Broad continues: Growing things

Dear Grandmama,

Lovely and powerful one, resplendent with wisdom!

I’ll continue Broad’s tale, though I’m leaving off the stuff at the start, where he’s working himself into the right mood – he does tend to repeat himself. I suppose that’s a side effect of having a shorter memory than us dragons.

Tonight I will tell you a tale of growing – a princess growing, and other things growing around her.

Rose was constrained by the fairy gifts to grow bright and bubbly, beloved of her parents, the court and everyone who saw her. The only shadow on the general happiness was Nellie’s curse (or blessing, depending of course on your point of view). The royals and the court had palpitations every time they remembered it, and they tried everything they could think of to reverse it.

Nellie herself had disappeared after the christening. However the Guard searched for her, they couldn’t find her, so they declared her dead. Then they officially evicted her from her cottage (which you don’t generally have to do with dead people) and confiscated her few bits of belongings. But nobody would move in, and nobody wanted her things. Since they couldn’t find a new tenant, the bailiff decided the cottage should be burned. A few times he sent out some lads to see to it, but however sunny it was when they set out, it would be raining polliwogs and cane toads when they arrived. So after a bit they forgot about it.

Meanwhile the King was putting as much pressure as he dared on the other fairies (they were the only magical beings he allowed into his kingdom, so he’d nobody else to turn to). Surely the lot of them could undo a curse that one doddery old biddy had set? There must be some counter-spell, some cantrip to nullify Nellie’s spite; when were they going to come up with it?

The fairies knew well enough that they couldn’t touch Nellie’s spell. They reckoned that she’d contact them when she was good and ready, and they could negotiate. Whatever the court was saying, they knew Nellie would never do evil unless it was the only way to prevent a greater evil. But why couldn’t they find her? They left arcane message in all of the usual spots: weaving communiqués into spider webs; hiding notes in her favourite birdsongs; even sending ethereal mail to all of her possible addresses. Why wasn’t she responding to them? Meanwhile they put the King off; they were working on it; they almost had it. Fussing about it would only get in the way.

In the Court and the neighbouring courts it was discussed endlessly. Some of the neighbours believed there had never been a curse; the Briar royals were just being hysterical about the demented mumblings of a nasty old crone. Others said there was a curse, but it most likely had been countered – the awkward thing was you couldn’t prove it one way or the other until the 18th birthday came around.

Most eventually decided that the only thing to do was to get on with normal court life – gossip and hunting and state visits and grand balls and taxing the common folks. One of the Brandyburgh Dukes had an amusing idea about taxing hay to help pay for street sweepers… perhaps that concept was worth expanding on.

The neighbour royals grumbled to themselves that the Briar royals were being irresponsible. If their heir was compromised, couldn’t they produce more? Who should be sent to court a princess who might fall into a 100-year sleep before her wedding? Hardly what a hardy prince wanted on his wedding night! Briar owned the whole Upper Columbine Valley, so Rose was definitely worth an eldest prince. And she was such a sweetheart, it would be easy to persuade any prince to come courting – not like the princesses at Sunny Crags; in spite of lush dowries, no prince under the age of 50 had ever had the nerve to offer for them.

And if the curse came true, what about the succession? The royals had intermarried for generations, so the neighbouring kings (or their eldest sons) had roughly equal claims. There hadn’t been a war for a generation (and that one had been a fiasco); maybe it was time for polishing up the armour and setting the lads to sharpening the knives and marching up and down.

A number of discrete inquiries were made to the fairies over the years: supposing Briar Rose were to be married before the fateful birthday? The reply was always the same: a premature marriage would trigger the Ancestral Curse that all the local kings dreaded.

[At that point in the story Minsky started laughing and shouting and rolling madly around. Broad stopped the story and stared pointedly at me, as though I were responsible. So I scooped Minsky up under my wing, and kind of pressed until it quieted down. Then Broad continued.]

The royals at Briar, having tried every way they could think of to have the curse lifted, also tried just getting on with normal court life. By the time Rose turned ten, the Queen decided that they needed contingency plans. (She had been a commoner before the king married her, and had preserved a bit of peasant practicality, though she learned some fancy terminology to disguise it.) With her advisors she developed what she liked to call “a Scenario”.

A pleasure-dome would be built on pillars over the lake adjoining the Castle. The birthday festivities would be held there, with guests and family coming and going across the graceful linking bridge, to greet Rose in the central reception room, take refreshments and dance. Several neighbouring princes (unfortunately all cousins) would take turns providing close attendance. They would be instructed to look out for spindles (she ordered the royal painter to produce a pictorial treatise useful for the identification of spinning devices, knowing full well that princes could not be expected to recognize such a simple practical thing as a spindle without assistance) and kiss Rose passionately if she showed any sign of being sleepy.

There would also be a bower in the dome where Rose could withdraw when she needed some quiet time; four attendants would remain there to serve her. Rose herself would not return to the castle until one minute after midnight, when it had been demonstrated that the curse was no more than a rumour and a cause of unquiet dreams.

If the day passed as hoped, in uninterrupted celebration, Rose could chose among the princes and get on with the business of adult royals – conspicuous consumption, arbitrary and inconvenient decision making on matters of state, and breeding (or interbreeding) a new generation.

If the unthinkable happened, she would fall asleep in the dome, with whatever guests and attendants surrounded her. If the prince fell asleep before he could perform the rescue kiss, he would at least be on hand a hundred years later for the awakening. The family and guests in the Castle would sorrowfully shut the great doors . . . and somehow learn to live with their loss. A later generation would prepare for the Awakening…

That was the plan.

The scent of roses was stronger this evening. On the flight home with Minsky I asked what was so humourous about the Ancestral Curse. Minsky didn’t answer, but I discovered that a giggling Minsky adds a peculiarly haunting effect to a swoop over a princely campfire. I suspect he’s still running…

Is this the sort of tale your friend Zade can use? If so, I’ll go back when Broad resumes the story.

With greatest love and respect,

Yours, Toby