Not a Fairy Tale III

“Not if you do it well,” I said. I decided that maybe cajoling him would be better than trying to force him. Also it made him less likely to defame me if he agreed to where I was going with the story. “If you do it well, you’ll be a hero. Maybe it will even make the neighboring nobles take notice you. If you do well the king might even start paying attention to what you’re doing.” The nice thing about arguing with one of my characters was that I knew all of his weak points; it made him easy to convince. Though he acted reluctant about the whole thing, I knew that he was mostly putting on an act after I used that logic. So I was finally able to start telling the story, beginning with the day that Prince Dominique started on his black charger.

The prince, being a prince, had been well provisioned with supplies for his journey. He had a sword made by a credited smith, who had agreed to take credit. He had a lance that had been left in the armory since his father’s day, as well as his father’s armor, which luckily fit him well. He had only whined slightly about being given second hand weapons, indeed after I promised him that this might be his path to recognition and fame, he became much easier to deal with. Look, he even let that comment slide. Of course I will be making some concessions in my writing to appease him too, while he is being so cooperative, I feel I should be as well.

Anyway, the prince was also granted a companion who was to work as his servant as well as his friend, Alexis. If the prince was of a low standing, then this man was of the lowest level of nobility in the kingdom, but it was still a pleasing arrangement for both of them. To serve a prince was a position of honor, even if he was a lower prince, and Alexis basked in the fact that he had been chosen. Prince Dominique wouldn’t have been as happy with a regular servant at his side, not only because all nobles were taught to fight unlike servants, but also because he could talk to Alexis as almost an equal.

The nearby area was ruled by another prince, but the two provinces were completely different. The neighboring area was ruled by Princess Monique, who looked down her nose at her small and poor neighbor. They were cousins, but this was a fact that was generally ignored by Princess Monique, a pinch faced old woman who clutched greedily at her power. She had a grown son, who she spoiled to the point where everyone in the kingdom doubted his ability to rule someday. Despite the fact that he was already in his mid thirties, he still had no training in affairs of state.

“Finally, you’re ripping into someone other then me,” Prince Dominique interrupted me again.

“I do find that you are somewhat harsh on our beloved rulers. Their highnesses work at a higher level than we understand,” Alexis chimed in. I realize now that I forgot to mention before, another reason why Prince Dominique liked him as a companion was because he was a toady.

“I created them; I’m pretty sure I understand exactly the level that their highnesses work on. Now everyone shut up and let me write the rest of this story,” I said. They didn’t say anything thing else, I guess they got the hint, so I was finally able to get them across the border of Princess Monique’s province.

Simply the fact that it took more than a day to ride to the capital from the border of the province was enough to make Prince Dominique jealous. Once they actually reached the capital insult was added to injury, with the Princess not granting them instant audience. Instead they were forced to stay idle in the castle for several days before they were finally called to wait on her.

To be continued...

Not a Fairy Tale II

The reason that court was being held was to discuss the impending marriage, not how it would be celebrated, but rather how they could afford a ceremony that would be befitting of even a minor prince. It was a humiliating discussion for all of them. It was made worse by the fact that they knew that they couldn’t tax the population any more than they were already. Well in any case the ministers of the court knew that, it was their job to convince the prince of this, who had a rather large sense of self entitlement.

“This has gone all together too far,” the prince interrupted me again. “This isn’t honesty anymore, it’s abuse. Might I add that it’s also a very immature way of showing your displeasure with me?”

“I’m just describing what I see,” I snapped back. “It’s all in the eye of the beholder right? What I see is a selfish brat, who is making his ministers lives far more difficult than they have to be because of unreasonable and unrealistic demands. Admit it,” I added nastily, “how many neighboring nobles do you even think will attend your marriage. I bet they don’t even answer the invites. Actually, as the author, I think I’ll go write that part right now. I’ll get to this scene later.”

“If you want to start that, go right ahead, but I have a sheet of paper and pen right here. I am fully prepared to send a letter to the newspaper about how you’re going to have a baby, father unknown. I’ll even enclose a picture they can use, after some heavy photo editing of course. You make up stuff about my love life, and I’ll make up stuff about yours.”

“Are you really going to be like this through the whole story?” I asked. I was seriously considering simply not continuing with it. Temperamental stars were one thing, I could deal with them, but this glowing teenager was threatening my good name.

“Look, if this part is really that hard for you to write without slandering me, skip it. Just tell the reader that the meeting decided I would become the hired help for the neighboring kingdoms for a while to pay for my own wedding. Ungrateful, disloyal, advisors, they have no respect for me at all.”

“You aren’t going to be the hired help,” I argued. “You’ll be doing knightly deeds and such, perfectly respectable, almost expected of a prince. Slay some monsters, save a couple of girls too stupid to run or fight on their own, and coincidently get rewarded with some cash.”

“You don’t really have a children’s book of fairy tales that you read, do you? That sounds like the sort of stupid rationalizing that someone who read that stuff would give. Get real, princes rule, it’s what we do, that’s the whole job. Leave the rescuing of stupid chicks and killing things to peasants with unusual strength and nobility, or the third sons of merchants, who tend to get lucky for some reason. People who already have kingdoms and princess promised to them, don’t risk their necks. Do you have any idea how demeaning this is for me?”

“Well that’s just something that you’re going to have to deal with because it’s a major plot point, and besides, can you argue with the fact that you need the money?”

“I shouldn’t have to work for it though. This is going to make me the laughing stock of the entire area.”

To be continued...

Not a Fairy Tale

Finally writing something I am willing to share again, my stuff for a while has been really bad. This is a challenge from a friend, write a story of any length but it has to have a prince and a princess, and the characters at some point have to talk to the author.

The prince, Dominique sat regally on his throne, holding his court. The area that he ruled was a small one, but it was wealthy and visually breathtaking. His family had been ruling it for generations, and the king had seen fit to leave it in their care, no matter the politics of the time. The prince was a young man, wearing fine clothing, and looking well groomed. His prospects were good, as young as he was; he was already betrothed to a princess who was well known to be the vision of loveliness. It was at this point that the prince interrupted me.

“Glossing over a lot of details there, and the details you are including don’t seem to have a lot of connection to what is actually going on. Creative license is one thing, but let’s give honesty a chance here. You’re writing like we’re in a fairy story.”

“There’s nothing wrong with writing a fairy tale every once in a while,” I protested, indignant.

“If you’re going to write a fairy tale then leave me out of it,” Prince Dominique ordered me. “If you haven’t noticed I’m not much of a fairy tale person. If you want a white horse go somewhere else, I’m personally a fan of black.”

“If I decide to write that you have a white horse, that’s my business. I’m the author here, I’m the one in charge,” I said, crossing my arms. It certainly wasn’t the first time I’ve argued with one of my characters.

“If you keep writing like this, I’ll tell everyone that you still have a children’s book of fairy tales on your bookshelf that you read before bed,” threatened the prince. “I mean if you’re going to turn my life into fiction for the world, then I’ll do the same with your life.” I conceded defeat. “Good, then correct the fabrications you made in that first paragraph,” the prince said, looking smug with victory.

Alright, so the prince didn’t really sit regally, he sort of had himself draped across the throne, with his legs dangling over the armrest. He was just the right age of young adulthood to think of rebellion as the best type of self expression, an unfortunate thing in a ruler. Admittedly the area that Prince Dominique ruled over was a very small area, which while scenic, had nothing it that would ever make anyone interested in it. It was a well known fact that the king didn’t even really realize they existed most of the time, which was the main reason that the prince’s family had been allowed to rule it for so long. When ever the prince had ventured to court he was so mocked, even by the lower nobles, and the king had to be reminded of where his principalia even was, so he had stopped going. This state of affairs did not help the prince’s teenage angst in the slightest. The prince would have been handsome, except for his tacky love of black velvet, which made him look like he had raided the wardrobe of a Shakespearean villain. His all black clothing did not suite him, and he looked perpetually so washed out that he could have been a ghost. Prince Dominique was promised in marriage to a princess, but she was only a princess in name, her family had lost their land several generations before, and the family had sunk even lower since that time. The princess was pretty enough, but because of her lack of dowry, her only other suitor had been a merchant. It only succeeded in rubbing the face of the prince how low he was ranked.

“It’s hardly complimentary is it?” the prince demanded, interrupting me again.

“You said that you wanted me to be honest, I’m being honest, deal with it,” I answered. Prince Dominique could hardly disagree, so I was finally able to continue with the story.

To be continued...

The Journal of Water and Air VI

“I only got a glimpse of the dining hall before, so after breakfast I took the chance to wander around more. It is still a strange feeling, knowing that under the floor there was air, but I am growing used to it. At least that is what I thought until I looked out the big picture windows that take up the wall of the dinning hall. I have never counted myself afraid of heights but I do now. The thought that only helium is holding us up is a frightening one, though it does make me more sympathetic to the smoking ban on the ship than I was before. The thought of being so high up and catching fire doesn't bare thinking about.

“I was still cautiously peering out of the windows, trying to get used to the idea of being up in the air, when the captain came over. I instantly got to thinking of anything that I might have done wrong but I couldn't think of anything. It didn't help that he didn't instantly talk but instead just stood sternly, gazing out at the sky all around us. Finally he commented that if I wanted a really good view I should see out the ones in the cockpit, this after telling me when we first met that I wasn't to go up there without invitation.” Here I stopped my story again, the next part wasn't for the purser to know about. I wasn't willing for him to know how close my captain and I had become and the ties that we shared. I wasn't sure how, but I was sure that could be used against us somehow. Having said his piece my captain had turned to walk away and than stopped. I guess he must have seen how confused I was. “I used to be a sailor, before air took off. I served under your father,” was all he said though. Then he had actually walked away, leaving me if anything more confused than ever. I couldn't tell at the time if the man was my friend or if he hated me. I knew that my father could be a very harsh person and for all I knew he had mistreated my captain in someway or something. It had unnerved me even more because for a minute I had thought that he had looked at the sky with the same look in his eye my father had had that night on the dock. The purser didn't need to know any of this but he did notice that I paused for a bit because he looked up from his writing again.

“Do you need another glass of water?” he asked me. “I'll see if I can get you one but it's normally rationed.”

“No, that's alright, I was just thinking about what happened next,” I said quickly. “I think I remember now. We had the storm. We've been tossed through the air for several hours and I began to feel ill again. Yesterday was fun, the captain sent a man to guide me around the dirigible and I got to see everything, though I know very little about what any of it was. It's use and function was lost in a jumble of technical jargon but it all looked impressive anyway. Most of it was machinery, all tailored down so that it would be light. Then I got to writing since I had decided that I had seen enough to write a good article for the paper. I had thought that I would continue my writing today but instead I woke up to see the crew tying down anything that might shift. The storm moved in fast, and there are no friendly ports around that we can dock at to ride it out so we'll just have to endure and hope that we don't get blown off course by too much. I thought that we would be fine fighting against the wind but I was told that that was extremely dangerous and that it was safer and better to just let the wind take us where it wanted to when it is this harsh. I don't mind so much, it delays any chance we have of seeing action, which is not something I am looking forward to. I am starting to hate this unpredictable sky though, father was right, it can't be trusted.”

To be continued...

The Journal of Water and Air V

“So I have gathered,” said the purser politely. He need not have, I only said it out of a story telling habit that was hard to break after years of writing. All it served to do was to make me ashamed of having once more varied from my journals, if even for a second.

“My room is larger than I expected it to be,” now I wasn't even willing to change verb tense for fear that I might be tempted to make other additions. I could only help that the man wouldn't notice the oddity in my speech. “I was basing it off of the steamer room I had when crossing the Atlantic and when the captain said bunk I feared the worse. I thought I would be sharing a room with at least one other person, if not more. It was much to my relief when instead I was shown to my own private room, though it is still small. There is a sink, so I can do my toiletry in private, a desk that folds up so it doesn't get in my way, a chair, and a bunk that folds and latches onto the wall when I don't want it. Everything has been made so that it takes up as little space as possible which is just as well because once they bring my luggage into the room it seems much smaller than it did at first.” Here I did skip the details about where I was then sitting in my room and me writing in my journal as a way of relaxing. While I was sure now that the purser wasn't noticing my odd choice in verb, I was pretty sure that he would think I was insane if I started talking about doing things that I wasn't with things that weren't there. Instead I skipped completely over the details of me settling into my room and the things that I did that first day. They were all written in such a way that it would make me look very strange to retell them.

“It was after breakfast that the captain approached me, I have been on board for two days now and have spent most of that time in my room, trying to keep to his order not to get under foot. Anyway there is nothing to write about with us still on the ground,” I continued. “My first thought was that I had still somehow managed to get myself into trouble. The captain always looks so stern that it is difficult to tell what he is thinking. All he said though was that we were going to be taking off tomorrow, I have no idea why decided to tell me this, and in person. It isn't as if he was friendly to me our first meeting, and now all of the sudden he is trying to be helpful it seems. I have no idea what goes through this man's mind. Still if we are going to be air born it is good news for me because I am growing tired of my room, once we are in the air I have the excuse of journalism to wander around and ask questions.”

I stopped my monologue once again to let the purser catch up. He had fallen so far behind that he had to ask me to repeat the final part of my statement to him. I didn't mind the break, it gave me more time to think about what I was going to tell them, and I was at the end of that entry anyway. I asked the purser if I could have a drink of water before I kept talking and he asked one of the guards to go and get it for me. The guards were one of the reason that I was being as eloquent as I was, they kept me talking if only because I wanted to make them happy. They were a very threatening presence, clearly chosen for their pure muscle mass, and I couldn't be entirely sure what their orders were. Once the guard returned with a tin cup full of the same foul tasting water they gave me for my meals, I had no excuse but to continue.

“I've been completely under the weather for the last couple of days because of air sickness, never having been in the air before I had no idea that I would suffer like this. I have never been sea sick before so I don't know how to explain it, except that it was an entirely different feeling. Therefore there is nothing to report from my first two days in the air, I know very little about what has happened on the ship. The captain had them send me a thick soup from the kitchen to eat, which is another unexpected act of kindness. I was able to eat very little because of my stomach, but I probably wouldn't have eaten anything at all if the captain hadn't been so thoughtful. I guess I have grown to the motion now though, because I was able to venture out for breakfast, I think the captain nodded to me when I sat at my assigned seat in the dinning room, but I couldn't be sure.

To be continued...

The Journal of Water and Air IV

“I don't need that many details,” the captain said, but I ignored him.

“When I showed up at the airfield, I went to the hanger I had been directed to during my briefing.” I stopped there for a second to catch my breath and mentally skip the next part of my diary. “The hangers are really just giant warehouses, but the tops fold away to let the dirigibles out,” was probably something already in their intelligence but I still didn't want to risk it. I did not want the weight of our air port being bombed on my shoulders. “There was a man waiting for me when I arrived at the dirigible, just a regular hand but at least I wasn't left to try to figure out where I was supposed to go.”

“Do you remember much about how the dirigible was set up in the hanger?” the captain asked.

“No, sir, I was far too nervous to notice any details,” I said quickly. I had no intention of telling the captain anything that he flat out showed an interest in. “I mean I've spent my entire life behind a desk and then they send me off into a war. Would you have been looking at the scenery sir?”

“Well, never mind that. Actually, I think this interview is over.” The captain stood and called to the guard outside of the door. That guard called another and I was escorted back to the cell they had had me in before. I still wasn't sure if I had won or lost the interview, but at least I was confident that I hadn't given anything away. I supposed that the captain had gotten tired of my empty talk.

Now I wasn't as comfortable in my cell as I had been before. I guessed the captain was now talking to another member of the crew. I kept running over the interrogation in my mind, trying to think of anything I might have said wrong or in a way that could suggest anything at all. I couldn't think of anything but it didn't stop me from worrying. I was two days in that hole, on a small diet of ship food, before someone came into my cell and actually spoke to me.

“The captain sent me to interview you,” the man said, pulling a stool into my cell and having a seat. I stared at him blankly for a minute, trying to let my eyes adjust to the lantern light after two days of darkness. I tried to tell myself that nothing was different, that I should pursue the same tactic, but I had a deep paranoid fear that being in this cell alone for two days had somehow broken me.

“Where do you want me to start, sir?” I asked. Even if I was trying to be an obstruction I was going to be a polite obstruction, it would make it more likely that I would survive what followed.

“The captain has already recorded everything that you told him. You can start where you left out,” the man said. “I'm this ship's purser.” He pulled out a notebook and got ready to write down what I had to say.

“Well I had just said that there was a man waiting for me when I got there. He took me to where the captain was on the bridge. He was surrounded by all sorts of men who were giving orders and reading instruments that in my two weeks on that ship I never did find out what they were for.” At this point I realized that I had switched interview tactics and I decided I wanted to be consistent. Reciting from my journal had worked well when dealing with the captain after all, and what was good enough for the captain would be good enough for the purser. “I must admit that the captain scares me, he's tall and his facial expression never changes, so I can never tell what he's thinking. The man who had showed me up to the bridge announced me and the captain turned to look at me.” I paused for a second to let the purser catch up, I could see him scribbling furiously. I almost wished that I still had my typewriter so I could lend it to him. It would make all of this go much faster. My typewriter had been lost with the dirigible though.

“Go ahead,” the purser finally said, looking up from his papers.

“The first thing that the captain said was 'I don't like journalists much, but the air force informed me I don't have a choice, so we're stuck with one another. I want to make it clear that you will not be allowed on this part of the dirigible unless you are invited. You are to make yourself useful, I will not have idle hands on my ship. You will also keep out from under the feet of any of the crew, and not snoop where you are not wanted. This man will show you to your bunk.' And so he dismissed me, you can see where my first impression wasn't the best.”

To be continued...

The Journal of Water and Air III

“What was your position on the airship?” the captain asked. I suspected that he had already talked to a few of my companions, which would explain how bored he looked.

“I am a journalist, attached to the air force to cover the war, sir,” I reported. I might not be a soldier, indeed I had never received any military training, but I tried to act in a way that would not discredit the service to which I had been attached. I even came to attention in the way that I had seen the men on the ship do it when reporting to their captain.

“A pencil pusher survived? I understand that many of your enlisted men were not so lucky,” the scorn in the captain's voice made me bristle but I knew that it wouldn't be in my best interest to explain to the captain how such a thing had happened unless I was asked. I still hadn't decided how much information I was supposed to give away in such a situation, I wished that my captain was there to tell me. My mind drifted, wondering if my captain had been interviewed before me, or if they would let him sit for a while longer to wear him down. I hoped that they had given him the respect he deserved and spoken to him first. It took the captain's next question to snap me out of my reverie, really, normally I'm not like this, it had to be the hunger.

“When did you join the air ship?”

“Three weeks ago, sir,” I said. Counting the days was an easy thing when stranded in an inflatable raft.

“And one week of that was spent drifting on the ocean? You had a short run didn't you?” the captain asked. For the first time there was interest in his voice.

“Yes, sir. From a journalist perspective however this trip has not been a failure, I do not lack things to write about from my experience. However if you are looking information about the air force or the dirigible I know almost nothing.” I decided that the best way to make sure I didn't give away information I shouldn't was to deny having any information at all. The captain however was not going to give up so easily. Indeed my denial seemed to amuse him.

“I had your first mate in here before you, Mr. Brinehouse, he told me that you were frequently seen talking to your captain after you came aboard. I'm sure you do yourself a discredit when you say that you know nothing that would be of interest to me. I want you to tell me all about what you saw and heard after you came on board the airship, every detail. You may sit while you do so,” the captain added. I sat down and marshaled my thoughts. I knew that things might get ugly if I was contradicted on any point when he interrogated the others so my best bet was to remain honest. That didn't mean that I couldn't omit things from my account however. I would just have to hope that the captain would be understanding if I did.

“I took the elevated rail from my apartment to the airfield,” I said, remembering how my journal entry for that day began. “It was difficult carrying all of my luggage with me on public transportation but I managed. After all, it was all army issue and therefore meant to be carried around. I am not in the best of shape, so what I am sure a normal soldier would have been able to carry with easy, I felt buried under.” This, I decided, was the best course of action to make sure I didn't say anything I didn't mean to. I would recite the captain my journal and just skip over the parts he didn't need to know. If nothing else it was full so so much useless stuff from a military perspective that I could only hope he would only be half listening if I did let something slip that I shouldn't.

To be continued...