PREPARATIONS FOR THE CHRISTENING breakfast went on … and on. King Thoroughgood grew increasingly irritable. Nothing was big enough, fine enough or blue and white enough. By late that evening everyone was exhausted, and Queen Dilys was despairing.
“It’ll be a disaster,” she wailed. “A complete disaster!”
The king scowled at her. “It will not! I won’t allow it. My son will be christened in a cloud of glory!”
Queen Dilys shook her head and retired to her bedroom with a hot-water bottle. The king continued to issue orders as the night crept on, and the first light of dawn could be seen over the horizon when he finally announced that all was ready. The servants dragged themselves away while he made one last tour of the royal banqueting hall, the wilting prime minister at his side.
“Excellent!” King Thoroughgood nodded. “Excellent! I think raising my throne up higher and surrounding it with flowers was an inspired idea. I’m glad I thought of it. The queen and the princesses will sit below me, of course—” He stopped, and the prime minister held his breath. “SEVEN chairs?” The king counted again, and his expression of extreme self-satisfaction faded. “SEVEN? But I have a queen, and I have seven daughters. Skeldith! Where is the eighth chair?”
Skeldith wriggled like a worm on the end of a pin. “Erm … I told them to take Princess Peony’s chair away, Your Majesty…”
King Thoroughgood stared at him. “What do you mean?” A thought came to him, and he slowly turned a deeper and deeper shade of purple. “Are you telling me that my daughter is still in the dungeon?”
The unfortunate prime minister nodded.
“Did you not pass on my instruction that she was to apologise?”
Skeldith’s teeth began to chatter. “Yes, Your Majesty…” He fished in his pocket and brought out the crumpled envelope. “She … she asked me to give you this. Um … if Your Majesty has no further need of me, I’ll be off—”
“WAIT!” The king snatched the paper and read it. Then he read it again, and then a third time. Finally he tore the envelope into little tiny pieces, threw them on the floor and stamped on them. “I will not be dictated to by my daughter!” he roared. “I will NOT! If she wishes to befriend the rogues and criminals that fill my dungeons, then let her. She is not to be released until she is willing to make a full apology, and that, Skeldith, is that! Do I make myself clear?”
The prime minister nodded.
“Now sweep up this mess! And make sure you’re here to greet our visitors when they arrive.” The king strode away, leaving Skeldith to find a dustpan and brush.
In the dungeon for Those Who Speak Out Of Turn, the previous evening’s activities had been more cheerful. Peony had heaped the fire with coal and it was burning brightly. When Lionel Longbeard complained that she had used an entire week’s coal ration she smiled happily at him. “But Mr Longbeard, I’ve decided: I think we ought to escape, all of us together. And I think it ought to be tonight, so we might as well make ourselves comfortable. When do we get our buttered beans, by the way? I’m starving! And what do we get for breakfast? If we’re still here, that is, which I hope we won’t be.”
“Buttered beans,” Horrington told her. “It’s buttered beans for breakfast, dinner and supper. A little unimaginative, I always think.” He gave Peony a hopeful glance. “Ahem. Which vegetable is the oldest of all vegetables?”
Lionel groaned. “Beans, because they’ve always been there. You’ve told me that one every day since you got here.”
“Buttered beans ALL the time?” Peony stared at Horrington. “Goodness! We certainly do need to escape. As soon as we’re all free I’ll make you the very best cherry pie ever.” She looked up. “Now, we should make a plan. We could all squeeze through those windows, so we have to decide on a way of getting up there.” She paused. “I’ve already escaped once today, you know. If this goes on, I’ll soon be an expert!”
Lionel Longbeard sighed. “Don’t you think we’ve already considered escaping, Princess?”
“Oh! I’m so sorry! Of course you have.” Peony flushed. “I didn’t mean to be bossy.”
Horrington frowned at the dwarf. “An extra point of view is always welcome. What did you have in mind?”
“Well…” Peony stepped back and stared up at the windows. Then she turned and looked at the iron beds. “I’m thinking,” she said slowly, “that if we upend one of the beds it would reach quite high. And you, Mr Wells, are very, very tall. And if I were to climb on your shoulders – if you don’t object, that is – I might be able to get to the window. And look! You see each window has a central bar? If I tie a rope around that, you and Mr Longbeard can climb up after me!”
“Very clever.” The dwarf sounded less than enthusiastic. “There’s just one problem: we don’t have a rope.”
Peony clapped her hands. “Oh, but we do! We can tear up the sheets off the beds, and tie them into a rope!”
There was a thoughtful silence.
“Do you know,” Horrington said at last, “I think it might work…”
Lionel Longbeard nodded. “I apologise, Princess Peony. I spoke too hastily.”
“Then let’s begin,” Peony said – but at that moment there was a rattling at the door.
“Buttered beans!” said a gruff voice, and a large troll came stomping in with a tray. “’Ere you is. Extra portions, seeing as you’ve got a royal for company. Enjoy!”
The buttered beans were not as delicious as Peony had imagined. They came from a pot that the guards used to wash their socks, and had a curious woolly texture. All the same, she ate them with a smile. “Do they come and collect the dishes tonight?” she asked.
Lionel Longbeard nodded. “They’ll be back in a couple of hours.”
“Then we’ll wait,” Peony said, “and escape as soon as they’ve gone.”
“A nap might be wise,” Horrington suggested. “Sometimes they don’t come until quite late.”
Peony yawned. “That’s a good idea. It’s been a busy day.” She chose a bed and snuggled herself down under the blankets. “You will wake me, won’t you? As soon as the guards have been?”
“No need to worry,” Horrington assured her. “Those trolls have feet of lead. And they enjoy slamming the door.”
“That’s all right then,” Peony said, and as soon as her head hit the pillow she was asleep.
Horrington sat down on his own bed. “A dear child. It’s lucky, my friend, that she’s so different from her father.”
The dwarf nodded. “But is she right? Will she be able to escape?”
“It’s possible.” The tall man measured the wall with his eye. “But if I understand you correctly, friend Lionel, you don’t intend to follow the princess to freedom.”
“What would I gain?” The dwarf pulled at his beard. “If I leave here without the king’s pardon, I can’t return to my library. Guards would be sent to find me – I’d be hunted high and low.” He gave his companion a sideways look. “As would you.”
“And for that reason, I too will be staying here.” Horrington looked up at the windows. “But the princess may still win her father round.”
“I thought I’d given up hope,” Lionel said, “but you’re right. That child has determination.”
Horrington laughed. “Perhaps she is a little like her father, after all.”
