Porcelain Princess Read online

  Grudo glared down at the two boys.

  ‘All right, you can go!’ he growled as menacingly as he could manage without bursting into laughter himself. ‘But if I do hear you’ve been telling anyone – you know what’s going to happen to you, right?’

  ‘Waaarggghh!’ the boys cried, tears in their eyes.

  As soon as Grudo released his grip on them, the boys stumbled free, tripping over their own feet in their urgency to get away and falling to the ground. Picking themselves up, they ran off into the evening’s darkening light.

  ‘Now, what do you suppose all that was about?’ Carey said with a suspicious scowl as she ascended the caravan’s steps

  It was still dark inside, though Ferena was in the process of carefully lighting a lamp. In the dull glow of both this flickering, yellow flame and the dimmer evening light spilling in before her from the open door, Carey was witness to what could have been nothing more than a typical, well-practised costume change.

  Durndrin was slipping out of a wizard’s gown, while also deftly untying a long, white beard fixed around his chin. Neris was already rehanging the witch’s dress and hat she’d obviously been wearing, while Peregun was detangling himself from a pair of antelope horns he’d borrowed from another puppet and tied around his head. Only Ferena was still dressed in her regular garb of short green dress, but as her wings were hidden under a hooded cloak, she presently looked more Elvin than fairy-like.

  The self-congratulating laughter, too, was a commonplace of these costume changes. But what made all this so different from a normal post-show celebration was the mischievous delight they were all taking in the way they had scared the two boys.

  ‘…their faces…’

  ‘…and when you said we could do with a few more animals…’

  ‘…goats, pigs, ho ho ho – oho.’

  Peregun stopped in mid laugh as soon as he spotted Carey standing in the doorway. She was angrily glowering at them all.

  ‘Well you all seemed highly pleased with yourselves!’ she stormed. ‘And I’m not sure why; considering you’ve just revealed that you’re alive to what’re probably the two most untrustworthy characters in town!’

   They had all come to a rigid halt now, frozen in mid-action; Durndrin with the beard’s string still painfully caught on his ear, Peregun detaching a devilish tail, Neris half-way through flouncing up her hair. Fortunately, Ferena had safely finished lighting and closing a lamp, and this was now the only light illuminating the room. Grudo blocked off any glow from outside as he entered behind Carey and closed the door behind him.

  Durndrin spoke first, if a little nervously.

  ‘Ah, yes, well, we thought of that, see, Carey, when we said, when we said that if they even attempted to tell anyone, right, well, they’d be instantly and magically turned into a puppet goat!’

  ‘Or a pig!’

  Carey glanced down towards the dog partially hiding beneath a rack of costumes. Going by the way he’d pronounced the word ‘pig’ with such obvious satisfaction, she reckoned she could safely assume that this had been his own contribution to whatever they’d all been saying to those two poor boys.

  ‘A goat or a pig that can still talk just like you, right, Dougy? Meaning they might take the not unreasonable risk that they could always tell people what we’d done to them, so we could be hunted down and forced to change them back – if, of course, we actually had this wondrous magical power to change them in the first place!’

  ‘Ah, no no, Carey,’ Peregun insisted, ‘we did also say that they’d only be able to manage grunts or bleats.’

  ‘“Grunts” was my idea,’ Dougy quickly added, once again with undisguised satisfaction.

  Just behind her, Carey heard Grudo chuckling as he placed his sacks of posters on the floor.

  ‘Well, they seem to have thought of everything, don’t they Carey?’

  The puppets relaxed and smiled once more.

  ‘Oh, er, as everything’s happily cleared up now,’ Peregun said, still partially locked in the position of removing his tail, ‘could someone please help me here? The rheumatism again, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Thought of everything?’ Carey snapped, making Durndrin jump as he helped Peregun move his arm once more.

  The smiles instantly disappeared.

  ‘They didn’t seem to think at all!’ Carey snapped again. ‘Did they even think that it would’ve been best in the first place if they hadn’t revealed that they were alive? How many times have we told them, Grudo, that they should remain perfectly still whenever anyone else is around or even nearby?’

  ‘Ah, but, Carey, they were stealing, see, and–’

  ‘Stealing?’ Carey’s angry interjection almost made Durndrin jump. ‘Better they steal every coin we’ve collected today, than that they go around telling everyone we’re witches or what have you!’

  Neris hurriedly pushed the witch’s gown she’d been wearing farther back amongst the rest of the hanging dresses.

  ‘We had stayed still,’ Ferena mumbled ashamedly as she stepped closer to Carey. ‘But it sounded like they were going to start a fire, so…’

  ‘Is this right?’ Carey demanded softly, closely observing every face staring back up at her.

  They all nodded.

  Carey looked about her, quickly taking in the hanging puppets, the painted scenery, the curtains and costumes. Even the floor and walls, of course, were made from wood.

  Wood. String. Cloth. Paints. Methylated spirits.

  It would have all gone up in flames in an instant if a fire had been started in here.

  ‘Then…’ she began hesitantly, ‘I apologise for being angry with you.’

  Everyone, including Grudo, grinned with relief. They laughed, cheered, slapped each other on their backs in congratulation.

  ‘But keep down the cheering, right!’ Carey cried out over the excited din. ‘Or anyone passing will be wondering how just me and Grudo manage to make it sound like we’ve got a party going on in here!’

   

   

  *

   

   

  Chapter 4

   

  ‘Is it true you think we’re getting closer to where the Illuminator lives?’

  Standing with her back to a kneeling Carey, Ferena used what little movement she still possessed in her wings to both part and raise them slightly. It allowed easier access to the small door lying just below what would have been her shoulder blades. Opening this door, Carey peered through the compartment’s metallic safety grill, checking that the flame inside was burning brightly. She also made sure that there hadn’t been any build-up of either soot or fluff that might later hinder the flame.

  ‘You know what I believe, Ferena,’ Carey said in reply to the girl’s query. ‘I believe that the farther any land lies from the Porcelain Kingdom, the less likely the people living there will believe that the Porcelain Princess actually exists; and so those people fear the Fading.’

  As she talked, Carey calmly and deftly took the stopper from the ceramic pot that served as the flame’s reservoir. Working quickly, with one hand she placed a funnel in the opening, with her other she carefully poured in methylated spirits from a spouted jar.

   Patiently waiting for his turn to have his reservoir refilled, a bare chested Peregun was standing to one side, his shirt and jacket slung over and held in the crock of his right arm.

  ‘And recently, within our audiences,’ he said, ‘we’re seeing more and more people afflicted by the Fading; yet many seem to be at ease with it, even quite happy.’

  Having replaced the reservoir’s stopper, Carey closed and latched the compartment’s door.

  ‘You’ve noticed too, right? And so yes, I think we are getting closer.’

  No one could have failed to notice the emphasis on the I. Durndrin, buttoning up his shirt after having his own reservoir topped up earlier, pouted uneasily, unsure whether to make a comment or not. But Neris, vainly readjusting her long
, dark hair so that it neatly flowed down her back once more, spoke for them all (even Dougy who, typically for a dog, was already sound asleep beneath an old theatre curtain he’d curled under).

  ‘But Grudo doesn’t agree, I take it?’

  ‘But Grudo doesn’t agree,’ Carey repeated miserably as she helped Ferena slip her green dress back over her delicate wings.

  Made of silk and wire, the wings fitted through slits in the back of the dress. Ferena gently fluttered her wings, a simple test to ensure that no loose cotton threads from the dress were caught up in them.

  ‘Maybe it’s one of those lands you can only get to when you dream of them…’ Ferena said dreamily.

  ‘In your dreams, dear.’ Neris grinned cheekily.

  ‘I’m sorry, Ferena,’ Carey said, observing the weak fluttering of the wings with great sadness, ‘I really can’t understand why a refilled reservoir doesn’t give them more power, like it used to. There’s something I’m missing, obviously – but I really can’t fathom out what it is!’

  ‘Never mind, Carey,’ Ferena answered kindly, moving aside so that Peregun could take her place in front of the kneeling girl. ‘Truth is, they only ever gave me a few minutes’ flight when they did work; and it always burned up the spirit so quickly!’

  ‘You do everything you can for us,’ Peregun agreed. ‘We appreciate everything you do, Carey, you know that.’

  Carey opened up Peregun’s back, checked the flame, removed the reservoir’s stopper.

  ‘Well, thanks everyone, for your confidence in me – even if it is a little misplaced. You’re just all so old–’

  ‘Who’re you calling old, dearie?’ Halting in the middle of her elaborate exercise regime, Neris feigned an irritated scowl.

  ‘Hmn, I do find it harder to remember my lines,’ Durndrin said, looking up from preparing his bed.

  ‘I wish I could forget my lines, dear,’ Neris declared, vainly stroking her face and neck as she checked for any signs of aging in a nearby mirror

  ‘Hey Durndrin, if you think you’ve really got a problem, how about taking some of my roles?’ Dougy said gloomily. ‘How hard’s the odd growl for you to recall, eh?’

  ‘Hah, let me reword what I just said, for all your benefit,’ Carey chuckled. ‘You might all look remarkably young, but I don’t have the skills required to keep you all going as smoothly as you’re used to! But, when we finally get to meet the Illuminator–’

  ‘Then we all get to be really alive!’ they all happily chorused.

   

   

  *

   

   

  When Carey walked through into the caravan’s other room, Grudo had already pulled down the heavy ledger onto the cabin’s small table. He was patiently filling in the columns linking the day’s takings to any expenses incurred, such as the food Carey had bought earlier in preparation for tomorrow’s journey.

  Even as Carey closed the door behind her, the excited laughter coming from the store room could still be clearly heard.

  ‘Let me guess,’ Grudo sighed, ‘they believe, like you, that we’re getting closer, right?’

  ‘They want to believe, Grudo; as I do! Ferena especially needs to believe!’

  ‘Ferena’s always got her head in the clouds, hoping someone’s going to wave a magic wand someday and–’

  ‘She wants to be flying around in the clouds. And why shouldn’t she, when once she could fly?’

  ‘Truth is Carey, what with our memories being as bad as they are, none of us can remember if she ever really could fly.’

  ‘She’s got wings hasn’t she, Grudo?’

  ‘Well, yes but–’  

  Grudo gulped as Carey locked eyes with him.

  ‘I know, I know; I’m sorry I’m being so negative. It’s just that–’

  ‘I know – you don’t want to see me disappointed.’

  ‘Disappointed again.’

  They both smiled warmly at each other. Carey sat down next to Grudo at the table, where he’d already set out a teapot and cup of tea for her.

  ‘If only I knew how to repair everyone,’ she said forlornly as she took a sip of tea. Earl Grey with a hint of milk. Just as she liked it. ‘Maybe then we wouldn’t have to find the Illuminator.’

  ‘No one expects you to know, Carey; you know that. We’re all aging, we realise that; it’s part of life.’

  ‘Well, thankfully, I reckon Durndrin and Neris are just imagining their problems. Dougy, he’s oldest of them all in dog years, I suppose, but he’s just embarrassed about the way he can’t stop barking at cats, or sniffing walls – or worse! Poor old Ferena and Peregun, despite looking the youngest, seem to be aging the worst.’

  ‘I think we might have to tell Peregun his days of swashbuckling roles are over,’ Grudo agreed sadly. ‘What he jokily calls his rheumatism almost caused a real problem when we last put on The Sea Empress.’

  Carey nodded thoughtfully. One of Peregun’s knees had locked as he’d charged down a staircase during an elaborate sword fight, sending him bowling down the steps and careering into a number of other puppets. Luckily, this time it had all seemed like an amazingly exciting part of the action to the audience; but next time?

  ‘It will break his heart,’ Carey admitted. ‘And all because I can’t do the job I’ve been left to do!’

  Grudo tried to caress Carey’s head as gently as he could. He was fully aware that the huge hands were too heavy, too hard (despite the softness of the gloves he always wore), for him to show her the affection he wanted to.

  ‘I miss him so much,’ Carey said, looking up at Grudo with tears forming in her eyes.

  ‘We all do, Carey, we all do.’

  Grudo’s eyes were every bit as sad as Carey’s but, of course, no tears could form.

  Carey grinned weakly.

  ‘He’d have been so proud of you Grudo,’ she said. ‘I…I do realise you’re simply trying to give me the fatherly guidance he would have given me, if he was still around.’

  Grudo smiled. If he could have cried, he would have.

  ‘Now,’ Carey said stoically, rising from her seat and moving behind Grudo, ‘it’s your turn.’

  Expertly lifting the jacket and shirt covering Grudo’s broad, wooden back, she unlatched the door revealing his flame and spirit reservoir.

  ‘You know,’ Grudo admitted kindly, ‘even I wonder if your hands would be tickling me now if I were really alive.’

   

   

  *

   

   

  Chapter 5

   

  The caravan slowly chugged along the reasonably straight but painfully uneven road, puffing out the odd, irritable belch of steam or smoke. Alongside, running in and out of the trees lining the road, Grudo, Neris, Peregun, Durndrin and Ferena were all hurriedly chopping off and collecting large chunks of the branches, tossing them into the cart trailing behind the wagon.

   In the driving seat, Carey had little to do but keep a wary eye out for anyone heading their way, or any other signs of human activity in the surrounding forest. As soon as she spotted anything suspicious, she’d give out a warning yell to everyone to stop collecting wood. Dougy, seated on the back of the trailer to keep an eye on their rear, would similarly bark out loudly. In a well-practised move, Grudo would slip off the large sack he’d strapped to his back, holding it open while the others quickly scrambled into it.

  By the time any human had approached them, nothing would have seemed out of the ordinary. Naturally, steam driven wagons were a rarity, but most people were aware that such things existed, if a little awestruck and even frightened whenever they actually came across one of these magical contraptions for the first time. Otherwise, all they would see is a young girl driving the beast while her father returned from collecting a sack full of mushrooms and herbs from the forest.

  Unless you stepped up incredibly close to him, Grudo appeared surprisingly real. His many joints were hidden
by thick jackets, leggings, collars and gloves. His face was almost covered by a thick beard and raggedy hair. His teeth were of ivory, his eyes of glass; and all he had to do was snarl or glare with either to dissuade anyone from stepping too close.

  With thankfully so little to do, Carey was glancing through a small pile of books she’d pulled off the caravan’s shelves and placed alongside her on the driver’s seat. The theatre’s retelling of The Porcelain Child had been an undoubted success with the crowds, but Carey was always on the lookout for ways of improving the shows.

  Ferena in particular had been excellent in her final role as the porcelain child. The entire audience had gasped as she had seemingly come to life at the very end of the play to tenderly touch the head of her sleeping father. It was an effect made all the more surprising and magical as, for this role alone, Carey allowed her to perform without attaching the strings that gave the impression Ferena and the others were just regular, lifeless puppets. There was a slight risk that their secret might be revealed, Carey realised, but she counted on the audience believing that it was nothing more than a piece of clever theatrical trickery.

  Of course, Carey’s puppet theatre wasn’t the only one to bring the girl to life at the end of the play. Although this wasn’t part of the Illuminator’s original tale, which ended only on the father’s promise that he would find a way of giving her life, everyone agreed that his promise would be fulfilled; how would she become the Porcelain Princess otherwise?

  From the stack alongside her, Carey picked out her old and slightly battered copy of The Porcelain Child. She should treat such an expensive rarity with more care, she knew, but the whole purpose of the library her ancestors had so patiently collected was to help them give their productions realism and accuracy, whether it came to costume design, the painting of backdrops, or the lines given to their puppet actors.

  Every other theatre owner or storyteller she had met on her travels had agreed with her that accuracy was the most important part of any retelling of a tale. Hidden somewhere amongst them, the stories contained universal truths, even historical events and hints of our futures. But who could say for sure where fairy-tale ended and reality and truth began?

  Opening the book was like being invited into a whole new world of vivid colour, of striking landscapes, of intricate shapes and patterns drawn from life. It was a frozen reality, giving you the opportunity to study the minutest details of places you might otherwise pass through without a second glance, of actions and events that would take place so quickly you would miss them. It was, too, as if you were seeing it all through the eyes of an inquisitive squirrel perched amongst the trees, a curious robin swooping overhead, or a nosey mouse, peering up through the cluttered pots stored beneath an old set of shelves.