The Princess and the Firedrake

by Jim Stinson

  When they’d had enough dancing Alix introduced Jack to hot pear juice - the Sulphronian national beverage - and they took their glasses out on the garden terrace. “Well,” he said cheerfully, “in addition to dances, you’ve so far covered astronomy, mathematics, political economy, The Iliad of Homer, and bug collecting.”

  “Entomology,” Alix corrected him automatically, “not to be confused with etymology, which is the study of word origins.”

  “Yes,” Jack agreed, “I did know that one.”

  But now that strange new idea was suddenly clear to her, and it shocked her so badly that she had to steady herself on the balustrade. As if some kind of fog had been lifted, Alix’s brain ticked off the advice she had given this evening, the lectures delivered to palace staff, the many times she’d corrected the king. For the very first time, Alix saw herself through the eyes of the palace, and the person she saw was a knowitall busybody. She looked at her whole past history, horrified.

  “I…” she turned to Jack and her voice was shaking with shame, “Please, I… I am so very sorry; I can’t seem to help myself.”

  “About what?” his surprise seemed quite genuine.

  “Correcting everyone, improving everybody, criticizing, knowing better. It’s almost like a curse or something. And I never knew; I never knew I did it!”

  “I can always use a bit of improving,” he murmured, smiling out at the night, which had cooled to what Herr Fahrenheit would someday label 85 degrees. Jack turned to her and those eyes of his sparkled again. “You know, I’m most keen to learn about faeries.”

  “About what?”

  “Sulphronia’s famous for faeries, of course, so I thought you must know all about them.”

  “I know that they don’t…” she began, but then the second half of her thought trailed off into doubt, “faeries are… purely a myth. I mean, I think they are.” Her thoughts stumbled a bit. “I mean, well, aren’t they?”

  “Ah,” he said mildly, pointing out at the garden. “Then how do you get those small statues to move?” Alix followed his look.

  The garden was teeming with faeries, flitting over the flower beds, capering in the hedges, dancing on the lawn. There were pixies too, with small flutes, and two gnomes playing chess by a tiny door in a tree trunk.

  Alix froze and her brain raced even faster than normal. Faeries and pixies and gnomes in the garden? Wishing rings? Vanishing caps? Wooden owls that could talk?

  Perhaps her sudden knowledge of her own behavior - or maybe Jack’s warm and accepting company - had altered her deepest feelings. Without her life-long certainty about absolutely everything, she was suddenly open to absolutely anything.

  And the first new thing was this: magic existed! The faerie world was real!

  As she watched the small creatures cavort on the embassy lawn, a wide, open smile spread across Alix’s face. “Why, they’re marvelous!” she cried, “I had no idea!” She giggled and clapped her hands like a child.

  “You had no idea?” Jack quickly concealed his astonishment. “Ahem… well, perhaps they’re unusually thick on the ground here.”

  “No, I just never…” Then a horrible thought punctured her joy like a dueling sword: if faeries were real, then so were firedrakes. The heat wave was caused by a firedrake; poor Hubert was killed by a firedrake!

  Almost panicked, she stepped back from the terrace balustrade. “Wilf… uh, I mean Jack, I’m so sorry. Something terribly... I have to leave; I...” She stripped off her glove and touched the blue ring. “I wish to be back in the palace storeroom!”

  Jack felt a wind as air rushed to fill the hole where the princess had stood. Surprised but not frightened, he thought, well, she must know something of magic. She didn’t just stroll out of here.

  Lord Wilfred came bouncing through the French doors. “Ah, there you are, Jack! I, ah… where’s your young lady - er, I mean of course, her royal highness?”

  “Sudden business at the palace, I think.”

  “I say, people here seem rather jumpy! Not like our last posting, what?” He looked slightly befuddled, as usual. “Not at all like the Flemish, are they?”

  * * * *

  Alix flashed into being in the storeroom, rushed over to the mirror, and shook its frame with both hands. “Owl, wake up! Owl!!”

  The owl took its own sweet time getting up to speed: glowing, eyes opening, wings stretching, etc. When it felt it had made its point, it looked at her haughtily. “You rang?” said the owl in a tone the Major Domo might envy.

  “Did I wake you? I’m sorry.”

  “I’m made of wood; I don’t sleep.”

  Alix huffed with frustration. “Then why…? Never mind; can you show me the firedrake?”

  “Which one? There are three of them left.”

  “All in Mount Sulfur?”

  “Ah, that would be Griddle,” said the owl, and the mirror cleared to show just the foreleg and hoof of what looked like an iron bull. The hoof dipped into molten lava, as if testing a bath for temperature as the view widened to show the whole monster: a rhinoceros body between a dragon’s head and tail, propped up on a bull’s legs and hooves. The great body was made out of riveted plates and it glowed like coals in a grate. It’s bat wings lay folded against its huge flanks.

  “How big is that thing?” Alix breathed.

  “From snout to tail spike about 20 meters - oh, but then, you wouldn’t know meters.”

  “Tell me about them,” said Alix, eagerly.

  “Um, 21.87 cloth yards.”

  “Yes, but those ‘meter’ things.”

  “They won’t be devised until 1791.” The owl looked as doubtful as a wooden face could, then, “The thing is, I’ve already passed through 1791. I live moving backward through time.”

  “Backw…?”

  “Um. I used to work with Merlin, that is I’m going to work with him, you see… ah, well, you don’t see, of course. Merlin and I live our lives in the wrong direction, from future to past - it’s in all the Arthurian legends, and… oh, never mind; it’s too hard to explain.”

  “Please!”

  “Well, I’ve already seen several later centuries - and a dismal lot they are, most of them - but they have made great progress in science.”

  “Science! Oh, tell me everything!”

  “Mm,” said the owl diplomatically, but aren’t you forgetting the firedrake?”

  “Oh, right! I must destroy it at once. It murdered poor Hubert and now it’s baking the kingdom to death!”

  “Very hard to kill the firedrake; trust me: it’s been tried.”

  Alix thought swiftly, as always. “I have a magic ring. I can wish the beast dead.”

  The owl shook its wooden head. “The wishing ring can neither take a life nor give it back.”

  “Well, there must be something….” Alix looked around the cavernous storeroom. “Maybe some of these things are magic too.” She began rummaging through the other faerie gifts that were strewn haphazardly everywhere.

  The owl watched a moment, then said, “You’d better know what you’re doing. Some of those 'things' can be dangerous.” Completely absorbed in her search, Alix paid no attention; and after a while, the owl shrugged, closed its eyes, and stopped glowing.

  Chapter 7

  Prince Filbert Sets Forth; Princess Alix Takes Flight

  The next day King Grogelbert called everyone into the makeshift throne room at City Hall. The king and queen were trying in vain to look dignified while their thrones wobbled and swayed on their improvised columns of boxes and books. The four court philosophers were dozing in the chairs intended for city councilmen. Gwendolyn and Mandolyn stood flanking Prince Filbert. Gwendolyn was dressed all in black and Mandolyn clung to her fiancé Filbert, who clung just as desperately back.

  Queen Athena looked furious; Grogelbert looked unhappy but stubborn.

  Prince Filbert said in a trembly voice, “But Poppa, you know what that monster did to Hubert.” The king nodded sadly. “And he was
a warrior. I’m more of a, of a…”

  “A poet,” said Mandolyn quickly.

  This caught the king by surprise. “A what? If you’re a poet, recite something.”

  Filbert unwound himself from Mandolyn and straightened up to his full beanpole height. He placed one hand on his heart and held the other out in approved oration posture. “Ahem!

  Lo! the fickle-fingered dawn

  Perambulates across the lawn…”

  The fourth philosopher woke up. “What’s ‘perambulate’?”

  The king waved all this away. “Poet or not, you’ve got to kill the Firedrake. I know, I know: you’re not exactly Hercules; but I’m down to my last champion.”

  “Ch-champion?” Filbert and Mandolyn tangled up in each other again.

  “Besides,” the king added defensively, “Signor Galileo’s got a new, improved weapon.”

  “Grazie, Maiestí.” The great scientist clapped twice and Filbert’s squire Dieter dragged another low wagon into the council chamber. It carried a catapult with a big leather ball in the throwing cup that held missiles. “Dis is a catapulta. Instead of a big rock, it got a ball full a water, no? Pull da trigger; catapulta shoots da ball; cold water hitsa hot firedrake. Powie!!”

  With a dramatic flourish, Galileo yanked a lanyard. The catapult arm snapped forward and the leather ball flew through the air and smashed on the opposite wall. An explosion of water drenched the four old philosophers.

  The first philosopher quavered excitedly, “A catapult is a rainstorm!” The other philosophers felt their sopping robes and nodded approvingly. They were actually glad for the cooling off.

  Filbert said desperately, “Water didn’t work for Hubert…”

  “Atsa my genius,” said Galileo, “Dat fire engine shoot only maybe ten feet, but dis baby trow half a league! You stay far away; not get cooked. Molto bene, no?

  “Peachy,” said Filbert politely. Nurse Hildegard and the Major Domo exchanged meaningful looks and the philosophers attended to wringing out beards.

  The queen could contain herself no longer. The events of the past few days had brought her love for her children out from the shadows cast by her science. Rounding on the king, she said in a voice trembling with fury, “You are sending our last son out to die!”

  The king knew she was right, which only made him angrier. “What choice have I got?” he shouted, “if he doesn’t kill that firedrake, we’ll all die - of starvation or heat stroke!”

  Too furious to speak further, Filbert’s mother leaped off her throne, which fell over backward, and without so much as a curtsey, turned her back on the king and stalked out.

  * * * *

  Through most of the day, Princess Alix had doggedly pawed through the grubby mountain of faerie gifts in the dusty, cobwebby storeroom. Dressed again in her practical jerkin and tights, she had shown the owl ivory beads, yak skulls, stuffed dolls, moldy boots, ragged feathers, putrid liquids in flasks, and so on and so forth, as the patient owl named each one and explained its purpose. Now she sat on the dusty stone floor, petting Max and feeling frustrated.

  But she had solved one baffling problem. The obstacle was her particular type of intelligence. Alix was brilliant at learning things and remembering them - like the names of the every Turkish ship at the battle of Lepanto - and she now had a perfect understanding of each and every gift in the room. But her brain was like an encyclopedia: it could store a million details but was somewhat less good at connecting them. After a dogged struggle to think of a plan, she finally selected the Cap of Darkness, the blue wishing ring, and Excalibur, the sword donated by Merlin.

  She stood up and said to the owl, “How about this: the cap to make me invisible, the sword to kill the firedrake, and the wishing ring to get me to Mount Sulfur.”

  The owl shook its wooden head. “The problem is, you don’t know the terrain. Without detailed and specific instructions, the ring could drop you right in the lava. Try the magic flying feather instead.”

  The princess looked doubtful. “I don’t know how to fly. How do you do it?”

  The owl shrugged. “Just spread my wings and flap… yes, I do see the problem in your case.” It nodded at the large window set in the tower wall. “Perhaps a training flight?” Alix looked apprehensive. “If you find that you can’t work the feather, just wish yourself back here.” When she appeared even more doubtful, it added, “Preferably before you hit the ground.”

  Alix looked out of the window. The ground referred to was a very long way down. Then she thought of poor dead Hubert and took a deep breath. “Right!” she said, pinning the magic feather to her jerkin and clambering onto the window ledge. “Am I supposed to say something?”

  The owl cocked its head, thinking. “‘Geronimo’ is customary, I believe…”

  “Ger…?”

  “…no, that would be parachuting. Just jump off the ledge and think flying.”

  “Easy for you to say.” Alix looked up at the sky, took a deep breath, leaped out of the window,

  …and dropped like a granite boulder. As the ground raced up to smash her in the face, Alix said desperately, “Flying! Flying!!” And lo, the vertical line she was tracing curved out in a great sweeping arc, looping all the way back to straight upward and then looping down again. “Straight, no, flat, no, parallel to the ground!” Alix screamed and her path leveled off as the wind tore the words from her mouth and tangled her long hair over her back.

  As she swooped and wheeled like a giant swallow, Alix saw that she didn’t need words; she had only to think how she wanted to fly and her motion followed her thought. Giddy with joy, she zigzagged and looped and corkscrewed and zipped down to buzz the hedges dividing one yellow field from the next.

  The sight of all this dead grass and the thin, hopeless cattle that stood on it reminded Alix that this was no pleasure jaunt. She was training to battle a monster that had killed her brother and brought her whole land to its knees. So she practiced attacks and evasions until she was satisfied and then swooped home to the tower. Landing would be the tricky bit, Alix realized. Slower, she thought; fly slower still, and the window ledge floated gracefully toward her. She lit, leaned forward, and dropped down into the storeroom.

  She was shining with sun and wind and pure joy when she noticed the owl’s expression. “What’s wrong?” Alix asked.

  “Look in my glass,” said the owl.

  Alix looked in the glass. It presented a number of different views in succession, beginning with an image of Prince Filbert, wearily hauling his catapult cart up the glowing slope of Mount Sulfur. Squire Dieter was well down the hillside.

  Then the firedrake poked his great scaly head over the rim of the crater and studied Filbert with genial interest.

  When he dared get no closer, Filbert chocked a cart wheel, then cranked the catapult throwing arm all the way back until it’s cup was dead horizontal.

  The firedrake looked intrigued by these preparations.

  Almost overbalanced by its huge weight, Filbert managed to heave the great leather water-filled ball into the throwing cup.

  Grasping the concept, the firedrake nodded approvingly.

  Sighting carefully along the throwing arm, Filbert yanked the lanyard, the arm snapped upward…

  …and the water ball arced backward to explode down-slope over Dieter, quite soaking him.

  After a moment of disbelief, the firedrake let out a giant guffaw, shooting flames in the air from his nostrils and columns of smoke from his ears. His bellowing merriment thundered on, while Filbert stood there, frozen with dread.

  After a long siege of helpless laughter, the beast simmered down to hiccuppy chuckles and snorts, while lava tears oozed down his cast iron cheeks. “Oh my, oh my,” the firedrake wheezed, “Oh, I needed that.” He grinned down at Filbert. “I thank you, Sir Knight; you have truly made my day.” He wiped at his eyes. “Oh, I almost forgot: ruucckkk-TOOEY!!”

  A great yellow fireball hurtled forward to fill the whole mirror. When
it had passed, a small pile of ashes lay by the skeleton of a catapult.

  Saved by his drenching, though blackened and steaming, Dieter ran for his life.

  The mirror went dark.

  For the longest time Alix sat in the twilight with Max at her feet, staring into the cloudy glass in the hope that it might retell the tale with a happier ending. It didn’t, of course.

  Finally, she shook her head violently, as if flinging a nightmare away. “Of course, you know this means war,” Alix said. The owl raised an oak eyebrow. “This is not about my two brothers alone; that horrible beast is destroying our kingdom.” She stepped over Max and paced the stone floor. “So the kingdom must rise and confront it. It’s the duty of every citizen to defend our homeland.”

  The owl raised a second eyebrow. “You may run into trouble with that one.”

  “Oh, I’m on firm ground here,” she said, “it’s right there in Magruder’s Sulphronian Government.”

  “That’s all very well in theory…”

  “Page four hundred and three. I’ll rouse the citizens; go recruit them.”

  “Ah…”

  “Ring, I wish to be downtown!”

  “Well, live and learn,” sighed the owl.

  * * * *

  Princess Alix appeared in the fountain as usual, to find herself surrounded, for some reason, by a mob of irate Gdinkers brandishing pitchforks and torches. Her sudden arrival started them rushing in all directions and yelling incoherently: Whoa! it’s the warlock! Get the chains! Get the garlic! No, dummy, garlic’s for vampires. Hey, watch where you’re sticking that pitchfork!

  Alix had run out of patience. “BE QUIET!” she bellowed. The terrified crowd gasped and froze. “I’m not a warlock, neighbors; I’m Princess Alix, your Alix.”

  “Should I anoint him now?” Schnecken quavered.

  Blintz approached fearfully and touched Alix’s sleeve. “Are you really?”

  “Yes, really, dear friends.”

  Blintz surveyed her tights and close-fitting jerkin. “You seem, ah, different somehow.”