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The Foibles: A Collection

  Susan Skylark

  Copyright 2016 Susan Skylark

  Thank you for downloading this ebook. This book remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be redistributed to others for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own copy from their favorite authorized retailer. Thank you for your support.

  This is a foible, not a fable, fables are by definition useful and educational, this story is merely enjoyable or so thinks the author.

  Table of Contents:

  On Sleeping Beauties

  On Heroes

  On Princesses

  On Dragons

  Other Books by this Author, website, etc.

  Sample Chapters

  On Sleeping Beauties: A Foible

  “No, no, no!” rang the irate fairy’s strident voice as she perused the text before her, “this will never do, not in the least! That’s not how it happened at all!”

  “What’s wrong with it?” gasped her journalistic companion in surprise, “I thought you were a Reformed Evil Fairy or some such?”

  Her glare froze him in his seat as she replied icily, “that does not mean I will swoon and sigh over this pathetic drivel you have the audacity to call literature. Not even my goody-goody sister is that insipid.”

  “But what is wrong with it?” said the flummoxed, and rather nervous, writer in growing despair.

  “The better question,” said the fairy wryly, “is what is right with it. Nothing! Absolutely nothing!” She frowned slightly and added, “that and it is utterly dull.”

  “Dull?!” said he, his ire suddenly replacing his fear and surprise, “it is the consummate fairy tale!”

  “That’s the problem,” said she with a heavy sigh, “I’ve had to give up the genre entirely in these latter years; it probably isn’t your fault, the world isn’t what it used to be. I suppose you don’t even believe in dragons?”

  “Of course not,” said the man with a sneer, “why should I? Nor unicorns either, for that matter.”

  “So you can put a rider on your home insurance policy, of course” said the fairy with a laughing smirk, “what happens if a dragon should happen to fly over your house and sneeze?” He paled at this, wondering if his disbelief were so wise and trendy after all. She continued, “as for unicorns, there’s not really any practical reason to believe in them, but it’s to your own loss if you don’t.” He frowned at her, not catching her meaning but she was not about to enlighten him further.

  Said he after a long and awkward silence, “very well, madam, I suppose since I importuned you for this very reason. You had best tell me how to improve my manuscript.”

  “Much better,” said the Reformed Fairy of Blackfen, with something almost resembling a genuine smile. She took up the paper again and scanned the text, muttering under her breath as she read, “big party...angry fairy...the girl will die...irritating cousin mitigates the curse...pricks her finger on a spindle...long nap...smooch from a handsome prince...happily ever after.” She looked up at him and said solemnly, “if you must know, it is very tedious indeed.” His mouth fell open in astonishment but she charged on before he could utter anything he might afterwards regret, as he was in the presence of a magical person who did not suffer fools lightly, said she, “your characters have no personality, your plot has no depth, there isn’t even a sprinkling of humor in it, the danger and suspense is nonexistent as we all know the prince will come eventually. That and it’s historically inaccurate.”

  “Fine,” grumped the journalist, sitting back in his chair, arms crossed, and the look of a sulking toddler on his face, “enlighten me.”

  “Oh, that I will,” said the fairy in true delight as she tossed the paper aside, laughed she, “and it doesn’t even begin with ‘Once upon a time:’

  “I need a baby,” said the noble lady to her husband as he entered their extensive and fashionable house. He stared at her blankly for a moment, as if wondering why she just did not go out and procure one like she did her dresses and shoes, rather than bothering him with such trifling little details, but before he could fathom the full import of her words, she plunged ahead, “I was just over at the Jones’s and they have the cutest little boy! Oh, darling! I want one; I must have one! Wouldn’t a little girl be just the thing to liven up this rather dreary old house? Think of the adorable little clothes and the accessories I could buy! The congratulations and adulation that would flow in!”

  He was about to protest that babies were theoretically expensive, and from what he had heard, they were quite noisy and dreadfully messy, not to mention rather inconvenient, but then that is what one had staff for, was it not? And as money was no object in that particular household, why not? “Very well darling,” said he, “if it makes you happy, nothing could please me more.”

  But it seems infants are slightly harder to procure than shoes of a particular size and shade, which is hard enough, most especially when you are impatient for the fulfillment thereof. So it was that little Midas Jones was walking and beginning to babble almost recognizable verbiage, which his mother insisted were words, whilst our esteemed lady’s frustrations mounted over her inability to produce such an adorable creature of her own, but more importantly she was unable to reap the social excitement and congratulations that would undoubtedly flow unceasingly from such a fount. She consulted every known sorcerer, apothecary, physician, and herbalist she could find who specialized in such matters, but all to no avail.

  But just as the baby craze seemed to be fading in that particular neighborhood, though exotic poultry were becoming quite fashionable, our lady found herself the mother of a beautiful little girl, in celebration of which, they threw a fantastic party, inviting everyone who was anyone in the entire Kingdom and beyond. The happy couple stood at the door greeting their guests as carriage after carriage rolled up and disgorged one fabulously clad celebrant after another, all obviously bored silly and there out of duty rather than any fondness for children in general or this couple in particular. The proud parents had just turned to follow the last invited guest into the house, when a rather irritated throat cleared behind them, drawing their attention. “Yes?” said the perplexed lady of the house to the rather curiously dressed individual loitering upon her expensive and stately steps.

  “I fear my invitation must have been mislaid or lost by the carrier, for I never received it,” said the interesting personage.

  “Invitation?!” said the lady, quite aghast that this odd person could even think that she would ever extend an invitation to such a peculiar and shabbily clad being.

  “It is the only explanation,” said the creature, quite indifferent to the hostess’ shock, “for who would dare not invite me?”

  “Who or what are you, madam?” said the astounded lady.

  “What?” said the disturbing vision, with a certain dangerous edge in her voice that even the flabbergasted lady could not miss, “I am not a what but a who, madam! I am the Fairy of Blackfen.”

  “Ah!” said the relieved host, coming to his lady’s rescue, “that explains it then. For you see, we don’t happen to believe in fairies, it is quite unfashionable and therefore unthinkable, and since we do not believe in your existence, well, you can’t expect an invitation when you don’t exist now, can you? No hard feelings I hope. Ta ta!” He stared at her expectantly for a moment, as if he expected her to immediately tip over dead, and then seemed rather crestfallen when she failed to do anything half so obliging.

  The fairy frowned at him, “why are you standing there gaping?”

  “I would think you of all people would have read that particular story?”
said he in wonder, “when I said, ‘we don’t believe in fairies,’ aren’t you supposed to drop dead or something?”

  The fairy said with a longsuffering sigh, but could not entirely hide her wry smirk, “I am afraid that particular story is not this particular story, thus the rules are quite different. So sorry to disoblige you, now what about my invitation?”

  “I am afraid not,” said the lady of the house with a firm shake of her head, “it would never do! Your attire alone is five hundred years out of fashion, not to mention what my neighbors would think if I actually let a fairy in the house! It would be utterly ridiculous and I could never again show my face in fashionable society. Now if you were a leprechaun or some other well-to-do and currently in-vogue pixie-type person, I might make an exception, but it is completely unthinkable in this instance! I bid you good day, madam; I have a party to host!”

  The fairy laughed darkly and said in her most sinister voice, which was impressively creepy, “what if I threatened to curse your child else?”

  “Oh, would you!” said the lady in sudden delight. At the astonished and confused looks she received not only from the fairy but also from her husband, she added by way of explanation, “little Midas Jones was hexed after calling the new teacher at his Montessori, ‘an ugly old hag,’ when she pinched him and said he looked good enough to eat. It was only the truth after all, but still she sued the Montessori and won enough money to pay cash for that homely old gingerbread mansion down the street. Who builds with carbs nowadays? Anyway, then she went and cursed him besides. Now everything he touches turns to gold! I had thought about asking if we could babysit now and again, but this would be even better.” Her husband still looked rather perplexed, though the fairy now seemed to understand far more about this particular couple than they knew about themselves. The lady rolled her eyes and sighed, “what is it dear? What was unclear about what I just said?”

  The man shook his head, “what’s a Montessori? Some sort of fancy sandwich shop?”

  With another sigh, his wife expounded, “it is an elite and expensive school for very young children, I had one picked out even before our daughter was born; you can’t start too early, you know.” She eyed the fairy eagerly, “what do you think?”

  Said the fairy dryly, “I don’t think there’s a worse curse I could lay on you people than the existence you already lead.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?” snapped the lady in vexation, “the Jones’s have a child with a curse, how am I to be content without one too?”

  The fairy wore a mocking smile, “you continue to prove my point, madam. But I won’t be cursing your wretched whelp with anything half so interesting as the golden touch. I suppose I could destine her to prick her finger on a spindle and fall into a wakeless sleep, or even to die; it’s trite, but effective.” She frowned, “but then there’s always the matter of some pesky prince showing up and ruining everything; I can’t abide a ‘happily ever after.’ No, I’ll leave things as they are, I’ll let you stew in your insipidness and go vainly about your pathetic lives, but I will not forget this and one day, I will have my revenge on the entire neighborhood. It used to be an actually respectable part of the Kingdom, except maybe for that troll under the bridge, but I’d take him over any of your ilk, drat those goats! At least he kept the riffraff out.”

  The lady looked rather baffled after this expostulation and asked for clarification upon the most important point, at least to her thinking, “what exactly is a spindle?”

  The fairy sighed heavily, and replied, “I suppose you’ve never actually had to do any sort of actual handicrafts? Making your own dresses, spinning, sewing, that sort of thing?”

  “Making dresses?” said the flummoxed lady, “I have never heard of anything so ridiculous! Why, I just send a page down to a certain seamstress with precise instructions as to what I want and need, and her lad brings it over in a trice. No fuss, no mess, just magic! Or does she grow them? Sewing indeed! What nonsense!”

  The fairy’s head was in her hands, though whether trying to hide her amusement or frustration this tale does not tell, sighed she at long last, “never mind madam, it matters not.” And then she vanished. The baffled couple exchanged a perplexed look and then went in to their guests with quite the story to tell.”

  “That is utterly ridiculous!” gasped the journalist, as the fairy paused in her telling of the tale.

  “I know,” sighed the fairy, thinking she had made her point at last, “such was the state of the world even then, and it has only grown worse since.”

  “No!” said the offended man, “they could have been my parents! What happened to the King and Queen? The castle? Who wants to hear a fairy tale set in the suburbs?”

  “Apparently not you,” said the fairy darkly, but softening her tone, she said more graciously, “but then you can’t really help your upbringing I suppose and it explains much about your own lackluster tale.” She glanced derisively at the cast off manuscript, “I suppose you can’t help that! Now do you want to hear the rest of the tale or shall I call in a psychologist so you can work through your traumatic childhood first?”

  “By all means, please continue,” said the man, who was now white as a ghost, though whether at the thought of displeasing this magically dangerous personage or at the very idea that he might need counseling, she did not know. She smiled in a very pleased fashion, for either would suffice, and then continued:

  “After the congratulations and socially enforced awe that attend the advent of a new baby in the family had subsided to a mere trickle, and as the lady’s trendy chicken fetish consumed more and more of her time, the child was relegated to the care of a person known only as ‘nurse.’ And as Nurse was a rather old and perpetually exhausted person, she required a great deal of sleep, which only increased as the child grew, thus the dear lady spent most of her waking hours dozing in a chair in the garden whilst her charge ran amuck amongst the ferns and hedgerows. While her mother truly had picked out a Montessori, a husband, the names of her grandchildren, etc. before the girl was even born, the all-consuming pressure of trends and fashion soon turned her mind to other, more pressing concerns and her daughter’s brilliant future was quite soon forgotten therewith.

  The disgruntled fairy had not forgotten her promise and watched the family with interest as the child grew, wondering if she could come up with a curse worse than the girl’s current reality. However, the girl was not without allies, for this particular fairy had a sister, one with whom she was not on very good terms, for in the elder’s usually blunt way of expressing things, she summed up her younger sister as a quote, ‘goody two-shoes!’ The younger saw what the elder was plotting and felt the need to intervene on behalf of the child, though whether she was protecting the girl from her parents or her vengeful sister, or both, was yet to be seen.”

  “This is actually becoming a little bit interesting,” said the man, whose complexion had returned to a somewhat more natural color, “do you not find it odd to speak of yourself in the third person?”

  The fairy glared at him and he was suddenly pallid as milk once more, said she, “if you would please not interrupt, you will soon discover that the story becomes quite interesting indeed. And a good storyteller has no difficulty in speaking in the third, fourth, or even fifth person!”

  The man frowned, “the fifth person?”

  “Only slightly more difficult to master than the fourth-and-a-half person,” said she with dancing eyes, causing his cheeks to redden in fury as he realized she was making fun of him rather than imparting the literary secrets of Faerie. Ignoring his interest in the grammatical rules peculiar to immortals, she continued:

  “The great horse whinnied nervously; the knight looked around in dread, wondering what could cause the usually unflappable animal such unease. Such was its training that it did not flinch, even before dragons. The friendly light of eventide suddenly became the black of a storm-wracked night and all th
e whispered noises of a sylvan twilight were now as a tomb. A scornful female voice scoffed in the menacing gloom, “well hero? What will come of you? Will you live or die? Will you ride upon my whims or shall the earth swallow you whole?”

  The man shuddered, but knew to his very soul that he could never serve such a vile mistress, said he as boldly as terror allowed, “do your worst, fell lady, but I shall never serve such as thee.” The only answer was her mocking laughter as the ground upon which the horse stood suddenly became treacherous as that of mire or fen. The horse screamed his terror but was soon silenced as they sank from the sight and knowledge of mortal men.”

  “Certainly far more dramatic than my rendition,” said the man in approval, “but I still don’t see where a spindle fits into all of this?”

  “You are utterly ruining my tale!” said she with another irritated glare, “and unless you want to finish the story as an amphibian, I would highly advise against further outbursts!” He swallowed audibly, eliciting a menacing smile from the lady as she continued:

  “There had never been such a cheerful, skipping child as Kylee, who seemed more lark or sunbeam than daughter of men. Her joy it was to sing and dance through the wooded vales in mist and shadow, to whisper with the flowers of the garden when they were aglow with the morning sun, and to share secrets with the little birds that trilled in the hedges. Nor was she surprised to meet one day a creature as whimsical and joyous as herself, save this was a daughter of the fairies, rather than of the mortal race, but so alike were they in interest and temper that it mattered not. So it was they traversed field and fen together, laughing with the brook and dancing in the mists of dawn, learning the language of violet and swallow. Her parents would have been aghast to learn that she kept company with any fey creature, no matter how sweet of temper, but they took very little interest in her or her tales, and her nurse, when conscious, just assumed them to be the invention of a young and fanciful mind with too little interest in her own kind, but she could not contain this seemingly half-dryad creature without crushing her utterly or ruining a perfectly good nap, so Nurse allowed her to gad about as she would, thinking she would one day outgrow such nonsense. But outgrow it she never would.

  The years passed and this whimsical bud blossomed into a fanciful maiden who still kept her secret trysts with her sister of fairykind, but had learned the wisdom of keeping silent upon the matter with less discerning mortals. Upon a misty morn of rose and gold, Kylee met the fairy lass amidst the dew soaked lilies, but the creature seemed apprehensive, a mood in which the girl had never before seen the irrepressibly blithe creature, said the fairy with trembling voice, “I bear dread tidings, my friend, but worse would it be if no one knew and nothing was done to prevent so great a tragedy.” Kylee was at her side in a moment, urging her to speak what she would, for it must be grim indeed to so upset a creature that might have been mirth incarnate. Continued she, “my sister, whose nature is quite contrary to my own, has used her magic to coerce and entrap any number of men, warriors all, that they may do naught but her will, this to spare their lives. She intends to loose these vile slaves upon all the folk hereabouts, to rid the countryside of mortal men and to restore order and dignity to the neighborhood, at least as she defines it.”

  Kylee gasped, “can nothing be done?”

  The fairy said grimly, “there is a chance but the cost is great.”

  Kylee’s fear turned suddenly to a grim resolve, “speak dear friend, I will pay what price I must, if I can avail my folk.”

  The fairy swallowed a sob, but continued, “my sister has captured a number of knights, unwilling to do her will, in the process of acquiring those of a more vile or fickle nature that she has enslaved, these objectors may perhaps oppose her fell minions if they can be wakened from the sleep that lies heavy upon them. But to break the enchantment, one must be found who is willing to endure endless sleep that these others might waken.”

  Kylee nodded sadly, “I will try, what must I do?” The fairy flung herself into her friend’s arms and wept as if her heart would break, but after she had cried herself into relative acceptance, she told the girl all that must be done.”

  “Truly pathetic!” said the man, unable to resist, even with the threat of a rather soggy future hanging over his head.

  “I know,” sighed the fairy, who did not seem at that moment intent on carrying out her promise, “but what do you expect from two such sappy heroines? But even so,” she smirked at him in anticipation, before continuing, “no matter how saccharine or cavity inducing they might be, they are worlds better than your one dimensional characters!”

  Said the now miffed man, not thrown off in the least by this venture into the realm of mathematics so soon after their grammatical discursion, “you say my characters have no more personality or interest than a dot, a single point in the space-time continuum?”

  “Precisely,” said she in quiet triumph, “now on with my tale:

  It was rather a dreadful trick, though quite ingenious, or so thought the Fairy of Blackfen, and at last she would have her revenge, one way or another, on those who had insulted her so long ago. If the girl were as insipid as her parents, she would be destroyed along with all her folk, but if she somehow managed to remain untainted by their futility and vanity, she would soon find herself napping until Time itself failed utterly. She drew back into the shadows and watched in eager anticipation what was to come. The most delicious part of the whole scheme was that her pansy of a sister thought she could use the girl to subvert her plans, when either outcome was just as satisfactory to the Fairy of Blackfen, though on second thought, the idea of the girl thinking to sacrifice herself on behalf of those who could not even comprehend such a scheme and wouldn’t care about it if they could, was rather delightful.”

  “You can’t gloat in the third person,” sulked the man.

  “I can do whatever I want,” said she, “I am the omniscient narrator! That includes turning you into a frog, by the way!”

  He shuddered involuntarily, “I thought you were a Reformed Evil Fairy.”

  “Only a Mostly Reformed Evil Fairy,” said she, savoring his discomfiture, “it is a process after all:

  On the far side of the woods lay a wild land of moor and fen, amidst those forgotten hills was a cavern in which the knights slept as men in their tombs. Kylee set out immediately for that lonely heathland as the fairy vanished to distract her sister, that she might not know of this threat to her plan until it was too late, little knowing her sister’s true intentions. The journey was uneventfully made and as night was falling, Kylee found herself upon a stony hillside beneath a sky of lowering grey clouds. An archway of stone stood black and ominous before her, like the mouth of death. She took a deep breath and marched into the doorway. There was a slight glow in the otherwise gloomy cavern, for some sort of luminous fungus thrived therein. Upon each side lay a row of stone biers and upon each lay an unmoving knight, sword upon his breast, as one interred. She hastened to the far end of the seeming tomb where lay an empty stone bier, around which had coiled a thorny vine that bore spines, long and sharp as needles, and black roses, which stank of death and decay. As she crawled atop the bier, she pricked her finger upon one of the thorns, a single drop of blood fell atop the stony bed as the girl immediately fell into darkness.

  A light glimmered in the doorway as the fairy entered to see what had come of her friend. The girl lay unmoving, pale as marble and cold as stone, upon her bier while all about the cavern, the sound of waking men and clinking armor filled the air. The fairy’s light and courage blazed forth as she called the groggy knights to arms and told them of all that had come to pass and what was yet to come. As one, they gazed upon the sleeping form of the maiden with pity and wonder, vowing to waken her in turn once the grim fairy’s minions were routed. They emerged from the cave and found their horses inexplicably waiting and eager upon the hillside. Once they were mounted, the fairy’s light engulf
ed them all, and they vanished, leaving the hillside to its lonely vigil, save that the great thorny rose encircling the girl’s bier grew to such vastness that it quickly covered the entire hill and filled the cavern in which she lay. Any who dared approach the sleeping figure would soon find themselves likewise enchanted by the merest scratch from those countless, terrible thorns.

  The vile fairy unleashed her minions at full dark and intended none of her neighbors to see the morning, but her sister knew of her plans and sent her own knights to counter the plot. The fighting was fierce but the wakened knights were victorious and the grim fairy overthrown. The triumphant knights and their pixie captain surrounded the fell creature, who wore a look of haughty triumph even in defeat, scoffed she, “well met sister! A victory indeed, I did not think you had it in you, but what has it cost your dear little friend? She will never waken as long as the hills endure! You have salvaged the lives of those hereabouts but at what cost?” Her scornful laughter seemed to mock the rising dawn itself before she vanished into the whelming mist.

  “What will come of her?” asked one of the Knights of the remaining fairy.

  She shook her head and said, “she will likely get up to more mischief one day, but for now these folk might dwell in relative peace and safety.”

  Asked another Knight, “what of the sleeping maid? Did the fell lady speak truly of her fate?”

  The fairy said sadly, “she paid the price willingly and without hesitation. But great is the price to free her from the enchantment; I do not know if any would be willing to endure the cost, so she will likely sleep on until the world itself has passed into legend.”

  “What then is the price?” asked the first Knight.

  Said she, “one must journey to the far, distant hills that rim the very edge of the world. There grows a flower that is said to cure even death itself, but the price to pick them is great. The hand that plucks them must then cross the hills and leave the world forever behind. What lies beyond, none knows, but that is the price.”

  There was much murmuring amongst the Knights, for they had not reckoned on such a cost. They had thought to fight monsters or fell men, to make a great journey and bold vows, but in the end to return triumphant. But this? To make the effort and never see the result; to strive and never return more? The cost was too great, the price too dear. One by one, they turned away with many fine words and much regret; the fairy wretchedly watched them go, but knew it better that they never attempt the journey than to have their hearts and courage fail at the last. All the men of renown and valor abandoned her that day, but the least of them all, a mere page, remained behind. She eyed the boy with grim hope, “and would you risk this thing when all your elders will not?”

  The boy shrugged, “if none else will, that leaves only me. I will go.” He frowned, “how then are these flowers to reach the imperiled lady if I am not to return?”

  Laughed she for very joy, “I will accompany you and bear them back to she that sleeps.”

  The boy nodded grimly, “then we had best be on our way.” She laughed in relief and joy as the boy mounted his horse and they set forth into the dawning. As they traveled, asked he, “could you not pluck these flowers to save your friend?”

  She looked sadly upon the boy and shook her head gravely, “nay, for my kind is not allowed beyond the confines of this world, only mortal man has that doom and that joy.” The boy nodded, but seemed perplexed by her words, but there was naught she could say to enlighten him, for it was just the way matters stood and was perhaps beyond mortal comprehension.

  She could not harvest the flowers herself, but she could certainly help the boy in other ways and much did she ease the tedium and difficulty of travel with her magical talents and pleasant company, until at last, after a rather uneventful and relatively agreeable journey, they arrived upon the hills that bordered the verge of the world. It was an enchanting land of rolling hills, wide meadows, laughing brooks, and bright woodlands, but to the East there was no horizon of boundless blue sky, but rather a perpetual mist that seemed ever radiant with the new risen sun. Said she, “thence must you go once you have plucked the flowers.”

  He studied the mist and some part deep within yearned above all else to discover its secrets. He smiled at her tremulously, “and where grow these wondrous plants?”

  She smiled and pointed to the mist, “in the very vapor of the mist do they abide.” They walked slowly towards the verge and a wondrous scent filled the air.

  He sighed with great eagerness, “they smell sweeter than life itself!”

  “Aye,” said she, “and so will they drive away even the shadows of death. But come, the time is at hand. Does your courage fail you, even now?”

  Laughed he for very joy, “nay lady, I long to plunge in and see what waits Beyond, if this is the mere border, what must lie at the heart?”

  A bittersweet smile touched her lips, “I envy you son of man, for such I shall not know while this world lasts.”

  They drew to the very edge and he reached into the mist, taking up a humble clump of what looked to be no more exotic a flower than what is commonly called lily-of-the-valley. He smiled and tried to draw his arm back from the mist, but could not withdraw it; he looked to the fairy in concern, said she, “you must fully enter the mist and then hand me the flowers from within its confines. Do not go too far in or you and the flowers will be utterly lost to the mortal world!” He nodded and a look of joyous determination filled his eyes as he took that first fateful step. His heart gave a strange quiver as the mist enshrouded him but he knew he could now hand off the flowers. She smiled with a strange mix of joy and sadness and took the proffered bouquet. He smiled wondrously before vanishing deeper into the brume and beyond all knowledge of men. The fairy looked wistfully after the vanished boy, but then remembering her errand, returned to the ensorcelled Kylee.

  She suddenly appeared outside that grim cave, flowers in hand, but she was appalled to see it so overgrown with that deadly vine. “Ah! Just the thing,” came a relieved and unexpected voice, “if one is to waken an enchanted Princess, one must do it properly. How much for your pretty flowers, lass?”

  Pretty flowers? Princess? Unsure exactly what was going on, the fairy gave the dashing Prince a baffled look as he handed her a few coins and relieved her of her flowers. With that, he strode boldly towards the overgrown tomb; the scent of the flowers sent the shadow of death flying from its confines as the black roses burst into jubilant curtains of bloom in every shade of red, pink, and yellow, drawing gaily aside to admit the young hero. He knelt beside the bier, struck breathless by the maid’s beauty, and then she inexplicably woke up, without a proper kiss or anything! Kylee sat up as one long abed upon a joyous morning and smiled wonderingly at this handsome stranger. He shrugged at the seeming impropriety of the situation and offered the lady his hand. Thus did they emerge joyfully from what once had been a tomb into the glorious day, as from death into life. Kylee immediately saw her friend and rushed to greet her, wondering what had happened whilst she slept.

  The fairy then imparted the tale, causing Kylee’s countenance to fall, especially at what it had cost the valiant youth on her behalf. She glanced questioningly at the Prince, “you had nothing at all to do with this rescue?”

  He shrugged, “I paid the girl fairly for those flowers. What more could I do?”

  She frowned at him, “you do not find it a little odd that death and darkness fled so easily before you?”

  He smiled ruefully, “I’m a Prince, and those things just happen in such tales as this. Why should I find it strange in the least?” He frowned, “though I did wonder why you wakened without a proper kiss. That at least was rather uncanny.”

  Said she, “you do know that I’m not a true Princess?”

  “That could complicate things,” said he, “I had hoped to rescue a Princess, I’m not sure what my parents would think if I brought home a lady without a royal title a
nd a handsome dowry.”

  The fairy burst out laughing, “so you sir, are not the true hero of this tale and yet have the temerity to find yourself disappointed that this lady is not of royal blood?”

  He smiled ironically and said with a laugh, “it is a bit strange at that. I guess I just stumbled into the wrong tale, that’s all.” He shrugged, “it was a lovely story while it lasted.” He offered the lady his hand, she shook it merrily, and they parted on the best of terms. Said he as he mounted his horse, “farewell ladies, I hear tell there is a dragon most foul that needs slaying over yonder and he holds a real princess captive.” He thrust the flowers into the girl’s hands before urging his white charger off into the westering sun, soon vanishing from view.

  The girl sighed heavily as she turned to her friend, “what of that poor boy who gave up everything for my sake?”

  Said the fairy wistfully, “you need not mourn over much for him I think, he rejoiced in his fate ere he vanished from my sight.”

  Kylee smiled sadly and then asked curiously, “what then lies beyond all this? Perhaps I should venture thither and see for myself!”

  The fairy smiled knowingly, “nay child, for though all men must take that path one day, none should seek it ere their time. It was a needful thing that sent him thus, but you must bide here awhile and see what life yet holds for you. Your tale is not yet done.” Her smile became wry indeed, “perhaps it will yet avail you a Prince.”

  Laughed the girl, “I cannot abide a half told tale, you are right my friend, that journey will come soon enough, but I must finish one tale before I begin another. Though if all Princes are as stuffy as that fellow, I think I can learn to live without them.””

  “Ha!” burst out the journalist, once more tempting an amphibious doom, “your prince is just as insipid as mine!”

  “No,” said the fairy, with that ever annoying smirk of triumph, “he is vastly more insipid, which makes him far more interesting. Yours simply puts people to sleep; I wonder how he ever thought he could wake that princess of yours from an enchanted doze?”

  “There’s still no spindle,” grumped the man, “and it hardly resembles the tale I have heard told.”

  “That’s your fault, not mine,” said the fairy derisively, “you should have gone straight to the source from the start instead of listening to hearsay. Now be quiet, for this is where it gets good:

  Suddenly the fairy’s elder sister was there beside them, desirous of her own part in the conversation, said she with a grim laugh, “that was a tale indeed! I never thought to see the Prince ride off into the sunset all by his lonesome, that was quite satisfying!” She skewered the girl with a glare, “now why did you have to go and be all sensible and virtuous and the like, especially for the sake of all your deplorable kinfolk?”

  Kylee laughed aloud, “it would not have been much of a story else.”

  “I suppose not,” said the elder fairy, who then glared at her sister, “and how did you manage to find a lad that could love a lady, a stranger at that, more than life itself?”

  “It is the true nature of love, I suppose,” said the younger thoughtfully, “the world thinks it all romance and excitement and fuzzy feelings, while all that is very nice and natural, it has very little to do with the actual concept and practice of love, which in its basest and simplest form is merely one will sacrificing its own good for that of another.”

  Kylee sighed heavily, “and the only man in true possession of such a virtue now dwells beyond the confines of this world! Whatever happened to happily ever after, anyway?”

  Seethed the elder fairy, “I despise happily ever after! There is no such thing in my experience.”

  Kylee smiled knowingly, “at least not this side of those strange mists at the end of the world.”

  “It isn’t mere happiness Beyond, either,” said the younger fairy, “it’s Joy, pure and simple, if the rumors be true.”

  “Yckk!” grunted the elder fairy, as if she had been poked with a stick, “that’s even worse, you make me nauseous with such goings on!”

  Kylee arched an eyebrow, “what have you against such things, madam?”

  The Fairy of Blackfen smirked, “I find them dreadfully dull, what is life without the spice and zest of mischief and mayhem? My sister mentioned the word ‘nice’ just now and that is a word I detest above all others. I want nothing to do with any of it!” She eyed her sister with mild irritation, as she fell to giggling uncontrollably, “and what pray tell, is so funny?”

  “You,” guffawed the other, “nice indeed! I quite agree, it is a deplorable word and should be stricken from our vocabulary, but what you think you abhor and what really scares you are two very different things.”

  “Oh,” said the elder, “enlighten me, do.”

  “You think all this prattle about joy and love and hope is dreadfully boring because to you, such concepts are as dull and tedious as ever was the word ‘nice,’ but really, you are terrified to discover that they are quite different from what you first thought them to be and that you have been wrong all these years. And you are, dear sister, more wrong than you can begin to imagine, for they are not dull and quaint and boring, but there is nothing more exciting, fierce, or dangerous in all the world or beyond it. And that scares you, and it should, because without just that, your life is nothing and never will be. Your idea of love is about as deep as that held by our dear, departed Prince, which is to say, nothing at all.”

  “Perhaps,” said the elder fairy with a quizzical frown, “I will consider it, but I absolutely refuse to be nice.”

  “Nor would I ever ask such a horrid thing of you,” said her smiling sister, “but I will certainly wish you a true ‘happily ever after.’”

  “Yes,” said Kylee, “but what now am I to do? I cannot go home, even your dread sister cannot wish such a fate upon me.”

  The elder smiled wryly, “I didn’t wish it on you when you were born, lass, and now that I’m supposed to be a reformed fairy of sorts, I guess I can’t go cursing fools and boors left and right as once was my fancy. Have your parents even figured out you are missing?”

  Giggled the younger fairy, “certainly not, that intrepid but lazy Nurse of yours told them that her charge was off on an extended retreat for Royal and Noble youths then hied herself off to be Naptime Supervisor at the Montessori.”

  Kylee laughed, “at least she’ll doze happily ever after.” Her face fell, “but what is to come of me?”

  Her friend smiled hopefully, “I know the cutest little cottage, with wisteria growing all over it and a garden full of violets.”

  “Before you become a cottager,” said the Reformed Fairy, “you’ll need to invest in a proper spinning wheel. It would be scandalous else, but it will be my treat, a just and poetic recompense for all I’ve put you through.”

  Kylee nodded, “what then are we waiting for?” But the other fairy gave her sister a thoughtful frown, wondering what the elder was up to. The theoretically reformed lady only smiled mysteriously and led the way back to town, whereupon they paid a visit to Crazy Bob’s Spinning Wheel Emporium.

  The eager salesman approached at a run, babbling on like a brook in flood about his various wares, sales, and guarantees. Kylee wandered off with him to look at the latest model, upon which she pricked her finger and fainted dead away. “Not again!” bewailed the distraught salesman, “at this rate I’ll never sell a single spinning wheel, and I work on commission!”

  Said the Reformed Fairy of Blackfen in commiseration, “why not start a side business of renting out rooms for those so afflicted, it will be a steady income.”

  He nodded thoughtfully, “that’s a brilliant idea! I’ll even give you a discount on your friend there, since it was your idea.”

  The fairy shook her head, “thanks but no, she has a destiny all her own.”

  “It was just a thought,” said the man with a shrug, but another customer drew his attention and he hastened away.
<
br />   Frowned the younger at the elder as the latter took up the prone form, “what are you up to? I thought you had turned over a new leaf?”

  “Oh, I have,” said the other with a fervent grin and a twinkle in her eye, “trust me on this.”

  Her sister shook her head, “I will for now, but you had best do some explaining, and sooner rather than later.”

  They suddenly vanished and reappeared beside the rose covered hill wherein Kylee had had her last good nap. Once the girl was again settled on her bier, those magnificent flowers still clutched in her hands, the fairies went outside to confer on the girl’s fate and future. Said the reformed lady, “now sister, can you do something with the aesthetics of this place? I am no good with all that decorating stuff, make this hill a castle and all these wastes a garden. Then we’ll assemble a staff and treasury, and when our girl wakens, she’ll be a princess indeed.”

  The younger fairy smiled, “I love it, and she’ll only wake up when the right man comes along? None of these shallow, so-called charming fellows for her?”

  “Precisely,” said her sister with a triumphant smirk, “now let’s get down to business.””

  “What was that!?” said the writer in outrage, “moralizing, philosophical maunderings, a cheap shot at consumerism? This isn’t a fairy tale, it is verging on a fable. And you can’t just invent a princess, you know?”

  “Omniscient narrator!” crowed the fairy in triumph, but added thoughtfully, “so why can’t I be omnipotent as well, at least in my own tale? You can’t tell me that all these writers of so-called fairy tales don’t just make up a kingdom and royalty to go with it whenever they happen to need it. Besides, you mortals invent royalty all the time. You need a King, or think you do, so someone declares himself thus,” continued she with a grimace of distaste, “of course it usually involves a civil war and treason and that sort of thing, so you see, this is certainly far less messy, besides, haven’t you ever heard of poetic license?”

  “Yes,” said the man, quietly thoughtful, “I worked for the Department of Poetry and Prose for a summer during college.” His frown deepened as he met her eye, “did you actually apply for such a license?”

  “Certainly,” said the fairy, now on the defensive, “after the fact, but I did acquire one.”

  “They are not retroactive!” said the man, aghast.

  “Well, I was an Evil Fairy at the time,” grouched she.

  “I suppose,” said the man with a sigh, “but you make an interesting case with your Theory on the Invention of Royalty and Kingdoms at Need. Perhaps you should write a thesis on it?”

  She nodded eagerly, “then I could be Doctor Reformed Fairy of Blackfen. I’ll certainly have to consider it, but first, let me finish my tale:

  They invited Midas Jones to come over for a consultation on the treasury, a matter which he promptly set in good order, but upon trying to settle the bill, he said to the Reformed Fairy of Blackfen, “madam, no amount of money could satisfy me, for obvious reasons I am quite content financially, but rather let me marry the sleeping maiden and I’ll consider your account settled...!” He trailed off with an awkward squawk that sounded more a croak at the end as the younger fairy turned him into a rather mopey bullfrog.

  She grinned at her sister and said, “I can see why you like this sort of thing.” She addressed the amphibian, “now listen closely, frog-boy. You can live in the moat rent free, eat all the flies you can catch, and therein hopefully await the day when a princess will deign to kiss such as you, otherwise I am sure my sister would happily fricassee your legs for lunch. Are we agreed?” With a terrified croak, the boorish ranid hopped off and immersed himself in said moat.

  “Very good sister,” laughed the elder, “I could not have done it better myself!”

  They then betook themselves to the task of hiring a competent staff to run the castle once the Princess Kylee awakened from her slumber. As each resume was reviewed and the interviews were conducted, the selected individuals were asked to join their future mistress in a lengthy repose, one fellow asked rather impertinently if he would be compensated for his time spent napping, whereupon he joined poor Midas in the moat, which brought a questioning frown from the younger fairy to bear upon the elder, who shrugged and said, “I can’t be totally reformed all at once now can I, a relapse is not unexpected.”

  The younger smiled, “nay sister, you misunderstand me, I thought I was in charge of the Human Resources Department.”

  The elder laughed, “but you can’t have all the fun.”

  They continued in this manner until the castle was fully staffed, but the younger fairy felt inclined to look at one final resume and immediately hire the owner thereof. The elder glanced over her sister’s shoulder in confusion and asked, “what did you hire him for?”

  The younger smiled mischievously and answered, “he is one of those forward thinking fellows that believes the world is round!”

  “Ah!” said the elder, further studying the resume, “and he is eager to prove it at that. A wise decision, it will not stop the progression of things, but perhaps it will buy us some time. Sleep well, Master Columbus and may it be many a year before your ships set sail and unmake the world as we once knew it.”

  Sighed the younger, “it will not be long, sister, ere we are but legend and must then dwell in secret, forgotten except by children and poets.”

  “So it must be, my dear, but we have a few years yet before History becomes more important than Legend,” said the Reformed Fairy of Blackfen, “and as you say, there will always be those who still believe in things unseen.””

  “That’s a rather sad ending,” said the man in actual dismay.

  “I haven’t finished yet,” said the fairy, only slightly vexed, “but yes, it is rather a sad commentary on the state of the world in general.”

  “Did you really delay Master Columbus?” said he in wonder.

  “Of a certainty,” said she with a proud grin, “but only for a century or two, but it was fun while it lasted. Now are you ready for the true happily ever after?” He nodded eagerly and she began:

  “So it was that the Princess Kylee slept on for many a year, until at last a worthy suitor presented himself at the rose draped castle, barely visible beneath the twining vines, heavy with flowers. He passed easily through the corridors, past the sleeping minions awaiting their first day of employment, he did not notice the two morose frogs bemoaning their fate in the moat or see the two magical ladies watching in eagerness from the shadows, but had eyes only for she who slept upon the stone bier, the ever blooming flowers still clutched in her hands. He drank in her radiance for a long moment and then kissed her fully and deeply, her eyes fluttered open and she gazed up joyously into his own. Whispered the elder fairy to the younger, “perhaps there is such a thing as happily ever after, after all!” Her sister’s glorious smile and dancing eyes were answer enough.”

  “You are getting soft,” said the journalist with a heartfelt sigh, and then he frowned, and said in horror at a sudden realization, “and so am I!”

  “I know,” said the fairy resignedly, “what do you think happens when you get Reformed, even just mostly?”

  “I don’t want to be a Reformed Journalist,” said he in near panic.

  “No need to worry about that,” said the fairy dryly, “there is no such thing. Unicorns might be real, but there is certainly no such thing as a Reformed Journalist.”

  “At least there are still a few myths in the world,” said he in relief, “what would we write fairy tales about if everything in them were true?”

  “But it is!” said she in surprise, “that is the whole point.” She added with a thoughtful frown, “but then you are a journalist.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?” asked he in consternation.

  She shrugged, “it is just that some people can’t believe in the truth, even when it is right before their eyes.”

  “But if I am not skeptical of
everything,” said he, “I might believe anything and then where would my reporting be?”

  “But what if you are too skeptical?” asked she.

  “It is a risk I am willing to take,” said he with a huff.

  “That is exactly my point,” said she with a nod. He gave her a mystified look but she quickly changed the subject that they might not converse in circles till the stars fell, “so what did you think of my tale?”

  “I don’t believe it,” said he, adding quickly as he caught her dark look, “but then it is a fairy tale and no one needs to believe it. But it is not Sleeping Beauty. No one is going to make a big budget animated movie out of it, that’s for sure.”

  She looked at him, quite aghast, “you think I want the tale ruined by singing mice? Can you imagine what your descendants would reinterpret my character to be? I’d have a green face and horns or something equally ridiculous! It would be a disgrace, not to mention embarrassing, and then they wouldn’t even give me a cut of the profits and I’d have to turn them all into frogs, which would be an unmitigated environmental disaster.” She picked up his discarded draft and handed it back to him, saying sadly, “here, take your story. Perhaps the world cannot stomach anything else.”

  He stood and tipped his hat to the lady, saying almost apologetically, “it is a good story, but you are right, the world is different nowadays and really can’t handle such a tale. Good day, madam.”

  He left and the fairy smiled wryly after him, vastly proud of herself for not having turned him into a frog after all, no matter how much he deserved it. But his insipid legend would no doubt go down in history, and be a musical sensation besides, while the true tale would be forgotten, like everything else in life that was even remotely important. Maybe she should pursue that doctorate and take a teaching position at a major university and try changing that particularly disturbing trend of the modern world. She laughed heartily at her own musings, that would be a miracle indeed and truly worthy of a fairy tale in its own right. This Reformed thing was getting very much out of hand. Now where had she left that Midas Frog, perhaps he’d be willing to finance her education if she lifted his amphibious curse. She laughed again, wryly this time; she was becoming a veritable fairy-godmother! If her sister ever found out about this, she’d never live it down. Where was that wretched frog?

  On Heroes: A Foible

  Aido had been an under-clerk for the Department of Prophecy Amelioration for over a decade, and at last he was about to embark on his first undercover investigation. He had been in training for years: working out, perfecting his combat techniques, learning to procure and prepare ‘wild food,’ studying old maps and forgotten languages, familiarizing himself with the prophetic writings of every culture, real or imagined, learning the arts of healing, riding, and woodcraft, and only shaving every third day. Finally, his superiors had decided that he was ready to be promoted to the rank of Investigator for the Sub-department of Hero Isolation and Containment. He happily walked over to the Repository of Draught and Riding Beasts to procure his very own work vehicle; hopefully something in a blood bay with a little spirit, but that was asking for too much, after all, his was a bureaucratic position.

  At least he was not assigned the riding ox or the donkey that would only go left, regardless of whether you asked him to stop, turn, or back up. He took the reins from the bored looking kid who worked the desk and looked over his new wheels skeptically; it had four legs at least, that was a start. The sorrel coat would blend in with every other horse on the planet, which was far from exciting, but perhaps being inconspicuous would be an advantage in the field. It would get him where he needed to go in an efficient manner and that was all the Department cared about. He sighed and led the beast out of the Repository and parked it in the loading area before going to retrieve the rest of his equipment.

  If the horse wasn’t exciting, maybe his weapons allotment would be. Aido stood in line for what seemed hours as a fusty old lady pottered about behind the counter of the Dispensary of Potentially Lethal Implements, adjusting her glasses and scratching her head in confusion every three seconds. Finally his turn came and he handed over the paperwork requisitioning what he would need for his field investigation. She stared at him blankly, blinked a few times like a confused chicken, and then after a few minutes of silence, said, “you will have to come back after the Midday Ingestion Break, Investigator. You know it is against Regulations for me or anyone else to do any sort of Official Business between the hours of Twelve and Thirteen.”

  He stared at her in astonishment, not believing it was already that late in the day and dreading the thought of more delay, but there was nothing to be done. If either of them were caught working over the Break, the results would be catastrophic. He said something inconsequential and made his way to the Room of Edible Procurement and then returned to the Dispensary to wait, finding that he had lost his place in line. He sat down with a sigh and tried not to weep in frustration. Finally, just before the Afternoon Refreshment Period, he was allowed to get his allotment of PLIs. Like the horse, there was nothing at all interesting about the assortment of weapons, but at least they were functional.

  Quite nervous that he would not be able to leave today after all, he hurried to the Division of Wardrobe Affairs to outfit himself for his new role and thankfully arrived after the Refreshment Period. He stared glumly at the bundle of clothing, knowing it looked like it was supposed to but that the material and craftsmanship would not hold up if he encountered any weather that was not sunny and warm. The middle-aged clerk watched his reaction carefully, with a slight sneer on his face, saying as he saw Aido’s dismay, “don’t blame me, we have limited time to make the stuff and whoever bought the material got a great deal on it, though I wouldn’t use it for rags, but it ain’t my fault.”

  Aido sighed again and left with his allocation of lousy clothes. Finally, with the sun low on the horizon, he returned to his nondescript horse to pack and be gone, but it took him another half hour to figure out which of the eight sorrel geldings in the loading area was his. When he finally identified the beast, he almost turned right around and demanded his old job back, for there was a parking ticket tucked into the creature’s bridle. He glanced at the sign, thirty minute parking indeed! He loaded the saddlebags and swung into the saddle. With a grim smile, he crumpled up the fine and tossed it over his shoulder and then urged his horse to a trot before anything else could delay him.

  He stood outside the Edifice of Monetary Exchange and wanted to scream. He needed to make a withdrawal from the Department’s account to finance his journey but the facility was closed and would not open again for three days, as it was an Obscure Holiday Weekend (Foot Fungus Awareness Day). Aido could not wait that long or his superiors would demand to know why he was so inefficient in his duties. He had no choice but to hope there was a branch Edifice in one of the villages through which he would undoubtedly pass. He turned his mediocre beast and made his way out of the city.

  Darkness had fallen, forcing him to pull over for the night. He glanced about hopefully, but there was no sign of either an Approved Nocturnal Repose Sight or a House of Temporary Accommodation for Wayfarers. He could get in trouble for camping in an unapproved fashion but it was a risk he would have to take, and with the mood he was in, he was quite ready to defy any and every regulation he could think of. He even built a fire without a permit from the Incendiary Activity Coordinator and used wood without asking leave of the Arboreal Comptroller. The cheery blaze revealed a sardonic smile on the face of the Investigator as he rethought the day and began to wonder at his previous eagerness for this assignment.

  He had always been as much a stickler for the rules as any petty bureaucrat could be, but after all the headaches and frustration of the day, he began to wonder at his previous zeal for such stipulations. With these uneasy thoughts on his mind, he turned over and tried to sleep in as unregulated a fashion as possible. The birds awoke far
earlier than any sensible regulatory body or department could fathom, a challenge the Avian Affairs Agency was still trying to bring under control, but the small, feathered fiends just would not submit to their authority, though fines and imprisonment had all been tried, alas to no avail. Aido was glad there was something in the Universe that had as yet defied regulation, and even more grateful that he would be up and on his way long before the lackeys of the Thoroughfare Safety and Compliance Administration were abroad. His more sensible side began to regret his rashness with the parking ticket, but another part of him laughed mercilessly at the part that fretted over such a trifling matter. He gathered up his gear, mounted his horse, and continued on his way.

  It was just the sort of day to prolong the usefulness of his standard issue substandard clothing and his heart rejoiced in the beauty of the morning, quite insensible that he was violating at least nine subparagraphs of the Modern Aesthetic Code, which frowned upon such natural splendor and the enjoyment thereof, rather preferring the appreciation of the far more grotesque and grim (not to mention more financially lucrative) products of the modern writers, musicians, and painters. But what did this mere underling know of High Culture and the Finer Things of Life? He rode along amongst the bucolic charm all about him, content in his ignorance. The plain old horse jogged along indifferent to the countryside about him, and therefore quite obviously a lover of Fine Things and of a higher social order than his master. They came to a sizable market town that afternoon and Aido hoped to make a successful withdrawal from his work account to finance the remainder of his mission, else the paperwork to obtain a reimbursement of his expenditures would take the rest of his mortal days to accomplish.

  He stopped before the newest, and ugliest, building in town, certain that it must be what he sought. It was, but like every other public institution, it was also closed in observance of an Official Obscure Holiday Weekend. Apparently his work related expenditures would have to be passed on to his children as an inheritance, as he would not live long enough to be reimbursed. He sighed and urged the beast out of town before he started screaming in frustration and risked being locked away as a lunatic or a disturber of the peace. Aido rode on for another hour before stopping alongside a happy creek, where he decided to take a break from his saddle and water his highly efficient mode of transportation. He mused upon his assignment and its futility as he leaned on the bridge railing and watched the gladsome water frolic in its stony channel beneath him. He wished his life could be as happy and careless as that unceasing flow. Another day of riding would bring him to his destination, perhaps his previous enthusiasm would then return once he was truly doing what he had always dreamt of doing one day, and for which he had spent his entire life preparing. With a heavy sigh he climbed back into his saddle, knowing chances were very good that only his loathing would grow in the days to come, for his heart had grown cold towards his first and only love. He rode on, wondering what he was riding towards, or perhaps more correctly, what he was trying to escape.

  He passed through several small villages while the day lasted, each with its own Regulation Stopping Places, but he ignored them and rode on, enjoying the illicit thrill of thwarting the over-regulation under which he had so happily toiled his entire life. Thankfully it was a Holiday Weekend, else he might not have made it through the first village without being apprehended by the local constabulary for his various heinous crimes against humanity and the world in general, to say nothing about the discarded traffic citation. He rode on through more and more villages, each more forgettable than the last, laid out in the precise pattern required by the Zoning Commission of Outlying Settlements. He camped again in an unregulated fashion before rising on the Official Obscure Holiday and rode into Happytown in time for the Midday Ingestion Break. He glanced around uneagerly at yet another cookie cutter village and sighed, but he had work to do. He entered the Requisite Lodging and Nourishment Establishment for Transients, the only place open on an Official Obscure Holiday, and allowed the flighty teenaged hostess to seat him in the nearly empty common dining area, and acknowledged that he would gladly consume the Daily Balanced and Nutritious Repast. She returned with the unassuming concoction in a bowl and set a mug of some viscous purplish-green liquid before him that smelled of aged turnips and old socks, which immediately killed what little appetite he had.

  As he was staring balefully at his inedible Repast, a man with a knowing look in his eyes seated himself beside the Investigator and smiled superciliously at him. Said the newcomer without preamble, “you work for the Feds, don’t you.” It was not a question.

  Aido looked up in surprise but did not deny it, saying, “what gave me away?”

  The man’s smile became condescending, “anyone dressed in cloth of that poor a make must either be destitute or a government employee.” He laughed in derision, “my brother is a fabric merchant and makes a handsome living by selling such pathetic material by the square acre to lackeys in the Department of Acquisition and Distribution of Necessary Consumables. He makes more per yard from that flimsy stuff than he does selling the finest material available to the Great Lords.”

  Aido smiled ironically, “that does not surprise me in the least.”

  Said the stranger, “so what are you doing here? Obviously you are here on Official Unofficial Business else you’d be in a Right and Proper Uniform.”

  Said Aido warmly, “I am here to discover if any Heroes might be budding in Happytown. Certain of the Prophecies hint at just such an Occurrence in the very near future.”

  The man laughed, “trying to thwart Prophecy again, are they? Will you people ever realize there are just some things government cannot control?”

  Aido stared at his regulation soup in dismay, “that I highly doubt.”

  Said the man eagerly, “so just what happens if you discover said Hero?”

  Aido said dryly, “we offer him a great government job. If he declines that, then he gets to attend Mandatory Reeducation Sessions for the Socially Dysfunctional and will inevitably end up committing suicide, excuse me, I mean he will choose Elective Self Annihilation.”

  “Lovely,” said his companion, “you people have a title for everything!”

  Aido smiled wryly, “the Department of Nomenclature is the biggest division of the government.” He glanced around furtively and said, “I would rather get out of this line of work. The sooner the better.”

  The stranger brightened, “with that I may be of assistance.” He continued with an amused smile, “are you aware that you are a fugitive?”

  Aido frowned, “I was not aware that it was Official, but it would not surprise me, though it is an Obscure Holiday. The parking fine?”

  The stranger laughed, “you didn’t?!”

  Aido caught his amusement and nodded, “I carelessly tossed it aside.” He then whispered, “among other vicious crimes.”

  The stranger smiled deeply, “then I will gladly aid your disappearance. We criminals must stick together. Come!” They stood silently, heartlessly leaving the inedible fodder on the table and a less than standard tip for the Hostess.

  As they walked inconspicuously down the street, Aido noticed several posters bearing his face and emblazoned with directions for his immediate apprehension. They continued their steady, unhurried progress (so as not to draw attention) and turned down a smaller lane that apparently vanished into the neatly managed coppice behind the village. Eventually the Regulation Side Path crossed the threshold into the Unregulated and Semi-wild Wooded Area and became as unmanaged as the forest through which it wound. They continued on in silence for nearly an hour, and only when they felt themselves truly alone and unobserved did the stranger finally speak, “so what has prompted your flight from Order, my friend?”

  Aido laughed, “I set out with every good intention of fulfilling my orders but it seemed at every turn there was a governmentally imposed hindrance to me accomplishing my task or
even surviving for an hour without unneeded frustration and complication. That and the ride out here gave me plenty of time to consider life and the lack of meaning therein.”

  The stranger smiled broadly, “welcome to the first day of a purposeful life my friend. I am called Gunyon and am a member of the Freemen for Commonsense.”

  Aido grinned, “that sounds like something birthed in the Department of Nomenclature.”

  Gunyon laughed, “it was, we social rebels had not yet got around to naming our pathetic little society and the guys over at Nomenclature could not abide having such an as yet unnamed group running at large, so they came up with a name for us.”

  “Just what does this society of yours do?” asked Aido as they trekked deeper into the confines of the wood.

  Gunyon shrugged, “we really haven’t accomplished much of anything yet. We started only a few months ago as a small group of annoyed citizens who occasionally met to grouse about too much Order over Tea. Of course our Tea Time was not considered the Official Hour for Consuming Brewed Beverages, so the authorities soon started to take notice. We each received a rather nasty letter, in triplicate of course, indicating that we had best mend our ways or there would be Dire Consequences.”

  “What did you do?” asked Aido, both amused and aghast.

  Gunyon smiled, “we went underground of course. On the outside we are just monotonous citizens but when no one is looking...” he paused for effect, “we each of us are rather disorderly and unique.”

  “Your crimes far outweigh mine, sir,” said Aido, with a respectful bow.

  Gunyon smiled in anticipation, “but you have hardly begun to rebel my friend. I think you could make quite a career of it.” For the first time since he left his old life behind, Aido felt the first stirrings of eagerness and what he was startled to realize must be hope.

  Once Aido was completely confused as to direction and the hour, they stood outside an old fashioned but well tended cottage with only a few unofficial weeds daring to show their leaves in the otherwise regulation vegetable patch. Aido said in appreciation, “how do you get away with keeping up such a residence?”

  Gunyon smiled, “the Inspectors for the Regulatory Authority of Domiciles and Outbuildings are loath to travel this far off the beaten path to make sure my house is up to code. I don’t tell them anything and they don’t ask; it is a mutually beneficial relationship.” They stabled the horse in an old lean-to that had once housed a cow, but Gunyon had not bothered to go through the rigmarole required to acquire a new one after the decease of his previous beast. They entered the cottage and Gunyon’s wife happily served them a brewed beverage outside the requisite hours. As they sipped their tea, they discussed many things and Aido felt himself enjoying life and real companionship for the first time in living memory.

  “So what about this Hero of yours?” asked Gunyon, as he munched on his fifteenth cucumber sandwich.

  Aido said with a mouthful of cookie, “what about him?”

  Gunyon said, “what makes The Powers That Be think one is like to rise from such a place as Happytown?”

  Aido swallowed his cookie and said, “the name alone would suffice, but there are certain vague writings from an extinct people group native to the very south of the world that suggests as much, but as I said, the Prophecy is vague and it could be any of ten or twenty different villages and this may not even be the Appointed Time. That is the problem with Prophecy, it is often rather vague and fulfills itself often without us knowing until long after the fact. But just to be on the safe side, they are taking all precautions.”

  “How do you go about finding a Hero?” asked Gunyon with a smile.

  Aido chewed thoughtfully for a moment and then replied, “we will of course monitor all known widows with only sons, step-families containing an ill-tempered woman, orphans raised by obscure or cruel relatives, and anyone who has ever found a child of unknown pedigree on their doorstep. Of course the current management strategy for all such High Risk Families has been implemented to prevent just such an occurrence. None of these Families at High Risk of Hero Production or Prophecy Fulfillment are left to go hungry, become poor, or otherwise grow discontent with their lot in life. If there is no discontent or need, or so the theory goes, there is unlikely to be a Hero produced or a Prophecy fulfilled.”

  “An interesting theory,” said Gunyon as he chewed, “has it worked?”

  Aido shrugged his shoulders, “before my promotion to Investigator I worked mostly in the Laboratory of Statistics and Numerical Data which compiles numbers on Everything, even on things that have no numerical data, but there was very little convincing evidence that any of their preventive protocols either helped or hindered Prophecy/Hero attainment. In reality, such occurrences are so rare that it would take a millennium to get enough data to even begin calculating whether their programs are effective or not. Of course, no one really cares if a bureaucracy is effective so long as it seems to be doing something.”

  Gunyon chewed on this revelation and another sandwich, before saying, “can we improvise our own Hero?”

  Aido sat back and said thoughtfully, “it certainly isn’t done that way, at least if you are going by the Book, but I am so tired of ‘The Book of All Regulations Pertaining to Decent and Orderly Civilian Life’ that I think we should, just to spite them all!”

  Gunyon nodded, “very well, we will.”

  They stayed up much of the night (quite against the Treaty on Reasonable and Necessary Nocturnal Activities) discussing their plans to implement a Hero and/or fulfill a Prophecy. As they made up their lists, discussed necessary attributes, and inventoried equipment, Aido said in surprise, “it seems my training to prevent Hero actualization has actually equipped me with all of the requisite skills.”

  Gunyon smiled, “and out of Happytown a Hero shall rise. Prophecy fulfilled! Excellent! Now all we need is a ragtag band of followers and we shall be ready to shake the Pillars of Order.”

  Aido said hopefully, “your company of so-called Freemen?”

  Gunyon shook his head, “a few might be interested or willing to assist in our caper, but we need the seediest, most scandalous, and underrated band of cutthroats this world can supply.”

  Aido nodded, “ah, you suggest a raid on the Facility for the Containment of Socially Awkward Individuals.” Gunyon smiled in anticipation of what was to come.

  They went to bed and slept well into the day (violating the Compact on Acceptable Awakenings) and after a scrumptious breakfast that had nothing whatsoever to do with the Highly Recommended and Otherwise Required Guidelines for Food Preparation and Consumption, they went about plotting their raid. They made their way out of the forest in the twilight, knowing no true government official would bother being out of doors at that hour. They stayed overnight with another Freeman who lived on the far border of the forest and set out before first light the next morning. For three days they traveled as far and hard as they could each day without risking exposure by too much exertion. They arrived outside the Facility of CSAI in time for the Afternoon Refreshment Period and had to wait for admittance until the Guard for Security and Safety had finished his allotted Refreshment. The bored and disgruntled looking man in his fading years studied their paperwork, stared at them, returned to the paperwork, whistled tunelessly, and then resumed staring at them. Finally he said in irritation, “seems like everything is in order Investigator, you may proceed with your prisoner.”

  Gunyon nodded grimly and touched Aido in the small of the back with his swordpoint, grumbling, “move along, scum.” They both contained an exuberant smile that their subterfuge was working so well, of course it helped that Aido was truly an Investigator with a real Department and that Gunyon was a renowned scribe who could copy, forge, or create any document or handwriting desired.

  As Aido was by now a well-known criminal, it was quite reasonable to present him as the newest inmate of the Facility.
They wound deeper into the complex, passing each checkpoint and guard station with ease until they were in the very heart of the detention area. The day was wearing out as they passed the last checkpoint and Gunyon asked after the keys, that he might lock up his captive for the night. The guard yawned and said, “it is one minute to close pal, whatever you do afterhours is no concern of mine but I won’t be held liable for overtime. Take the keys, I’m going home.” He handed over the gigantic key ring and left for the night, leaving the pair alone with the inmates.

  It took several hours to free the captives, as there were countless keys to try in each lock, but finally the prisoners were loose and they began discussing strategy. It was an easy matter to capture the skeleton crew that guarded the facility at night and lock them up in the prisoners’ stead. It was many months before the incarcerated guards were able to convince the morning crew that they had been illegally detained, but finally the paperwork made it through all the proper channels and the guards were released with only a severe scolding. The morning crew thought it odd that the number and faces of the prisoners had changed overnight but as there was no official paper trail on the matter, no one wanted to get in trouble or take responsibility, so nothing was said about it until the proper paperwork was completed, by which time our Heroes were long since gone.

  Most of the detainees went home, as there were far too many of them to go a’questing, but there were half a dozen that stayed to help. Aido studied their motley crew with appreciation; here were rebels indeed. One man had green hair that clashed with his favorite purple shirt, another really liked liver and onions, there was a lady who was overly fond of cats, Robert insisted on being called Bob, there was a repeat jaywalker (crosswalks hadn’t been invented yet), and a man who had accidentally cut the tags off of a mattress he did not own. Few were the criminals in the realm more vile than these, let The Powers That Be tremble, for the Shakers of Empire had emerged (yes, the Nomenclature people are at it again). They easily made their way out of the Containment Facility, after raiding the parking garage and locker room for their own personal benefit, and went out to, well, shake the Empire.

  So how do eight people make an Empire tremble and bring an overbearing bureaucracy to its knees? Easy! Destroy the Paperwork, for if it does not exist on paper, it does not exist, at least in a bureaucracy. So off they went, to interfere with the lifeblood of this bungling, lumbering giant and who better to aid them than the Minions of Government themselves. Aido thought the tree obsessed people over at the Arboreal Comptroller would be just the folks to get on their side, for if it were well nigh impossible to get paper, one could not have paperwork, and no paperwork meant no bureaucracy. So our zany friends arrayed themselves in varicolored splendor and did not bath or shave for several weeks. Once they appeared to be quite friendly with the earth and all therein, they wandered over to the Main Office of the Arboreal Comptroller and made their plea. The Administrative Assistant was quite perplexed by these hippy-wannabes and did the only thing possible in a confusing or overwhelming situation: she delegated. So it was that they passed from one office to another, from one flunky’s hands to a lackey down the hall. Finally they arrived in the Office of the Arboreal Comptroller himself and happily extolled their plan of saving the nation’s precious forests from the horrid fate of wanton waste and negligence that was rampant throughout the realm. The man nodded, ordered his personal aides to present themselves, and soon interrogated them as to the abuse of the obviously vanishing woodlands.

  The minions agreed to the last man (what else are minions for?) that there was certainly a problem and only Drastic and Instantaneous Action could preserve some small scrap of the once great forests from total annihilation. One went so far as to proclaim that his son’s third grade science teacher had complained the other day that they seemed to be cutting down too many trees lately, at least more than she remembered as a girl. This smote the hearts of all those listening sore and even lent scientific credence to the Theory of Arboreal Apocalypse. The Comptroller had heard enough; he would act immediately.

  The Service for the Collection and Distribution of Information: Useful and Otherwise, was summoned to report on this horrifying discovery and soon the whole nation was in a near panic at looming paper shortages, rampant deforestation, and the resulting air pollution, acid rain, and erosion that would no doubt make the entire world uninhabitable for at least a thousand years, give or take an Officially Obscure Holiday. So it was that Drastic Measures were taken and the forests were saved and the masses appeased. Paper became scarce and terribly expensive until someone decided to import it from less prudent nations, thus restoring paper to the peasantry. Of course, during the paper shortage the entire government collapsed due to lack of paperwork and most of its officials were forced to seek sanctuary in the nation’s universities and on the professional speaking circuit, where they remain to this day.

  While the economy suffered a grievous recession in the public sector, private industry and productivity flourished (even without paper) as never before, and for the first time in history, people without a government job could actually make a living. Eventually things settled down, paper was restored to the nation, and the government returned, but in a more modest and humble form, which was the only kind now acceptable to the temporarily freed plebs who, once drunk with the wine of freedom, would not again taste of the moonshine of bureaucracy. As for our heroes, each was honored with his or her own Official Obscure Holiday but after the Paper Revolution, only the Service for the Distribution of Written Communications officially observed said Holidays, but then, no government is perfect!

  On Princesses: A Foible

  What people are saying about this story:

  “Complete nonsense! What is the world coming to? Do not let your kids read this book…” --Pedagogy Monthly.--

  “…full of stereotypes and affronts, only reinforces the stigma society already holds for small dogs and their pet parents…” --The Lap Dog Gazette--

  “A curious look at a case involving dwarvish consumption of fried foods and the possible consequences thereof…” --The Journal of Dwarvish Gastroenterology--

  “A story full of hope for an overlooked and underrated subclass of society; yes, my fellow nerds, there is a chance for love and adventure, just not in the real world, as we have long maintained.” ---RPG Today--

  “I liked it…what are we talking about again? Tacos? Yeah, I like tacos…not tacos?”

  --Anonymous Undergrad after a busy night out--