Also, a shortened version of this tale won second place in Patrick Henry College's 1st Division Short Story Competition, A Call to Pens, in 2012.
Enjoy!
The
Mailman
and
the Princess
(And
also a really cool Phoenix)
By
Hannah Williams
Once upon a time under a big blue sky
and upon a great green earth, there was a kingdom as pleasant as you could wish
for.
The
castle was the marvel of all of the lands of that world, and most wonderful of
all, the people who lived there were happy and content.
The
king used to be a strong young man with dark brown hair that shone like copper
whenever sunlight stroked it. His queen
had been the fairest in the land. But that was all a long time ago, and now they
were old, too old for adventures anyway.
At
that time they were very friendly with a neighboring kingdom and a mail route
was established between them. The
mailman at the present was Bill. “Short
for William, I daresay,” people would add.
But
Bill would just shake his head and say, “No, just Bill.”
Now
as remarkable as it might seem, everyone thought the exact same thing of
Bill. I thought you might not believe
me, so I interviewed several people. The
first was the bakery cook.
“Bill?”
he repeated gruffly as he kneaded a honey scented loaf, sweat dripping off his
forehead into the dough. “Yah,
Bill. Well now, he’s about the homeliest
thang I ever did see. Got eyes like
green beans and hair like a haystack. Decent feller, though.”
I
thanked him and left. He offered me some
bread, but I politely declined. After
all, the only thing I could think about was that
sweat!
I
went and asked a Count and Countess. The
Count kept smoking his pipe the entire time.
“Eh? What’s that? Ah, Bill.
Er…Bill…Bill.” His brow furrowed
and he blew another cloud of smoke into my face. Since that conversation didn’t seem to be
going anywhere in a hurry, I turned to the Countess, who had a most annoying
habit of gnawing on her fingernails, producing an eerie clicking noise.
“The
mailman, you mean. Oh him. I suppose one could say…no, never mind. He is homely, he is.”—click, click,
click—“Got eyes like green beans and hair like a haystack.” Click, click, click.
I
was relieved to carry on and met one of the royal hairdressers.
“Oh,
honestly, Bill? Oh, he is so homely. Those eyes look like green beans and his hair
is like a haystack. I should know about
beauty, being a beauty myself.” Here she
tossed her golden ringlets proudly. “And
speaking of my beauty, here comes Laremar of the court. Now that’s a man worth talking about.”
Rolling
my eyes, I excused myself and exited.
But
I remember the first time I saw Bill, my impression was quite different. True, he had the pre-described features, but
he was not the homeliest thing I ever saw.
He was real polite and kind too.
He smiled and said, “How ‘da ya’ do?”
I
told him I was smartly interested in penning a tale and I hoped he had some
yarns to tell me from his mail routes.
He shook his head and said, “Nothin’ ever happens ta’ me.”
I
didn’t see the young man for awhile after that and when I did, my mouth dropped
open.
He
shuffled up, stuffed his hands in his pockets and said, “Guess something
happened to me after all.”
And
this is the story he told me.
It
was a crisp day in autumn, when Bill entered the court with a letter ascribed:
to King Rifolard the 10th.
As swift as shooting stars, he knew something was up. The court was buzzing like bees and there was
a greater amount of young men around than usual.
He
was admitted to the king with the letter.
The good ol’ chap was in bed, as he was too old to stand up for
long. He looked mighty sad.
“What
can I do fer you, yer kingship?” Bill asked, respectful-like.
He
didn’t respond, but opened the letter.
His eyes bulged, and he appeared like a tomato. “Now they’ve done it!” he exploded. “Asking for a ransom!”
“Fer
who?”
“Have
you not heard? That dratted kingdom of Pluopia has kidnapped my queen, and now
they’re asking for a ransom!”
“That
be right bold.”
The
king frowned. “I have sent out a
proclamation declaring that whatever young man saves my wife, I shall give him
the hand of my daughter.”
Bill
gasped. “Princess Colletiatessa?” His heart skipped a beat, and his knees felt
weak.
The
king looked at him solemnly. “Bill,
would you like to wed my daughter?”
He
gulped. “Yes sir.” Princess Colletiatessa of the silky copper
tresses and the dusky violet eyes.
“Then
rescue my queen!” The king paused and a
flush of embarrassment spread over his face.
“There is a catch though.”
Bill
waited.
He
swallowed. “You’ll have to rescue the
queen before my daughter does.”
Bill
chose his hardiest pants and shoes in preparation for the quest. The king’s words echoed in his mind. Why was the princess on the quest? It did not make sense.
Next
for his outfit, he donned a white shirt.
He had always got the impression that when armor was out of the budget
the hero wore a white shirt. Most of the
time the shirt had a large slit down the chest.
Bill tried that and felt so silly he buttoned it up quick as anything,
right up to the chin.
He
shouldered his mailbag, complete with letters and his Bible, before setting off
to rescue the queen. Because of his mail
conquests, he knew shortcuts through the wilderness to the road to Pluopia. When he reached the main road he saw a lady
ahead of him at the crossroads. “Howdy!”
he called.
It
appeared to be an old lady, because she was all bent over and had a hood draped
in front of her face. “Where you be off
to?” she called.
Bill
was feeling right chipper so he answered,
“Across
valleys and over stream,
To
rescue the old queen,
So I
can marry my lady dream.”
He
had to be feeling chipper; otherwise he would have never rhymed.
The
lady didn’t look at him, but croaked, “Aren’t you Bill the Mailman?”
“Yes
indeedy.”
“Don’t
you know the princess would never consent to marrying a mere mailman?”
Bill
sighed and looked glum. “Well, I am a
bit afeared of that. Most likely she
would want to marry a prince.”
“Ha!”
she said, sounding shrill. “Princes are
stuffy, silly things who think a girl should fall in love with them as soon as
look at them.”
“Well,
my lady, since you seem to know so much about what the princess does not like
in men, would you mind telling me what she does?”
She
did not answer, but leaned forward. (Her
head was still bent down.) “Listen,
boy. This is a perilous quest. However, I’ve got some good news for
you. To the east of here is an abandoned
tower filled with treasure. On that road
there are no hungry trolls or wolves that prowl the night. Go on that road, it is much safer.”
“No
ma’am. If I did that some other lucky
fellow might get to the princess before me.”
This
apparently angered her, for she flung up her face, and when she did so, her hood
fell off. Down cascaded lovely brown
curls that shone like copper, and he was surprised to be looking into angry
violet eyes.
“Why,
Princess Colletiatessa,” he said. “Fancy
meeting you in a place like this and in an outfit like that.”
She ignored the comment and lifted her chin. She spoke in her fair, yet proud voice. “Sir, now that you know who I am, I command you to turn back to the castle.”
She ignored the comment and lifted her chin. She spoke in her fair, yet proud voice. “Sir, now that you know who I am, I command you to turn back to the castle.”
Bill
grinned at her. My, she had pretty
eyes. He ran a hand through his hair,
sticking it up straight. “No, my lady,
I’m bound to rescue your ma so that I can marry you.”
She
pursed her lips primly. “We’ll see about
that.” She turned away and began to
walk. Bill walked alongside her. She frowned.
“Leave me alone.”
“Ma’am
this here road is public property and I have as much right to it as you.”
She
tossed her shining hair and crossed over to the other side.
On
they traveled in silence. Colletiatessa
kept shooting icy glares his way, and finally she broke into a run. Bill watched her disappear around the bend in
the road. “She does seem bound to get to
her mamma before me. I guess I can
afford her the satisfaction of being a little ahead.” He burst into a whistled song.
Perhaps
an hour later, he overtook the princess.
She was now shuffling and heaving for breath. “Afternoon,” he said and strode by, still
whistling.
A
small cottage came into view, and he checked the address. “My word, this here place has a letter
due.” He walked into the yard.
The
Princess went by and called, “Are you actually doing your mail route along the
way?”
“Yes
ma’am.”
She
smiled and muttered, “It will be no chore to stay ahead of this guy.” With this knowledge, a spring came into her
step.
Bill
knew the old lady who dwelt at the cottage, and he got into a lengthy
conversation with her all about what had befallen him.
“You’ll
make a swell prince,” the woman said.
“But to achieve that, you best be on your way.”
“So
I must,” he said and left.
Evening
fell, and the sky blushed rose. Bill was
just thinking he’d better find a place to sleep when he saw that the shoe-prints
of the princess had suddenly been joined by the big ugly footprints of a
troll. There appeared to be a scuffle,
and then only the troll-prints went off into the forest.
Bill
gaped at the evidence and scratched his head.
“Land sakes!” he groaned. “I’ve
heard tell of things like this. Well,
here goes.”
He
plunged into the forest.
To Be Continued on Wednesday....
To Be Continued on Wednesday....
