3 Dead Princes: An Anarchist Fairy Tale by Danbert Nobacon Read Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Danbert Nobacon
night.
She watched as they disappeared, hurrying, into the dark, and didn’t blink once, not even when Stormy looked back uncertainly one last time. It was only when the Queen knew they were gone that she allowed herself a brief moment of collapse. She sank back against the wall, gasping for air.
Geraldo looked at her, worried. “Yoga breath!” he advised.
“Yes. Yes,” she said. And the deep breaths did indeed help restore her regal balance. Because for a Queen and for all of us sometimes duty comes first. And duty is hard. It is hard to send a child out into the world to become an adult. But it has to be done.
“We’ll wait until dawn,” she said tensely. “Before we rouse the Oosarians. We have to give Stormy and The Fool what little head start we can.”
Geraldo nodded.
Yoga breath again. And a silent prayer that no one would hear the muted patter of the donkeys carrying The Fool and Stormy from the rear stable, to a mountain trail, and into the night.
No one in the castle stirred. And there was no sound until just before dawn the screams of Queen Nukeander, who had woken early and gone in search of her son. She, who knew her son well, had known in which bedroom to first look.
Gwynmerelda looked grimly at Geraldo and said, “I’ll go to her. And you …”
He nodded. He knew what he had to do.
In a side chamber, Rogerley Bishop, the highest-ranking Morainian probber, was discussing matters with Elijareen, the Oosarian probber.
“You planned this?” Elijareen asked coolly.
“No, no, no,” replied Bishop with a satisfied smile. “Would that I had any influence over that reckless girl. But it does rather, shall we say, change things?”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning people understand a war of revenge.”
As indeed they do, in every world. And this sort-of world was no different from any other in needing a seen-to-be-respectable reason for warring against a neighbor.
This, Stormy had now provided. One dead Prince was a good reason. Even if it was an accident.
Chapter 9
A GIG AT THE GRACKLE TAVERN
S tormy and The Fool rode their donkeys relentlessly north and west. It was a mostly cloudy, moonless night, and not at all easy going on the less well-used trails. Only the occasional glimpse of the pole star gave them reassurance.
By midmorning they were heading high into the mountains. The sun rose and warmed their backs. It felt like Spring. As the trail wound its way skyward towards an unseen pass, particular zigs or zags gave them brief glimpses of a snow-covered peak, beyond which lay the Great Ice Wall.
They rode on, not daring to stop for rest, reached the mountain pass by late afternoon, and began their descent into the next valley over. The sun cast its glare on a lake far below. It would be nightfall soon.
“We need to go into a town,” The Fool said, worried. “There is a place I know down below. We can rest there.”
As the warm day melted into twilight, The Fool and the Princess entered the small lakeside town of Wangodmanchia. There were few people on Main Street, but Stormy didn’t dare raise her head to look at their faces. Her attention, anyway, was drawn to a low noise coming from a leaning building down at the end of the street. As they neared, the noise of boisterous voices got louder, and Stormy could see the decrepit look of the building, which was wholly out of place among the austere and well-kept houses of the town.
“Here it is,” said The Fool, thinking to himself it had been a long time. “The gobstained Grackle Tavern.” Dismounting and indicating Stormy do the same, he whispered, “Trust me!” He helped her down and hitched the donkeys to the rail. “It’ll just be one drink, and you’ll be in a comfy bed before you know it. We just have to establish our presence, so people won’t think anything of it. Follow my lead and you’ll be
She watched as they disappeared, hurrying, into the dark, and didn’t blink once, not even when Stormy looked back uncertainly one last time. It was only when the Queen knew they were gone that she allowed herself a brief moment of collapse. She sank back against the wall, gasping for air.
Geraldo looked at her, worried. “Yoga breath!” he advised.
“Yes. Yes,” she said. And the deep breaths did indeed help restore her regal balance. Because for a Queen and for all of us sometimes duty comes first. And duty is hard. It is hard to send a child out into the world to become an adult. But it has to be done.
“We’ll wait until dawn,” she said tensely. “Before we rouse the Oosarians. We have to give Stormy and The Fool what little head start we can.”
Geraldo nodded.
Yoga breath again. And a silent prayer that no one would hear the muted patter of the donkeys carrying The Fool and Stormy from the rear stable, to a mountain trail, and into the night.
No one in the castle stirred. And there was no sound until just before dawn the screams of Queen Nukeander, who had woken early and gone in search of her son. She, who knew her son well, had known in which bedroom to first look.
Gwynmerelda looked grimly at Geraldo and said, “I’ll go to her. And you …”
He nodded. He knew what he had to do.
In a side chamber, Rogerley Bishop, the highest-ranking Morainian probber, was discussing matters with Elijareen, the Oosarian probber.
“You planned this?” Elijareen asked coolly.
“No, no, no,” replied Bishop with a satisfied smile. “Would that I had any influence over that reckless girl. But it does rather, shall we say, change things?”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning people understand a war of revenge.”
As indeed they do, in every world. And this sort-of world was no different from any other in needing a seen-to-be-respectable reason for warring against a neighbor.
This, Stormy had now provided. One dead Prince was a good reason. Even if it was an accident.
Chapter 9
A GIG AT THE GRACKLE TAVERN
S tormy and The Fool rode their donkeys relentlessly north and west. It was a mostly cloudy, moonless night, and not at all easy going on the less well-used trails. Only the occasional glimpse of the pole star gave them reassurance.
By midmorning they were heading high into the mountains. The sun rose and warmed their backs. It felt like Spring. As the trail wound its way skyward towards an unseen pass, particular zigs or zags gave them brief glimpses of a snow-covered peak, beyond which lay the Great Ice Wall.
They rode on, not daring to stop for rest, reached the mountain pass by late afternoon, and began their descent into the next valley over. The sun cast its glare on a lake far below. It would be nightfall soon.
“We need to go into a town,” The Fool said, worried. “There is a place I know down below. We can rest there.”
As the warm day melted into twilight, The Fool and the Princess entered the small lakeside town of Wangodmanchia. There were few people on Main Street, but Stormy didn’t dare raise her head to look at their faces. Her attention, anyway, was drawn to a low noise coming from a leaning building down at the end of the street. As they neared, the noise of boisterous voices got louder, and Stormy could see the decrepit look of the building, which was wholly out of place among the austere and well-kept houses of the town.
“Here it is,” said The Fool, thinking to himself it had been a long time. “The gobstained Grackle Tavern.” Dismounting and indicating Stormy do the same, he whispered, “Trust me!” He helped her down and hitched the donkeys to the rail. “It’ll just be one drink, and you’ll be in a comfy bed before you know it. We just have to establish our presence, so people won’t think anything of it. Follow my lead and you’ll be
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