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Authors: Jasper Fforde
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disrespectful manner in which I have been treated. Name?’
‘Mabel … Spartacus.’
The Princess started to write, then stopped as she realised the ongoing Spartacus gag was doubtless a leg-pull.
‘You’re only making it worse for yourself,’ she scolded. ‘I hate every single one of you and can’t wait for the moment when I leave.’
And she gave us both a pouty glare and folded her arms. Mabel turned to me.
‘Can I make a suggestion?’ she said.
‘Yes, please.’
‘Take her down to the orphan labour pool and have her allocated to sewer cleaning duties for twenty-four hours. She’ll have to live outside for a couple of days afterwards due to the stench that no amount of scrubbing will remove, but it might teach her some humility.’
‘I hate all of you,’ said the Princess. ‘I hate your lack of consideration, lack of compassion and the meagre respect you show your obvious betters. If you don’t take me home
right now
I will hold my breath until I turn blue, and then you’ll be sorry.’
I stared at her for a moment.
‘No need for that,’ I said with a sigh, taking my car keys from my pocket. ‘I’ll just apologise to the King and the Queen and tell them their daughter is beyond my help, and probably anyone else’s. You can live out your spoilt life without effort, secure in the depths of your own supreme ignorance, and die as you lived, without purpose, true fulfilment or any discernibly useful function.’
She opened her mouth but shut it again and said nothing. I carried on:
‘You don’t need me to drive you home, Princess. You know where the door is and you can walk out of it any time you want – but I’d like you to appreciate that Laura Scrubb, the orphan with whom you are not even worthy to share skin disorders, cannot walk out of a door to anywhere until she’s eighteen, and even then it’s to a life of grinding poverty, disappointment, back-breaking toil and an early death, if she’s lucky.’
The Princess was silent for a moment, then pulled up a sleeve and looked at Laura’s rash.
‘Okay,’ she said, ‘I’m staying. But only because I choose to do so for educational reasons, and not because any of your words meant anything to me, which they didn’t.’
‘Good,’ I said, ‘and you’ll
choose
to do what I tell you rather than endlessly complaining and putting people on your list?’
The Princess shrugged.
‘I might
choose
to do that, yes.’
I stared at her and she lowered her eyes, took the list out of her pocket and tore it into tiny pieces.
‘Pointless anyway,’ she grumbled, ‘what with everyone called Spartacus.’
And she chuckled at the joke. It showed she had a sense of humour. Perhaps she might become bearable, given time.
‘Okay, then,’ I said, ‘let’s get you into some clean clothes and out of that terrible maid’s outfit.’
‘Thank you,’ she said, with a resigned sigh, ‘I’d like that.’
I led her up to my bedroom, found some clothes about the right size and told her not to come down until she had showered and washed her hair.
She fumbled with the buttons on her blouse uselessly until I helped her.
‘Hell’s teeth, Princess, did you not do
anything
for yourself at the palace?’
‘I did my own sleeping,’ she said after a moment’s thought, ‘usually.’
I gathered up her tatty clothes as she took them off, then chucked them in the recycling. As I left to alert everyone to the Sorcerers’ Conclave I heard her scream as she mishandled the mixer on the shower.
Sorcerers’ Conclave
The sorcerers were all convened in the Kazam main offices an hour later. Wizard Moobin was there, as was Lady Mawgon, Full and Half Price, Perkins, Prince Nasil, Dame Corby ‘She whom the ants obey’ and Kevin Zipp, who was busy scribbling notes on the back of an envelope.
They all listened to what I had to say, from D’argento’s appearance to Shandar’s offer of a deal. Find the Eye of Zoltar, or he’d kill the Dragons, and us
‘Mabel … Spartacus.’
The Princess started to write, then stopped as she realised the ongoing Spartacus gag was doubtless a leg-pull.
‘You’re only making it worse for yourself,’ she scolded. ‘I hate every single one of you and can’t wait for the moment when I leave.’
And she gave us both a pouty glare and folded her arms. Mabel turned to me.
‘Can I make a suggestion?’ she said.
‘Yes, please.’
‘Take her down to the orphan labour pool and have her allocated to sewer cleaning duties for twenty-four hours. She’ll have to live outside for a couple of days afterwards due to the stench that no amount of scrubbing will remove, but it might teach her some humility.’
‘I hate all of you,’ said the Princess. ‘I hate your lack of consideration, lack of compassion and the meagre respect you show your obvious betters. If you don’t take me home
right now
I will hold my breath until I turn blue, and then you’ll be sorry.’
I stared at her for a moment.
‘No need for that,’ I said with a sigh, taking my car keys from my pocket. ‘I’ll just apologise to the King and the Queen and tell them their daughter is beyond my help, and probably anyone else’s. You can live out your spoilt life without effort, secure in the depths of your own supreme ignorance, and die as you lived, without purpose, true fulfilment or any discernibly useful function.’
She opened her mouth but shut it again and said nothing. I carried on:
‘You don’t need me to drive you home, Princess. You know where the door is and you can walk out of it any time you want – but I’d like you to appreciate that Laura Scrubb, the orphan with whom you are not even worthy to share skin disorders, cannot walk out of a door to anywhere until she’s eighteen, and even then it’s to a life of grinding poverty, disappointment, back-breaking toil and an early death, if she’s lucky.’
The Princess was silent for a moment, then pulled up a sleeve and looked at Laura’s rash.
‘Okay,’ she said, ‘I’m staying. But only because I choose to do so for educational reasons, and not because any of your words meant anything to me, which they didn’t.’
‘Good,’ I said, ‘and you’ll
choose
to do what I tell you rather than endlessly complaining and putting people on your list?’
The Princess shrugged.
‘I might
choose
to do that, yes.’
I stared at her and she lowered her eyes, took the list out of her pocket and tore it into tiny pieces.
‘Pointless anyway,’ she grumbled, ‘what with everyone called Spartacus.’
And she chuckled at the joke. It showed she had a sense of humour. Perhaps she might become bearable, given time.
‘Okay, then,’ I said, ‘let’s get you into some clean clothes and out of that terrible maid’s outfit.’
‘Thank you,’ she said, with a resigned sigh, ‘I’d like that.’
I led her up to my bedroom, found some clothes about the right size and told her not to come down until she had showered and washed her hair.
She fumbled with the buttons on her blouse uselessly until I helped her.
‘Hell’s teeth, Princess, did you not do
anything
for yourself at the palace?’
‘I did my own sleeping,’ she said after a moment’s thought, ‘usually.’
I gathered up her tatty clothes as she took them off, then chucked them in the recycling. As I left to alert everyone to the Sorcerers’ Conclave I heard her scream as she mishandled the mixer on the shower.
Sorcerers’ Conclave
The sorcerers were all convened in the Kazam main offices an hour later. Wizard Moobin was there, as was Lady Mawgon, Full and Half Price, Perkins, Prince Nasil, Dame Corby ‘She whom the ants obey’ and Kevin Zipp, who was busy scribbling notes on the back of an envelope.
They all listened to what I had to say, from D’argento’s appearance to Shandar’s offer of a deal. Find the Eye of Zoltar, or he’d kill the Dragons, and us
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