from there. I used to spy on the royal feasts! And there’s a window… How long have I got before everyone’s asleep?”

  “How long?” The cat blinked. “I couldn’t say … but the fog’s moving.”

  He was right. The fog was clearing at the back of the palace and growing thicker and thicker at the front, as the Hag beckoned it towards her with a long bony finger. Alternately cackling and chanting, she pointed at the door. “Wooooooo! One, two, three, four, open wide the royal door!”

  The huge golden door swung open and the fog began to ooze inside. “Right. Here I go,” said Peony, and she scrambled down the tree. Next minute she was running through the cherry trees towards the back of the palace and the window of the dungeon.

  She hurled the rope over the empty window frame before climbing up to knot it round the centre bar. Then she called down. “Mr Wells? I need your help! I really, really do – please help me. PLEASE!”

  Chapter Sixteen

  DOWN IN THE DUNGEON Horrington Wells woke with a start. For a second he thought he was dreaming, but then he was wide awake and on his feet. Grabbing the sheet rope he began to climb, and Lionel Longbeard, peering out from under his blanket and rubbing his eyes, was just in time to see the jester’s long legs disappearing through the window. The rope was left hanging; after a moment the dwarf, with much puffing, followed his friend. He found him with a bright-eyed Peony.

  “Can you see that horrid green fog creeping round the walls? That’s magic! A bad fairy called the Hag made a spell with sleeping twine, and it sends you to sleep as soon as you breathe it in – and the Hag wants to steal my brother – so I need to get into the palace!” Peony stopped for breath. “I’m going to climb into the banqueting hall. There’s a little window at the back that’s always open – but I need to stand on your shoulders so I can reach it. It’s the window in the musicians’ gallery; nobody’ll see me.”

  Horrington bowed deeply. “Your wish is my command, Princess.”

  Lionel pulled at his sleeve. “But the king, man! What about the king?”

  The jester shrugged. “The child needs help.”

  “Thank you!” Peony beamed at him. She untied the rope and slung it over her arm. “Can we go right now?”

  “Climb on my shoulders.” Horrington glanced towards the heavy green mist.

  Peony caught his gaze and nodded. “Isn’t it horrid? But we’ll be above it. It’s wonderful you’re so tall.” Another thought came to her. “Can we sneak to the side of the palace and see what the Hag’s up to?”

  “One moment.” The dwarf coughed. “Might I make a suggestion? While you make your way into the palace, Princess, I could attempt to stop this magic at its source.”

  Peony blinked. “I’m sorry … I’m not sure what you mean.”

  “He means the sleeping twine.” Basil had appeared beside them.

  “Sleeping twine,” Lionel said thoughtfully. “I’ve read about that kind of spell. When a knot is loosened the magic grows less. Two knots untied, and the magic stops.”

  Peony looked at him with awe. “Oh, Mr Longbeard! You have the WIDEST mind. When all this is over I’m going to come to your library every single day.”

  “You’ll be welcome.” Lionel gave a nod and followed Basil to the nearest tangle of twine. “Ah,” he said as he sat down beside it. “A cunning twist … but it can be undone with care and thought.”

  As the dwarf set to work, Horrington, with Peony on his shoulders, tiptoed to the corner of the palace and peered cautiously round. His head and shoulders were high above the magic mist and he and the princess had no trouble spotting the Hag. She was running up to the fog, then falling back and stamping her feet in fury.

  “What’s she doing?” Peony whispered. “It’s her magic. Why doesn’t she just walk through it?”

  “Woooooo!” the Hag shrieked. “Woooooo! Woooooo! WOOOOOO!”

  She made another run at the green barrier, and this time she vanished – but a moment later she reappeared, coughing and spluttering and wiping her streaming eyes. “Too much deadly nightshade. I knew it! I knew it! Should’ve added a frog. Or a couple of newts…” Still muttering, she pulled a bent wand from her pocket and waved it in front of her. “Woooooo, woooooo – let me through!”

  The fog shivered and drew back just enough to offer a narrow pathway leading to the palace door.

  “Wider! Wider! WOOOOOOO!” The Hag was the colour of a beetroot, but the fog had done as much as it was prepared to do. It turned a sulky g
rey and the pathway turned into a tunnel.

  “Oh POOO!” the Hag said, and she began to squeeze her way towards the palace.

  Horrington shook his head. “No time to waste.” He strode back, Peony giving him directions, until they were standing under a small, high window. Horrington, looking up at it, measured the distance with his eye. “Hmmm,” he said doubtfully.

  “If you don’t mind me standing on your shoulders again, Mr Wells, I can catch hold of the ledge,” Peony said.

  The jester nodded, and when Peony was standing up, one hand on the wall, he saw she was right: the window was just within her reach. “Nearly there!” she said, and she stretched up to get a fingerhold. Horrington stood on tiptoe and Peony gave a squeak of excitement. “That’s it!” Her feet kicked wildly. “Here … I … go!” And she was gone.

  In no time at all she was looking out at him. “I’ve just thought of something,” she whispered. “I’ve escaped out of the palace twice in the last two days – and now I’m breaking in! Isn’t that extraordinary? Would you mind waiting here? I’ll be back soon!” And she vanished again, only to reappear with the end of the sheet rope in her hand. “Could you hold on to this?”

  “Princess!” Horrington called. “Don’t do anything risky—”

  But Peony was out of earshot.

  Chapter Seventeen

  THE MUSICIANS’ GALLERY above the royal banqueting hall was never used. King Thoroughgood had declared that music gave him indigestion, and nobody official had been up there in years. Only Peony’s footprints could be seen in the thick dust, and she had to hold her nose to keep herself from sneezing.