by Jon Jacks
And the Sea, seeing a small gap appear where the great plates had been joined together, gleefully poured in. She rushed into the holds of the great vessel, where its many captured treasures had been stored. She flooded into the cellars of the great houses, where wines from around the world were shelved. She ran down the city streets, transforming them first into streams then into great rivers.
She brought down the walls of the coliseum, the towers, the windmills. She welcomed the harbour waters back into her embrace once more.
And as the Empress Atlantopatris sank with her great ship, she wailed at the Sea, ‘What great and mighty god helped you manage this?’
‘Oh great and mighty Empress,’ the Sea replied, rippling with laughter, ‘let me be the first and last to tell you; you were defeated by the weakest and puniest creatures of all!’
*
Chapter 22
‘Isn’t there any way that I can get to see him?’ Carey asked wistfully, forlornly staring at the immense doors.
‘Sorry Carey, not today it seems.’
The Princess stepped over towards one of the easels, one that supported a large sketchbook rather than a canvas.
‘Of course, he’s always valued his privacy, putting his work before any socialising; which, I’m afraid, was obviously the cause of so many problems in the past.’
Taking the sketchbook off the easel, she turned and handed it to Carey.
‘Until you do get to see him, perhaps this might compensate you for your patience? It’s the story he’s basing all these ideas on.’ With a wave of a hand, she indicated the surrounding pictures. ‘You’d be the first to see how you could turn it into a play for your theatre.’
Eagerly flicking through the book, Carey was amazed by the beauty of the Illuminator’s flowing script, as well as the energy and skill of the countless coloured sketches and ideas he’d included alongside. Seeing the sketchbook like this, as well as having just had her attention drawn to the panelling on the doors, she suddenly understood what had been familiar about the drawing and paintings displayed around the gallery.
‘The Sea Empress,’ she said, finding it hard to hide her disappointment, her sense that she’d been tricked somehow, coming all this way only to be given a story that just about everyone knew. Just as the Princess had done only moments before, she indicated the surrounding paintings with a casually dismissive wave of a hand. ‘I mean all these pictures of industry, mining, construction. All the flames, the molten metals and the felling and sawing of the trees; it’s just another, more detailed retelling of The Sea Empress.’
‘Hah, it’s based on The Sea Empress, yes,’ the Princess agreed surprisingly enthusiastically as she made her way back to and began descending the spiral stairway once more. ‘But in this case the Illuminator is trying to imagine what The Sea Empress would be like if, instead of being a ship, it was a book!’
‘But…but if it’s a book, it’s just the story of The Sea Empress; isn’t it?’
Carey sounded doubtful as she followed on behind the Princess.
‘Quite often, when the Illuminator is trying to think of an original way of telling a story, he first thinks of an amazing or wondrous object, or a powerful sensation, event or song – such as an elaborately carved church, the flowering of a certain bloom, or the anguished love of a repetitive melody – and then he thinks; Now, what would that be like if it were a book?’
‘I…still don’t understand the difference; sorry.’
Despite admitting this, Carey clung on tightly to the sketchbook, realising this might be something incredibly precious and different after all.
‘Well The Sea Empress, the ship, of course, was powerful, magnificent, opulent; and yet it contained the minute yet fatal flaw that would doom it!’
‘Flaw? I can’t remember hearing of any flaw in the ship.’
‘The buckled plates, the way a gap appeared at their joints? That could only have happened, the Illuminator has reasoned, if some of the nails holding them together were flawed; perhaps even just one of the nails!’
They had almost approached the bottom of the stairwell, and Cary was just a little dizzy after walking around in circle after circle.
‘So the book has a flaw? In its binding? Its cover?’
‘No; the flaw must be contained within the story. It mustn’t even be clearly described, either, but hidden until it reveals itself through the resulting chaos!’
Carey didn’t feel that this conversation was getting her any closer to understanding what the story was all about.
‘Well, I must say there are certainly plenty of flaws like that in life,’ Carey said, thinking of her own life. ‘Although I’m not sure that I’ve come across any hidden in stories!’
‘Actually, I think some of what seem to be our happiest stories have flaws in them, if you think about them hard enough.’
As they had at last reached the bottom of the tower and were standing in the long corridor once more, the Princess had turned to face Carey. She smiled, yet there was a loneliness and sadness in her eyes that Carey hadn’t noticed before.
Carey glanced about her at the opulent room, with its rich curtains, its thick, luxurious carpet, its sparkling mirrors framed with ornate gold. Yes, it’s a palace, an envious place to live; but just how wonderful a place is it to live in if there’s no one to share it with? She realised that she would rather live in her cramped caravan with her friends than here, in all this comfort and indulgence, if it meant living on her own.
The Princess was lonely. It wasn’t a fairy tale existence after all.
‘What do you do here, Princess? I mean, when you’re not running your kingdom; what do you do in your own time?’
Carey suddenly feared she might have gone too far, asking such a rudely inquisitive question. Fortunately, the Princess didn’t seem to mind.
‘Why, I read of course!’ she answered, and gaily enough too to make Carey wonder if she hadn’t imagined after all that the Princess seemed lonely.
‘That’s it? Just read?’
Carey had only just noticed that they weren’t heading back the way they had arrived but, instead, had passed through a door leading off from the corridor directly opposite the tower. They were on the moving carpet once more too, hurtling along at ridiculous speed through a series of narrow hallways that finally deposited them in a sunlit reading room. There were only a few shelves, and these held only a few, leather bound books. Other books were laid open on angled tables situated in bay windows, a high chair pulled up at each table, in readiness for anyone who wished to read that particular book. Thin curtains had been pulled across these windows, dimming the light, yet Carey still glimpsed small illustrations in the books that glittered with what seemed to be real gold. The colours were as bright as enamels too; gloriously rich reds, blues and greens.
‘This isn’t the library, of course; just certain books I’ve had brought in here for reading.’
The Princess said it remarkably casually, but Carey knew enough about books to know that these were ancient and therefore incredibly rare and expensive. They weren’t printed, as most books now were, but hand lettered and illustrated, each one an individual work of art painstakingly created by perhaps one man over years of solitary work. Carey could also tell by the way the pages gleamed that they weren’t of paper but of vellum, which pointed to these books being centuries old.
‘It’s poetry,’ the Princess continued to explain, drawing closer towards the books on display. ‘Love poetry; so beautiful, so heartfelt, it breaks your heart just reading it.’
The lettering of the books was elaborate, a decoration in its own right Carey thought. But the illustrations were so wonderfully intricate you could get lost just trying to follow the patterns of elongated and intertwining animals and plants. Where the patterns became pictures, they may have been scenes of life from hundreds of years ago, but they were
still recognisable to Carey as everyday life of today; farmers ploughing fields, women herding geese, boys and girls playing on greens. Great white castles dominated green fields and forests, red-tiled towns sat beneath snow topped mountains, ships with vast sails sought shelter from storms in busy ports. Then there were the areas of life Carey knew existed, but had never experienced herself; well-dressed ladies attending court, knights being unhorsed in tournaments, pageants of pageboys and musicians.
‘There’s a romance in these poems that’s missing from so many of today’s stories,’ the Princess sighed.
She reached out and touched one of the pictures. Instantly, her eyes glazed over, a dreamy, dazed look crossing her face as if she had abruptly being transported into the scene. It reminded Carey of the way she felt whenever she touched a character in one of the Illuminator’s illustrations.
‘The troubadours would tour the land, singing their songs of love.’ The Princess spoke as if she really were in a dream.
‘Well there’s still at least one troubadour left; I meet him when travelling here.’
‘You’ve met a troubadour?’
The Princess said it as if it were the most amazing thing she’d ever heard. Her eyes opened wide as she looked at Carey as if she were the luckiest girl in the world.
‘I really didn’t realise that there were still any around, although I’d wished and wished and wished that there was at least one who could sing his songs to me! Handsome, witty, playful, charming. Spending all his time writing his songs and stories about the girl he loves!’
As the Princess took her hand away from the picture, Carey saw that it portrayed a golden haired man, mounted on a chestnut horse and playing a lute.
‘This troubadour was handsome enough,’ Carey said. ‘But unfortunately he wasn’t very good at his endings!’
The Princess giggled happily.
‘Not very good at his endings? That’s not unusual for a troubadour, Carey! In fact, that means he’s a true troubadour!’
She wistfully turned the pages of the book before her, revealing more and more of the beautiful illustrations, this time of gloriously dressed ladies walking alone in gardens or staring sadly out of windows.
‘Many people of today read these songs and think they end strangely, or even that an essential part of it has been lost over the centuries. Yet they simply don’t end the way we have come to expect them to end, with everything neatly resolved and explained for us; as if we ourselves have no imagination!’
‘But what kind of story is that?’ Carey complained. ‘Why tell a story if you yourself can’t be bothered to work out how it ends? You’re saying they expect the reader to come up with their own ending?’
‘And why not? He’s singing his love song to his beloved; and so only she can decide how it will end – happily or miserably! Only she has the key to unlock the ending he desires! Don’t you think that’s so wonderfully romantic, Carey?’
She moved towards the window, staring out of it as wistfully as any of the ladies portrayed in the book’s illustrations.
‘Why can’t that happen to me, Carey? Why can’t it happen for real? Why can’t I have a troubadour who seeks my love?’
Carey realised she should tell the Princess a little more about the troubadour.
‘But you’re–’
‘Yes, yes, I know what you’re about to say; but I’m being selfish!’ the Princess suddenly declared, excitedly whirling away from the window. ‘So locked up in my own selfishness that I’m not thinking of the sadness of this real troubadour, who’s hopelessly waiting for his beloved to respond to his verses! I wonder who she is. I wonder how she’ll respond. Poor man; to love her so and not know if she returns his love!’
Carey had to stop herself from smiling. The Princess sounded just like the troubadour, with her romantic ideals, the way she talked of love as if it were all some elaborate game.
‘Well, I’m not sure if it’s really for me to say, Princess; only you could answer your question, I suppose.’
‘Me? Why me? Do I know her?’
She rushed towards one of the windows overlooking the town.
‘Is it one of the girls in town? How wonderful! Perhaps I could persuade her to make this dear troubadour happy, do you think? I could offer to support their marriage; with flowers and a carriage for their wedding, a pretty little cottage for them to live in!’
Looking away from the window, the Princess noticed Carey’s embarrassment.
‘Carey? Is there something you’re not telling me?’
‘The girl does live in town…’
‘Hah, I thought so!’
‘In fact, I believe she’s in this very palace…’
The Princess gasped, her eyes opening wide in delight and astonishment.
‘Carey! You? This troubadour loves you!’
She tripped swiftly across the floor, grasping Carey’s hands and forcing her into a joyful dance.
‘Oh how wonderful Carey, how I envy you! We must arrange–’
She halted in mid-sentence, having realised that Carey was holding back from dancing with her.
‘Oh, you don’t love him Carey?’
‘Well…’
Carey shrugged.
‘…it’s not me he loves.’
‘Not you?’ The Princess frowned bemusedly.
Suddenly, the Princess looked strangely horrified.
‘It’s me?’ Now she was full of disbelief.
‘Me?’ She grinned with wide-eyed delight.
‘But wait,’ she said dismissively. ‘He doesn’t know me at all!’
‘He dreams of you every night, he says,’ Carey explained.
‘Still; a dream.’ The Princess frowned thoughtfully. ‘In his dream, I could be anybody. I could be some…some dream person, couldn’t I? Not a real girl!’
‘He’s read everything he can about you. And, of course, he’s seen all your pictures; so he knows what you look like. He knows you’re kind, wise…’
‘Oh, the poor poor man!’ The Princess shook her head sadly. ‘His idea of me is all based on stories! As I said, it’s just a dream version of me he really loves. How could I ever live up to whatever this dream woman of his is like?’
‘He also said that, when he touched your pictures, he seriously believed that you came to him in his dreams.’
The Princess appeared to briefly freeze, she was so startled. Slowly, she reached out towards Carey, gently touching her on her arm.
‘This troubadour, Carey; does he have hair that’s as gold as the sun?’
‘Yes, yes! He did!’
The Princess beamed. She stepped away, waltzing excitedly around the room, tipping her head back as if looking up into the eyes of the tall troubadour she seemed to believe was already holding her in his arms.
‘He’s real, he’s real, he’s real! The boy of my dreams is real!’
*
Chapter 23
There was still a small crowd gathered around the caravan and, although they weren’t putting on an actual show, Carey’s friends were managing to keep everyone entertained. As before, the crowd had split up into groups surrounding their particular favourite, and they laughed, giggled or clapped every now and again, though Carey couldn’t really see who they were surrounding, let alone what they were applauding.
Hearing the approach of Carey’s carriage, people began to turn to look her way. Grudo rose up from amongst them, children hanging off his arm. Dougy was the next to appear, effortlessly running through or between everyone’s legs to excitedly dash towards the oncoming carriage.
‘It’s Carey! She’s back!’ Carey heard Peregun exultantly cry out as the carriage drew to a halt and the door opened. ‘Sorry girls; I have to leave you for the moment!’
There were sighs of disappointment from everyone as Carey’s friends made their apologies and, stepping outside of the crowd
, started to head towards her.
‘How did it go?’
‘What’s going to happen?’
‘When’s it going to happen?’
‘What’s the Princess like?’
‘What did the Illuminator say?’
They all grinned expectantly. Carey felt terrible, knowing that she was going to disappoint them all.
‘Sorry everyone, not today; tomorrow! I’ll be seeing him tomorrow!’
‘Tomorrow’s fine!’ Grudo growled happily, placing a comforting arm around Carey’s shoulders. ‘We’ve waited this long; what’s one more day? And I never thought I’d be saying that, so that’s an amazing achievement in itself girl!’
‘That’s right, that’s right!’ Durndrin agreed, his face almost splitting he was smiling so much. ‘Who’d have thought it, eh? Who’d have thought we’d actually arrive here?’
‘Hey, are you saying you actually doubted Carey, Durndrin?’ Ferena laughed.
Durndrin would have blushed if puppets could blush.
‘Well, I didn’t actually mean th–’
‘That’s all right, Durndrin,’ Carey chuckled forgivingly. ‘Thing is, to be honest, I’d doubted it myself sometimes!’
‘And I see you have yet another book?’ Neris said, raising her eyes in mock admonishment as she indicated the sketchbook in Carey’s hands with a nod of her head.
‘Yes, yes!’ Carey declared eagerly, realising that the new story given to her might help allay any disappointment her friends might secretly feel. ‘It’s a new story; a story I want to read to you all straight away, to see if you think we can turn it into a play!’
*
Chapter 24
The Elemental Flaw
The men, thousands of them, toiled in the earth, so far underground that many of them feared they might break through at any moment into the fires of Hell. And as they burrowed farther and farther into the earth, the men piled up behind them whole new mountain ranges, transforming plains into a whole new landscape. Elsewhere, the earth was dropped into the sea on the edges of a great bay, creating the dam that would reclaim the land for man. And to create the supports for the mines, and the framework for the dam, and the carts that transported the rock and soil, whole forests were steadily being felled.
The Earth was outraged. Hadn’t she helped house and feed man since they had first arrived here? And hadn’t she, when she was angry with their behaviour, made them tremble with fear when she had quaked with rage? And now here they were digging deep into her very body, strewing her entrails out wherever they wished, robbing her of her riches of iron and coal. Worse still, they had corralled her sister and brothers into aiding her subjugation. How could they have tunnelled so deeply without the help of her brother Air, who had flowed along behind them, ensuring they retained the breath of life? Fire had lit their way, as well as smelting her iron until it also bent to man’s will. Then Water had hardened the iron in its new form, tools the men used to hack away at her all the more.
