The Restless Girls

by Jessie Burton

  ‘Well, I would hope one day you’d leave this palace of your own will. There’s a big world out there, Princess Agnes,’ the pilot said. ‘I’ve seen a bit of it. It wouldn’t be so bad to go and take a look, you know.’

  Agnes was confused by this, and grateful that without another word, the young pilot put the glass to his lips and drank down the whole of the dormidon.

  In a few minutes, the girls heard his light breathing. As they listened to the gentle slumber of the pilot on the other side of the door, they felt strangely peaceful. And after Agnes told them what the pilot had said to her, for the first time in ages, the princesses truly wanted to dance.

  ⋇

  The next morning, they agreed that although it was a relief the dormidon had worked, it was a shame the young man would be on his way. They went down to the throne room to watch him be dismissed. He was dressed in his pilot’s outfit and goggles, and was holding a small sack at his side. Agnes noticed that his hands were trembling a little.

  ‘So, my boy,’ King Alberto said. ‘Are you going to tell me the secret?’

  At these words, the young man seemed to hesitate, but then resolved himself. ‘Yes, Your Majesty,’ he said. ‘I am.’

  The girls gasped. They all turned to Delilah. The dormidon had worked, hadn’t it? Agnes said she’d watched him drink the whole thing! And they’d heard him snoring on the other side of the door! What on earth was going on? Delilah looked more boiled than the dormidon vine she’d prepared the night before.

  King Alberto could hardly believe his ears. He leaned forward. ‘You are? Go on then. Spill the magic beans!’

  ‘Your girls go dancing every night,’ the young man said.

  ‘What?’

  Agnes let out a cry, but the pilot carried on. ‘They open a secret door that lies behind the portrait of your wife in their bedroom.’

  Alberto’s eyes boggled. ‘My wife’s portrait?’

  ‘Indeed, sir. One might say that Queen Laurelia leads the way. They go down five hundred and three steps, through the gloom and the cobwebs, towards a wide lagoon. Your daughter Ariosta swims into the deep water to find six little boats that the girls row over to the other side. They walk through three forests that they found themselves: the first is a forest of silver, which your daughter Chessa discovered. The second is made of gold, which Emelia found when she helped a wounded fox, and the last is made of diamonds. In the forest of diamonds, you’ll find the dormidon vine, which your botanist daughter, Delilah, has been using to drug all the suitors who have competed for your kingdom.’

  King Alberto looked towards his daughters in astonishment. ‘Ariosta?’ he said dumbly. ‘I didn’t even know you could swim. Chessa? Delilah, have you been … drugging a potential king?’

  The girls stared with hatred at the pilot, but the pilot wasn’t finished. ‘At the end of the forests, Your Majesty, they enter a tree palace.’

  At these words, several of the princesses fell to their knees.

  ‘A what?’ said King Alberto.

  One of the older advisers, a man called Bernard, began to move forward. ‘Sire,’ he whispered in the king’s ear, ‘this is preposterous. Shall we remove the young man now?’

  ‘Your Majesty,’ said Clarence, looking with great interest at the pilot. ‘May I suggest it wiser to let him speak?’

  The pilot carried on before the king could decide. ‘The tree palace is a dance floor in the roots of a tree, where your daughters dance and dine and sing with a lioness and a peacock and all kinds of other animals. They dance to their hearts’ content. Their happiness is unlike any I’ve ever seen. And if I could bottle that happiness up, Your Majesty, I reckon I could fly my plane on it.’

  ‘This is absurd,’ said Bernard.

  ‘But is it true?’ asked the king.

  ‘As true as I stand before you now. At the end of the evening, they return back the way they came. They fall into bed, and they leave their shoes in a neat row, worn to pieces. And that, Your Majesty, is the sum total of the secret you have been craving, all this time.’

  In the silence that followed, the princesses looked at each other in deep sorrow. The advisers would find the secret door. Their lives would be over. Their father would seal up the staircase, and after this, they would never be allowed out of their bedroom, even for an hour. And who was the pilot going to pick for a wife? Nobody liked him now. Lorna began to weep.

  The king looked stunned. ‘A forest made of silver?’ he said. ‘A forest made of gold?’

  ‘He imagined it,’ said Bernard.

  The pilot laughed. ‘Maybe I did. But it’s real.’

  ‘Do you take His Majesty for a fool?’ said Bernard. ‘There is no such thing as a tree palace, or dancing with a lioness. A lioness would eat you.’

  The pilot bowed. ‘Forgive me, but this particular lioness would not. Although,’ he added, looking Bernard up and down, ‘she might have a go at you.’

  ‘Pilot,’ said Clarence. ‘Do you have any proof of these forests? Then at least the matter can be settled.’

  The pilot bent down and opened the sack, and to the girls’ horror he pulled out a single silver leaf, unmistakably from the forest. He pointed it at the king, and it shimmered in his hand like a small shield. King Alberto shrank back into the seat of his throne, a little frightened. The pilot put the silver leaf on the floor and pulled out a branch, made of gold. It glittered in the daylight, and he held it up to the king as if it were a ceremonial mace. The king swallowed nervously. And finally, the pilot rummaged in the sack and pulled out a large diamond. He handed it to Alberto, and it winked in his palm like an accusing eye.

  ‘My goodness,’ breathed Alberto. ‘I’ve never seen precious metals like it. Girls, do you deny this? Answer me!’

  Polina rose from the floor. Something in her looked broken. ‘Oh, Father,’ she said. ‘We only liked a little dancing!’

  ‘Please, please, Father,’ said Vita. ‘Please don’t lock us up again!’

  The king lurched to his feet. ‘So it’s true! Your insolence, your disobedience, your downright outrageous rebellion makes me sad to call you my daughters! Every night, going down to a dark lagoon, strange forests, talking lionesses – after all I did to try to keep you safe!’

  The princesses looked at the pilot, their faces portraits of pure distress. ‘I understand it was precious to you, ladies,’ said the pilot. ‘Believe me. But the kingdom of Kalia needs a new ruler, so I really had no choice.’

  ‘How could you?’ said Flora. ‘We thought you were nice!’

  King Alberto turned to the pilot. ‘Finally!’ he cried. ‘I’ve found someone worthy to inherit my kingdom! So clever, so brave, so ingenious! Come here, boy. You are a true prince and you shall have your reward. Clarence, see to it that the coronation takes place tomorrow. A small affair. No fuss.’

  The advisers looked at each other. Half of them, including Clarence, seemed to say, Why not? Alberto had always been an impossible king to manage one way or another, and this young man had excellent potential. The other half, led by Bernard, did not look convinced. In fact, they looked very unhappy indeed, and stared at the boy with hostility.

  ‘Are you sure you wish to crown me, sire?’ asked the youth.

  ‘I’ve never been surer of anything in my life!’ replied the king. ‘And which one of these girls do you want for a wife?’

  The pilot faltered, turning to the eleven girls, who scowled at him in unison. Agnes thought she saw a look of dismay pass across his face, which he quickly tried to hide.

  ‘I’m not sure I’ll ever know how to pick,’ he said.

  Alberto beamed. ‘Crown first, bride later?’ he asked the pilot.

  ‘That couldn’t be more perfect,’ came the young man’s reply.

  ⋇

  Clarence was an efficient organiser. The coronation was prepared for the next day, in the throne room. King Alberto even ordered the black drapes to be removed and the dust balls to be swept away from the legs of his throne.
The maids had done a fabulous job in cleaning the place, and the crystal chandelier sparkled in the glorious light.

  There was just one small problem.

  Unbeknownst to the pilot, or King Alberto and the eleven girls, Bernard, the most suspicious of the king’s advisers, decided to check whether the pilot’s story was true: namely that, behind Laurelia’s portrait, he would find a door that led down five hundred and three steps to a wide lagoon, three forests and a tree palace. Once the princesses were in the throne room downstairs, Bernard snuck into the girls’ cell and wrenched the portrait of Queen Laurelia from off the wall.

  There was no sign of a door.

  Bernard looked and looked. He tapped the wall; he ran his hands over its stone – but he couldn’t find a thing.

  All he could see was a solid wall.

  It was a trick! To think the future of Kalia was to be handed over like this to a complete stranger, and a liar at that! About what else had the pilot deceived them? ‘Never trust a man who arrives by plane,’ Bernard muttered to himself as he scurried furiously out of the girls’ bedroom and through the palace to tell King Alberto, before it was too late.

  The eleven princesses were, by now, seated on gold chairs to the left of the throne, with the advisers in favour of the pilot’s coronation standing behind them. Alberto was sitting in the throne, a seat in which he had sat for years, and which he was soon to vacate. The king had even woken up his old herald, who hadn’t played his trumpet since the passing of Queen Laurelia. He stood at Alberto’s side, his trumpet waiting. There was an atmosphere of intense expectation.

  When the pilot entered the throne room, hush descended. Alberto stood up and removed the crown from his own head.

  From far off, somewhere in the palace, came the sound of hurried footsteps.

  The pilot approached the throne. As he knelt before Alberto, the girls could hardly breathe. The herald blew on his trumpet: a triumphant, trilling fanfare with suitably royal pomp.

  The hurried footsteps were getting louder, reverberating along the corridor.

  Alberto lifted the crown high. ‘With this, I name you King of Kalia,’ he said to the pilot, and the old man encircled the young man’s head with the heft of the crown.

  ‘Stop!’ cried a voice, and Bernard burst into the throne room. Everyone turned to him. ‘There isn’t any door!’

  But Bernard was seconds too late. Kalia had a new king. Clarence breathed an audible sigh, his thin face flushed with relief.

  Agnes turned to the windows. The sea wind was blowing freshly through, the curtains danced in joy, and the sunlight in the room had become, yes, brighter. She blinked. Was that – was that – a toucan that just flew by? When she looked again, it was gone.

  The adviser Bernard clung to the curtains, severely out of breath.

  ‘And once done, it cannot be undone,’ said the pilot, rising to his feet and surveying the room. He looked very calm, and he smiled at the girls. For all their sorrow, they had to admit to themselves that the crown suited him very well; it shone as brightly on his pilot’s cap as the circle of oaks in the forest of gold.

  ‘Sire, sire,’ panted Bernard, letting go of the curtain and staggering towards Alberto. ‘This is all a terrible mistake. There’s been a trick. There isn’t any door! I’ve looked! There isn’t any tree palace. It’s nonsense. This boy was lying to you. You’ve handed your crown to a liar!’

  Alberto blinked and shook his head. ‘A liar?’

  ‘There is a tree palace,’ said the new king. ‘I’ve been there, several times.’

  The princesses stared at each other in confusion. Several times? But this pilot had only been with them for one night.

  ‘I want to go there myself,’ announced Alberto. ‘If it isn’t there, I’ll take my crown back.’

  ‘Ah. It isn’t possible to enter the tree palace simply because you want to,’ said the new king.

  ‘You see! You see!’ said Bernard. ‘Because it isn’t there!’

  ‘Not at all,’ said the new king. ‘You have to be a necessary guest, that’s all.’

  Agnes looked with curiosity at the pilot. Had he been a necessary guest too? ‘It is there,’ she said, forgetting in her anger at Bernard that she was supposed to keep the tree palace secret. ‘You just have to know where to look.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Polina, drawing close to Agnes’s side. ‘You saw the gold branch, Father. The silver leaf, the diamond.’

  Alberto looked from daughter to daughter in confusion. ‘I did,’ he said. ‘It’s true.’

  Bernard scoffed. ‘He could have got those shining trinkets from any old market on his way here.’

  Alberto looked panicked. ‘That’s true too.’

  ‘Sire,’ soothed Clarence. ‘Think of your retirement plans.’

  As if to settle the argument, the new king reached into his pockets to show a worn-out pair of shoes, with holes in their soles. ‘If I have deceived you, sire,’ he said to Alberto, ‘it is over one thing only.’ He held the shoes out towards the old king. ‘Perhaps you will remember these?’

  Alberto peered at the bashed-up shoes, and turned pale. He started huffing and puffing. When Agnes saw the shoes for herself, and realised how the new king might have that particular pair in his possession, she gasped.

  The new king dropped the worn-out shoes on the throne room floor.

  He lifted off his crown, his pilot’s cap and goggles, never once taking his eyes off Alberto. With a twist of his fingers, long locks of billowing hair fell to his shoulders, tumbling from their bindings – and Frida stood before them.

  Frida, their brand new king.

  ‘I suppose you’d better call me queen of Kalia, actually,’ Frida said to the stunned gathering, as she twirled her pilot’s goggles on her index finger, placing the crown back on her head with her free hand.

  Bernard took one look at her and fainted to the floor.

  ‘I knew it!’ cried Agnes.

  Alberto staggered away. ‘Frida?’ he uttered. ‘But –’

  ‘I knew you’d come back,’ said Agnes. Lorna fell to her knees in tears, and the other sisters laughed and whooped around the room.

  ‘Queen Frida! Queen Frida!’ Vita chanted.

  ‘I promised, didn’t I?’ said Frida – expert pilot, new queen of Kalia – as she opened her arm s. Her sisters ran towards her, each of them hugging her tight, sobbing into her shoulders, kissing her face, patting her flying jacket and trying on her goggles.

  ‘Where have you been?’ Agnes said. ‘How have you –’

  ‘Didn’t I say, Aggie? It’s a big world out there,’ said Frida, smiling. ‘I’ll tell you about it later.’

  ‘This is impossible,’ said Alberto, stamping his foot. ‘No daughter of mine knows how to fly a plane!’

  ‘Oh, Father. This one does. It took me a few weeks, but I managed it.’

  ‘Frida, give me back my crown!’

  ‘I’m afraid I won’t be doing that, Father,’ said Frida firmly. ‘And as you once pointed out to me: with this crown, I am the law.’

  ‘But –’

  ‘And Clarence is right. Thank you, Clarence. What about all those hobbies you wanted to take up in retirement?’

  ‘But –!’

  ‘You may keep the diamond as a token of my appreciation.’

  Alberto stared at his daughter the queen. The princesses watched with fascination as their father seemed to wrestle with him self without actually moving. His mouth bobbed open and closed like a confused fish. His eyes boggled. He looked like a man having a tug of war with his own soul. And then he laughed – yes, Alberto, the man who had not laughed for months and months, began to shake, big belly hoots, wheezing squeals of what they dared to hope was joy. ‘Oh my, oh my!’ he said.

  ‘Are you quite well, sire?’ said Clarence.

  The old man stared at the adviser. ‘Quite well!’ he said. ‘I think I may never have been better!’ He opened his palm and looked at the diamond resting in the centre, glinting an
d winking at him like a promise of a future he’d never dared admit. Then, to their astonishment, he ran from the room, tripping over the figure of Bernard, who was still lying in shock on the floor.

  No one could stop the old king; he couldn’t get out of there fast enough. They could hear the patter of his footsteps down the corridor, interspersed with occasional hoots and whoops, noises he hadn’t made since he was a boy.

  ‘Queen Frida,’ said Clarence, his thin face alight with pleasure as he emerged from the cluster of astonished staff. He knelt. ‘A great leader stands before us,’ he said. ‘It shall be an honour to serve you.’

  The other advisers looked at each other, wondering whether to follow Clarence’s lead.

  ‘A queen?’ whispered one. ‘This is a bit… new.’

  ‘How glad I am I didn’t call the new monarch a liar. Poor, stupid Bernard!’ whispered another.

  ‘But she isn’t really new, is she?’ said yet another. ‘Queen Frida is still the same brave, clever, thoughtful person she’s always been.’

  ‘Indeed. And who knows Kalia better? No one.’

  They all fell to their knees before her.

  ‘Thank you, Clarence. Thank you, gentlemen,’ said Frida. ‘But, please, get up. And stop whispering. We’ve got so much to do.’

  Eight

  Peacocks and Paw Prints

  Kalia was a very different place after Frida became queen. Bernard and a few others who weren’t in agreement with a queen being in charge, particularly one so talented, were dismissed. Frida, aided by Clarence, filled her palace with people from all sorts of backgrounds and experiences. She became an excellent leader, and a great favourite am ongst the Kalian citizens: fair, thoughtful, open-minded and patient, not without a little bit of spark to get her through the difficult times. She can still be seen occasionally, flying in her biplane over the city of Lago Puera, dipping and soaring over the famous Kalian sea.

  About a month into her reign, she built a dance floor in the palace. It has black and white tiles on the floor, and multicoloured lights which bob like fireflies, and every Friday all the people of Kalia are invited to come and dance. The food’s pretty good too.