From what Phredde had been telling me, vomit was probably illegal in Phaeryland and I’d be arrested in my first two minutes there…
Phredde’s mum smiled at Phredde’s dad and said, ‘Will you do the honours, dear?’
‘Of course, dear,’ said Phredde’s dad. ‘Prudence, if you’d just hold hands with Ethereal so you don’t get lost in the Ether—just in case…that’s right.’
Phredde grabbed my hand…well, my little finger actually. Phredde’s whole body is not much bigger than my hand.
‘Too late to back out now!’ whispered Phredde.
…and suddenly it was cold and I mean COLD, except I couldn’t feel anything. The world was just nothing and nothing and nothing and it MUST have been cold because there was nothing else to feel and then…
BLINK, we were in Phaeryland, and I didn’t feel sick at all.
‘Glerp!’ I said. I felt myself carefully. I seemed to be all there. And the others were there too…‘Hey!’ I yelled. ‘You’re all as big as I am!’
Phredde’s mum grinned. ‘That’s what happens in Phaeryland,’ she said.
‘How come? Are you bigger? Or have I shrunk?’
‘Neither,’ said the new gigantic Phredde’s mum.
‘But…but it must be one or the other.’
‘Not in Phaeryland,’ said the big economy-sized Phredde’s dad. He was grinning too, like it was something in the air.
I took another look at the new, giant Phredde—I mean, she didn’t look different just because she was big and I realised I’d even sort of forgotten she was small—then gazed around. It was really something to stare at.
Have you ever seen pictures of Phaeryland in little-kid books? Those giant flowers and a million dancing butterflies in all the shades of a set of coloured pencils, and green, green grass and silver castles in the distance?
Well, it’s all true. Every bit of it. I don’t know how the authors of those books knew what Phaeryland was like, but they sure got it right.
I looked back at Phredde, the giant. She had this look on her face as though to say, Just let me get through this without vomiting, even though she’s never even been carsick.
Suddenly I wondered what she’d meant back in her bedroom when her mum had interrupted us. Exactly what was Phredde planning? But there was no way I could ask her just then, with everybody there.
‘What now?’ I asked.
‘We go to see the Phaery Queen,’ said Phredde’s mum, amazed. ‘Didn’t Ethereal tell you?’
‘Nope,’ said Phredde. ‘If Prudence knew what she was really getting into she wouldn’t have come.’
‘Oh nonsense,’ said Phredde’s mum. ‘You know how the Phaery Queen loves to see all her little subjects on their birthdays. You used to love it, Phredde.’
‘Yeah. When I was two and half,’ said Phredde.
Neither of her parents replied.
‘Which way to the Phaery Queen?’ I asked.
Phredde’s mum looked vague. ‘Oh, a hundred heartbeats and just past the golden grove,’ she said. ‘We’ll know it when we get there.’
‘How do we get there? Walk?’
I looked down at my feet. They were sweating like a penguin in a fish and chip shop. Glass slippers aren’t meant for walking and your feet would die if you tried to dance in them.
‘No, of course not,’ said Phredde’s dad. ‘Phredde, would you like to call the butterflies?’
‘Sure,’ said Phredde. She put two fingers in her mouth and gave this terrific whistle. (I wish I could do that—I must get her to show me how.)
‘Phredde, that’s not the way to do it in Phaeryland,’ said Phredde’s mum reproachfully.
‘Sorry, Mum,’ said Phredde, just as two huge butterflies fluttered down.
I mean, they were BIG. About the size of a small plane but without the cabin. They were gold and silver and blue and pink—a million colours shimmering.
The butterfly nearest to us gave me a sweet smile (I didn’t know butterflies could smile, but I got the feeling that everything smiled in Phaeryland—except Phredde, of course) and shimmered its wings at us invitingly.
‘Up you hop,’ said Phredde’s dad.
I gulped. ‘On those?’
‘Of course.’
‘But…but they don’t have seatbelts!’
Phredde’s dad laughed. ‘No one has ever fallen off a butterfly in Phaeryland,’ he said. ‘It isn’t done.’
He and Phredde’s mum climbed onto one of the butterflies and I climbed up behind Phredde onto the other one…carefully, because even if those giant wings were light and shimmery, they looked BIG and Phredde’s dad hadn’t said that no one had ever been knocked unconscious by a giant butterfly wing.
But it was okay once we were on. There are two narrow bits of body on a butterfly and Phredde straddled one and I straddled the other and the butterfly flapped lazily and we rose gently, gently…gently up into the sky.
I thought it might be cold up there in the sky, but I don’t suppose it’s ever cold in Phaeryland. The breeze was balmy—of COURSE the breeze was balmy—and all those flowers smelt like the perfume counter down at Woolies and the butterflies just fluttered along.
It was fun, even if it is hard holding onto a butterfly AND keeping your ball gown from riding up. Not as much fun as the Thunderwheel at Wonderland, or even the Outer Space Super Whirl, but it was pretty good.
So on we went, flapping over some enchanted woods—you can’t tell me that in real life trees grow as tall and as straight as that, and I bet they never have a drought or an El Niño in Phaeryland—and there were silver brooks running between the trees (no, they weren’t creeks—creeks are brownish and they don’t tinkle like brooks) and clusters of red and white spotted mushrooms just like in the picture books, and here and there a phaery perched on a log playing the flute, or two or three dancing in a Phaery Ring.
I was starting to see why Phredde hadn’t wanted to come.
If I had been two I would have loved it. Three even, or maybe a babyish four. But at my age…
Gradually, this grand, silver castle in the distance drew nearer and nearer. It had spires and those chunky sort of towers that you see in Robin Hood movies, and a moat and a drawbridge—everything a castle should have. Just like ours and Phredde’s, but a million times more so, and it glowed in a way that no picture in a book ever could.
‘What’s it made of?’ I whispered to Phredde.
‘It’s carved out of a diamond,’ she said absently. ‘Just one giant diamond. Boy, I wish we hadn’t come.’
‘It’s not so bad,’ I said comfortingly.
‘Huh,’ said Phredde. ‘You wait. You haven’t seen the worst of it yet. And Mum and Dad will just smile as though I should be enjoying it. You know what Mum was doing last night?’
I shook my head.
‘She was reading The Directory of Handsome Princes. Handsome Princes! “Look Mum,” I said to her. “I’m way too young for that sort of thing!” and you know what she said?’ I shook my head and the diamond flowers rattled.
‘You’re never too young for a Handsome Prince,’ Phredde mimicked bitterly.
‘“In Australia you are,” I told her. Anyhow, what if I don’t want a prince when I grow up? What if I just want a normal bloke…or a goblin or a…’
‘What did your mum say?’ I asked.
‘Nothing,’ said Phredde bitterly. ‘She just smiled. You know that smile that mothers have.’
‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘Hey, Phredde, what did you mean when you said things were going to be different this time?’
Phredde winked. ‘I’ve got something planned,’ she said. ‘Something that’ll convince Mum and Dad that I’m not cut out for Phaeryland. I mean the old ways are okay for them—’
‘What have you planned?’ I was a bit alarmed. This was a strange country, and ever since the earthquake during the last exams I’ve realised Phredde sometimes doesn’t think before she acts. ‘You’re not planning a magic spell, are you?’<
br />
‘Of course not,’ said Phredde. ‘I couldn’t anyway. The Phaery Queen sees all the magic in Phaeryland before it happens.’
‘That’s okay then,’ I said, relieved.
‘No, it’s something else altogether,’ said Phredde, gleefully. ‘Not magic at all! It’s an idea I got from school. You remember last week when we…oh, blast, we’re here…’ She broke off as her parents glided up next to us.
The butterflies were landing now, gently gently gently, the way everything’s done in Phaeryland, till we were flat on the ground again, the butterflies wings just fluttering (gently) against the green, green grass.
Phredde’s giant dad smiled at me. ‘The Palace of the Phaery Queen,’ he announced.
‘It’s lovely,’ I said.
And it was. Just like in the picture books, but all the colours brighter and every gleam a million times as bright. Everything you’d ever want a magic castle to be.
The steps of the castle were long and shallow. They twinkled in the sunlight like—well, like diamonds I suppose, since that’s what they were. We started to climb, but there wasn’t any sense of going UP, if you know what I mean. You could have climbed stairs like that for twenty years without your leg muscles getting sore.
And we climbed and we climbed till finally we were at the top and two phaeries in purple tights and yellow jerkin things lifted up their—well, I THINK they were trumpets but they looked too long, maybe they’d mutated—and played the type of call you hear in old movies when the emperor is about to arrive, but it wasn’t an emperor, it was us.
And we entered the castle of the Phaery Queen.
It was pretty good. Of course, it wasn’t anything I hadn’t seen before in picture books. I mean, like I’ve said before, phaeries have NO imagination mostly.
There was a gigantic room with a high, vaulted ceiling (we learnt about vaulted ceilings last term at school) and tapestries, and jewelled everything and carpet that looked like unicorns dancing among the flowers, except these unicorns actually did dance.
We walked through a very large door—why they need a door that size I’ve no idea, ‘cause even Phaeryland phaeries aren’t that big—into another room the size of a football oval, only with diamonds and emeralds which football ovals don’t have, and there were about a million phaery princesses (well, I suppose that’s what they were) all dressed up like us.
‘Are these the ladies-in-waiting?’ I whispered to Phredde.
‘Some of them,’ she whispered back. ‘Some of them are mum’s sisters and dad’s sisters and my sisters.’
‘You’ve got sisters? I thought you were an only child?’
‘They’re all grown up. Mum and Dad are over two hundred, remember. Phaeries have only one kid at a time, then when that kid grows up they have another one…’ Phredde whispered absently, as though she was really thinking about something else. I have to admit I was starting to get a bit alarmed.
‘Phredde? What are you planning…I mean when are you…?’
‘Shhh,’ said Phredde. ‘I have to concentrate!’
‘Phredde, you’re not…’ Then I shut up. I had spotted the Phaery Queen.
She was beautiful. The most beautiful phaery in Phaeryland.
Her hair was blonder than any blonde hair could ever be in the real world, no matter how much gunk someone piles on their head. When I was a little kid and coloured in the Princess’s hair with my bright yellow pencil, I wasn’t far wrong, and it sort of floated around her head in this great sunlit cloud.
And if I’d thought my dress and Phredde’s dress were fancy, it was because I hadn’t seen hers.
It was every colour of the rainbow. In fact, now I come to think of it, that’s probably what it was made of. Slivers of diamond and ruby and emerald were sprinkled all over it. It was low at her neck and tight at her waist—only Phaery Queens’ have waists as tiny as that—then billowed out a million kilometres or so. If you turned that dress into a tent you could fit most of our school library in it.
She was sitting on a diamond throne at the far end of the room (and, let me tell you, there’s no way you can mistake a diamond throne for one made of glass) about where the goal posts would be if it had been a football oval.
The Phaery Queen was chatting to a dozy-looking sort of woman, all dressed up in lace and jewels and stuff—like us, of course, but she looked like she did it every day and ENJOYED it. Can you imagine living every day in stuff like that? You could never have a decent game of netball, or football…and she must have noticed us because she said something to the Phaery Queen who looked at us.
And then someone blew half a dozen of those mutated trumpets, or whatever they were, just behind us (my ears were ringing something awful, but I didn’t even bother looking back, because I knew what they’d look like—all blue velvet and lace and blowing silver trumpet-like thingummies).
And then the Phaery Queen smiled at us, a glowing, regal smile, and we marched down this long, red carpet towards her—all the others were walking for once, too—and me with my feet suffocating in glass slippers, and all the phaery princesses sort of twittering and cooing around us.
‘Hey, Phredde!’ I whispered.
‘Shhh,’ muttered Phredde.
I just wanted to ask her whether I should curtsy. They don’t tell you things like that in picture books. What’s the use of telling kids phaery stories when they don’t mention the things you might really need to know? There I was in Phaeryland in the castle of the Phaery Queen and I didn’t know whether to drop to my knees in front of her or just say, ‘Hi, Queen, glad to meet you.’
I glanced at Phredde, but it was no use asking her again. In the mood she was in now she wouldn’t have curtsied if a lion was chewing the back of her knees. And she had this funny look on her face.
Phredde’s mum was too far behind us for me to get any clues from her either, so I decided just to be polite. The way I’d be polite if I was introduced to an old friend of Mum’s.
‘Welcome, Ethereal!’ cried the Phaery Queen. Her voice really did seem like a hundred birds singing, which sounds horrible, but it was very pretty. You know how all the heroines sound in those cartoon movies? As if there’s a button on the computer voice simulator that says ‘sweet and friendly’.
‘Happy birthday! And welcome to your friend Prudence, too!’ cooed the Phaery Queen.
‘How do you know my name?’ I asked—politely of course. (I sort of ducked my head, too. My knees just didn’t seem to know how to curtsy).
‘I know all the visitors to Phaeryland,’ smiled the Phaery Queen. ‘Especially children. I just love it when my subjects bring children to visit Phaeryland!’
She sounded just like my kindergarten teacher all those years ago welcoming the children on their first day with paste and paper and colouring-in books, except a hundred times more so. I mean NO ONE sounds as friendly and as gracious as the Phaery Queen—even in Phaeryland.
‘Er, thanks,’ I said. (I wasn’t all that keen on being called a child, to be honest, but you could tell she meant to be kind.)
‘I hope this is going to be a special day for both of you,’ sang the Phaery Queen. ‘I hope it’s going to be the most wonderful birthday…’
And that’s when it happened. Trust Phredde to time it perfectly. She was really sneaky about it too. I hadn’t even noticed anything, and I was right beside her…
First of all, there was a muttering among the cooing behind us.
Then the cooing stopped, and there were cries and screams.
And then I smelt it.
It was like an elephant had laid an egg and it had gone bad.
It was like a garbage bin that had sat in the sun for a year and then the lid was taken off.
It was like the smell in our classroom just the week before…
‘Phredde!’ I hissed. ‘You didn’t!’
‘Ethereal!’ muttered Phredde’s mum behind us. ‘You haven’t!’
‘Oh, Ethereal!’ cried the Phaery Queen. ‘Why di
d you…’
Well, that stink bomb put paid to Phredde’s birthday ceremony at the castle of the Phaery Queen.
(Stink bomb! Huh! I told you fairies have no imagination. Which is a good thing because if they did have imagination as well as their magic…anyway, if it had been me trying to muck up the Phaery Queen’s party I’d have thought of something really cool. First of all I’d have…but I’ll get on with the story.)
The phaery ladies-in-waiting all ran out of the throne room like they had spiders running up their ankles, all coughing and lifting their skirts up out of the smell.
Then the Phaery Queen followed, holding some rainbow-like hanky to her nose, and her eyes were streaming—just like Ben’s last week in science class. Ben had found the recipe on the Internet, and this had given Phredde the idea. The lacy lady-in-waiting was trying to comfort the Phaery Queen, but her eyes were streaming, too.
Phredde’s parents were following, coughing and spluttering and TRYING to apologise, but who can apologise when you can’t take a decent breath?
Phredde and I were bringing up the rear.
I was a bit worried to tell you the truth. I was really starting to sweat in my glass slippers, and it wasn’t all just because feet can’t breathe in glass either. Half of it was sheer, pure terror.
What’s the punishment for letting off a stink bomb in Phaeryland? Prison for a thousand years? Banishment to the dungeons? Morning tea for the castle dragon?
Then we were all outside on the castle lawn.
All the ladies-in-waiting were fanning themselves, as though that would get rid of the smell, and the lacy lady-in-waiting was dabbing the Phaery Queen’s eyes and Phredde’s mum and dad had given up trying to apologise and just stood there with white faces. The stink was slowly evaporating but even the butterflies were giving the castle a wide berth.
‘Well, you’ve done it now!’ I said to Phredde.
She turned to me. Her eyes were red, but I don’t think it was just from the stink bomb.
‘Don’t you see—I had to do it!’ she cried. ‘Otherwise they’ll keep dragging me off here every year and having phaery princes to stay and I’ll be expected to be a lady-in-waiting when I leave school instead of going to Tech or Uni and I don’t want to!’ She was almost crying now. ‘I just want to be like everyone else!’
The Phredde Collection Page 7
