3 Dead Princes: An Anarchist Fairy Tale by Danbert Nobacon Read Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Danbert Nobacon
fine.”
Pushing open the doors, they entered the Tavern. The noise and smells hit Stormy full in the face. It was busy inside, and nobody in particular looked at them as they found a small table away from the bar.
If you HAD looked at The Fool and Stormy, you would not think them to be an entertainer and a Princess. You would think them an entertainer, and, well, another (possibly apprentice) entertainer.
This is exactly what the first person to notice Stormy thought, anyway.
“Oooh, why the long face, Miss? Life’s too short,” said the brash young Tavernmizz.
Stormy looked at The Fool. The Tavernmizz looked from Stormy to The Fool and asked in a friendly voice, “What will it be then? Some fresh ale to enliven your thezzpian livers? And then you’ll play us some romp-pomp-pum-paggle, I shouldn’t wonder.”
The Fool nodded.
“What,” said Stormy below her breath to The Fool, “is she talking about?
“She thinks,” said The Fool, smiling his first natural smile of the day, “that we are travelling players.”
Before Stormy could reply, the Tavernmizz had plumped two jars of ale on the table before them. And in spite of the wine-wracked traumas of the night before, Stormy took the jug by the horns with a great gulp of the beer.
“That’s better innit?” laughed the Tavernmizz. “You are sixteen?” she went on, taking a stern, closer look at Stormy. “Only jokin’. I knows you are, luvvy.” Then, as some other reveler loudly called her attention, the Tavernmizz wheeled away.
The Fool broke the spell first and looked at the now slightly less bedraggled Stormy. “Tastes good eh?” he said as Stormy took another gulp.
She nodded. She hadn’t realized how thirsty she was, or how hungry.
“We’ll get food,” he reassured her, as if reading her thoughts.
As The Fool was looking around for signs of what food might be on offer, and trying to attract the attention of the Tavernmizz again, there was a ruckus behind them at the front door. Three soldiers were blustering their way in.
Suddenly The Fool was alert, fox-like animal radar attuned.
“Change of plan,” he said under his breath to Stormy. “My girl! The Great God Joke could not have thought us up a better disguise.”
Stormy looked at him flummoxed.
“What do you mean?”
“Just follow my lead! I know you can do it.”
And with the words do what? frozen on Stormy’s lips, The Fool stood up with gravitas that only draped his spindly form when he engaged in the plying of his trade.
Fellow swillers, sit back, relax, hush-be-still,
I have news, I command your attention.
Take a slug, let the ale tickle your tonsils,
And hold your belief in suspension.
We tell a tale of many terrors and a girl caught between,
A rock and a life on the run.
On the wrong side of a vengeful warrior queen
Who held the girl murdered her son.
The crowd cooed. And then The Fool looked to Stormy, with a slight nod of his head, as a musician would to his band mates, indicating that she come in with her part.
Not quite comprehending, Stormy felt her legs act on their own, bringing her to standing, and the muscles in her face contorting, shaping a begoggled “oh” shape, as if about to launch into song.
A murmur to her right, and she saw the soldiers and instantly understood. Her discomfort fell away like a loosely tied cloak. She lifted her arms in an opening theatrical gesture and half sang:
I killed him! That is I mean I kissed him. That is the girl,
In this tale did long ago.
He didn’t deserve that, but he was drunk beyond lewd.
I shoved him off, and his head cracked a post.
“To die … eugh … at the hands of an undergirl,”
The Prince cried as he gasped his last breath.
“I was meant for great things, you are cursed now you …
girl,
And my mother will hunt you to death.”
Boys! Always the same.
Pushing open the doors, they entered the Tavern. The noise and smells hit Stormy full in the face. It was busy inside, and nobody in particular looked at them as they found a small table away from the bar.
If you HAD looked at The Fool and Stormy, you would not think them to be an entertainer and a Princess. You would think them an entertainer, and, well, another (possibly apprentice) entertainer.
This is exactly what the first person to notice Stormy thought, anyway.
“Oooh, why the long face, Miss? Life’s too short,” said the brash young Tavernmizz.
Stormy looked at The Fool. The Tavernmizz looked from Stormy to The Fool and asked in a friendly voice, “What will it be then? Some fresh ale to enliven your thezzpian livers? And then you’ll play us some romp-pomp-pum-paggle, I shouldn’t wonder.”
The Fool nodded.
“What,” said Stormy below her breath to The Fool, “is she talking about?
“She thinks,” said The Fool, smiling his first natural smile of the day, “that we are travelling players.”
Before Stormy could reply, the Tavernmizz had plumped two jars of ale on the table before them. And in spite of the wine-wracked traumas of the night before, Stormy took the jug by the horns with a great gulp of the beer.
“That’s better innit?” laughed the Tavernmizz. “You are sixteen?” she went on, taking a stern, closer look at Stormy. “Only jokin’. I knows you are, luvvy.” Then, as some other reveler loudly called her attention, the Tavernmizz wheeled away.
The Fool broke the spell first and looked at the now slightly less bedraggled Stormy. “Tastes good eh?” he said as Stormy took another gulp.
She nodded. She hadn’t realized how thirsty she was, or how hungry.
“We’ll get food,” he reassured her, as if reading her thoughts.
As The Fool was looking around for signs of what food might be on offer, and trying to attract the attention of the Tavernmizz again, there was a ruckus behind them at the front door. Three soldiers were blustering their way in.
Suddenly The Fool was alert, fox-like animal radar attuned.
“Change of plan,” he said under his breath to Stormy. “My girl! The Great God Joke could not have thought us up a better disguise.”
Stormy looked at him flummoxed.
“What do you mean?”
“Just follow my lead! I know you can do it.”
And with the words do what? frozen on Stormy’s lips, The Fool stood up with gravitas that only draped his spindly form when he engaged in the plying of his trade.
Fellow swillers, sit back, relax, hush-be-still,
I have news, I command your attention.
Take a slug, let the ale tickle your tonsils,
And hold your belief in suspension.
We tell a tale of many terrors and a girl caught between,
A rock and a life on the run.
On the wrong side of a vengeful warrior queen
Who held the girl murdered her son.
The crowd cooed. And then The Fool looked to Stormy, with a slight nod of his head, as a musician would to his band mates, indicating that she come in with her part.
Not quite comprehending, Stormy felt her legs act on their own, bringing her to standing, and the muscles in her face contorting, shaping a begoggled “oh” shape, as if about to launch into song.
A murmur to her right, and she saw the soldiers and instantly understood. Her discomfort fell away like a loosely tied cloak. She lifted her arms in an opening theatrical gesture and half sang:
I killed him! That is I mean I kissed him. That is the girl,
In this tale did long ago.
He didn’t deserve that, but he was drunk beyond lewd.
I shoved him off, and his head cracked a post.
“To die … eugh … at the hands of an undergirl,”
The Prince cried as he gasped his last breath.
“I was meant for great things, you are cursed now you …
girl,
And my mother will hunt you to death.”
Boys! Always the same.
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