April Queen, May Fool Read online

  ‘Can’t you see she’s not for you?’ a well-meaning friend said to him. ‘You should be done with making a fool of yourself over her!’

  ‘Better to be a fool in love with her than a wise man who’s never known what it’s like,’ came the miserable reply.

  Secretly, of course, he still believed that everything would work out to his – to their – advantage.

  Wasn’t love the greatest power in the universe?

  *

  The greatest power in the realm wasn’t, unfortunately, the queen.

  It was the KingFisher.

  He would only ever leave his great, dark castle when he came out hunting for anyone foolish enough to have married the April Queen. Or, indeed, any queen.

  It was rumoured that he had every one of his victims stuffed and mounted on his walls, as fishermen display their own trophies.

  It was disloyalty on a previously unimagined scale: and so in recompense, the KingFisher granted the queen a number of essential powers.

  One was the imposition of order through laws that everyone could agree to abide by, despite their unsatisfactory and unfair nature.

  A second was the means to enforce rules demanding conformity, thereby ensuring no one need fear being seen as unacceptable to anyone else.

  The third was the skill to manufacture the most astonishing jewellery from the most mundane of materials.

  Now this third power might seem unnecessary, until you realise that the queen’s magical jewellery was once the only thing the queen’s realm had to trade with the outside world. Not that anyone remained aware that there was an outside world, of course; any memory of it had simply been subsumed into myths, such that no one took its existence seriously anymore.

  But then again, it still gave any queen a measure of great pleasure to while away her lonely hours. She would create the most adorable necklaces, bracelets and rings, her materials originally nothing more than berries, blossom, beetles, butterflies and spiderwebs.

  Naturally, the predilection of this KingFisher to seek out and kill any king was well known to the present April Queen. And so, too, she had made it known (as the protocol set down in vast tomes advised any new princess) to her fool.

  He wasn’t afraid of this KingFisher, he had adamantly declared.

  He would fight this so-called fisher of kings; despite having no knowledge of armed combat.

  He would resist the sorcerer-like skills of this king hunter: notwithstanding his own lack of any magical abilities.

  He would pit himself against any foe this predator of royals could muster in his defence: even though the fool’s only ally was a friend who, like him, was nothing but a musician.

  Ah, but I have the power of love on my side, he had always confidently reassured the princess whenever she had protested that it was mad to seek out a man who fished for kings.

  ‘And nothing can resist such a power!’

  *

  Like her fool, the April Queen watched the May Day celebrations with a leaden heart.

  She missed him, missed his laughter, his touch, his embrace, his kisses: and most all, she missed the way he had always looked so adoringly at her.

  She had always appreciated that, somehow, he saw her differently to how she saw herself. She wished she could see the girl he saw her through his eyes. For that, she believed, was the real her: the princess he loved was the real her.

  For isn’t it love that ultimately makes us what and who we are?

  Of course, she still saw her love every now and again; his head low, his steps slow, those of a man aged before his time.

  She knew that they couldn’t go on living like this,

  That she had to talk to him.

  Word was sent, in secret, that he should attend court (for, of course, she didn’t dare see him while she was alone).

  His presence caused a stir, a ripple of shock, even horror, that ran around the court.

  The fool didn’t mind.

  Soon, he would be with his love once more.

  He jostled his way to the front of the two bands of courtiers lining the way to the throne.

  Naturally, when the April Queen at last breezed into the room, in the swirl of a many layered dress, she made sure she wandered past her fool.

  She whispered urgently to him.

  ‘I don’t love you anymore.’

  Then she continued on her whirl towards her throne, hiding her tears behind her fan.

  But then, what kind of example would she set to her people if she didn’t adhere to the rules?

  *

  So who’s the biggest fool?

  The one who berates himself for having somehow lost the queen’s love?

  Or the queen who would prefer that her love hates her, rather than see him die?

  The poor fool, naturally, is in more disarray than ever.

  He had heard it from her own delicious lips: she no longer loved him!

  What had happened? What had caused this unforeseen change in her – a change that therefore irrevocably changed him too?

  He had lost her love; and so now he, too, was lost.

  There was no longer any meaning in his life.

  No longer any reason for him to continue living.

  He would leave the realm of the April Queen.

  He would set out on a journey; to where, he wasn’t sure. He didn’t care.

  It could be anywhere as long as it wasn’t here, where there was still so much to remind him of what he’d had, what he’d lost.

  So are the inauspicious beginnings of what can truly be named The Fool’s Story; for any fool could predict what must happen next.

  For it is now, of course, that we could conform to type: to relate a tale of how the brave fool decides he must track down this KingFisher, sulking away in his KingFisher’s castle.

  Here the KingFisher’s superiority is obvious from the start. He wears a magical cloak of the feathers of every bird that flies – a gift, it’s said, of the Queen of The Fall, or more possibly the Hag Queen. It glitters with the emerald green and sapphire blue of the kingfisher, granting him the power of flight.

  Naturally, we worry for the poor fool’s life.

  Yet, somehow, quite remarkably, the fool perseveres.

  He overcomes the terrible odds against him, utilising to his advantage some originally unforeseen failing within the KingFisher’s makeup.

  Thwarted, the KingFisher falls to his doom.

  And that, of course, should be the end of The Fool’s Story.

  *

  Undoubtedly, this is indeed the usual tale of love triumphant over evil.

  But you’re not, I presume, a fool?

  In which case, you can only surely think, Ah, if only life was truly like that!

  For reality, of course, is a completely different world.

  The sad truth is that our poor, pitiful fool is already defeated before he even sets off on his journey.

  For even where he to attempt to follow the maps and directions he might foolishly believe would lead him to the castle, he would find only that they lead him evermore astray: for as long as we’re foolish enough to conform to the directions set by our rulers, we will never be able to overthrow them.

  If we prefer to live our lives of ease, of fighting only for the acceptance of others, then we can never truly be ourselves, never even hope to begin to find ourselves; for the real you is hidden beneath so many false layers, so many false yous.

  So please, let’s not fool ourselves that we’re capable of rebellion, let alone overthrowing our masters. Quite naturally, our rulers have ever so carefully, ever so cunningly, trapped us within rules of their own devising.

  Moreover, without his love to sustain him, our fool feels empty, without purpose, listless: he’s already dead to this cruel, unforgiving world.

  He wanders through nowhere but his own mind; wondering where it all went wrong, where he can set his life back on the right track.

  How can such a man ever hope to confr
ont and defeat a fisher of kings?

  And so, despite (or maybe that should be because of?) the KingFisher’s undoubted wickedness, he will forever remain all-powerful.

  The poor April Queen must rule alone.

  And the fool goes about his own life blissfully oblivious to his failure.

  *

  Now, of course, as the appointed storyteller, I do apologise to anyone who thinks this is an unsatisfactory ending to this tale of The Fool of May.

  It probably isn’t the ending you were expecting: it’s not a ‘happy ever after’, after all.

  But then again, in all probability this is how the tale would pan out in the real world. Unless you yourself are also a fool, you’ll recognise it’s the most realistic ending.

  So why didn’t the love of the fool for his princess conquer all?

  Because she is now a queen

  And his love for her therefore had to change.

  And love can conquer all only when it is no longer your master: and you have conquered love.

  *

  Chapter 6

  Crystine stared once again at the necklace, lifting its glittering ruby up before her eyes.

  The queen glowering back at her from within the resplendent gem seemed uglier than ever.

  The pearls, however, glistened more wondrously than any crystalline snowflakes. The sapphires had flowing sheens of ever-changing blues, as if reflecting the wings of iridescent butterflies.

  The silverwork was so precise and delicate it could have been the tracings of highly creative spiders. The gold glowed as flame-like as any captured rays of the sun.

  The door to the apartment clicked open.

  Mum was back.

  Crystine instantly let go of the necklace, letting it hang down across her upper chest once more, hidden behind the edges of the neckline of her blouse.

  She didn’t want to have to explain how she had come by such a beautiful and obviously expensive necklace. Who would believe her anyway?

  Mum walked in, attempting a tired grin. As usual, she appeared exhausted, flustered. Her hair, although tied up in a knot, still somehow managed to look array and unkempt.

  ‘Hi dear, have you – Crystine!’

  What passed for her smile immediately vanished. She peered intently and curiously at Crystine’s face, even drawing uncomfortably close.

  ‘Are you wearing makeup?’ she asked accusingly.

  ‘Of course I’m not wearing make up!’ Crystine insisted, wondering what on earth was now going on in her mum’s already crazed mind. ‘Haven’t I had it drummed into me often enough by you that–’

  ‘Don’t lie to me, Crys!’ her mum irately interrupted. ‘I can see the change in you!’

  She was not only continuing her probing observation of Crystine’s face, but now also running a finger down a cheek, checking to see how much makeup she had managed to wipe off.

  Despite finding no trace of makeup on her fingertip, her accusations became more vehement still.

  ‘What have I told you about trying to make yourself beautiful? It only leads to trouble–’

  ‘All you’ve told me, mum,’ Crystine furiously snapped back, ‘is how it got you into trouble! And so you make out we’re all like you, that I’m like you: and all so you don’t have to admit to yourself what a fool you’ve been!’

  ‘Of course I’m not–’

  ‘I’m going out!’Crystine stormed, whirling around her mum to head for the door.

  The necklace whirled up into the air, leaping free of the veiling blouse. It briefly glittered in the air like freshly spilt blood.

  ‘Crys!’ her mum yelled in surprise, catching sight of the resplendent gem, the expensive gold and silver of the chain. ‘Where on earth did you get something like that?’

  She made a grab for Crystine’s shoulder. Crystine shrugged off her mum’s hand and continued heading for the door.

  ‘What did you do to get it?’ Crystine’s mum demanded, her tone now one of horror.

  ‘I’m not like that, mum!’ Crystine spat back as she reached the door.

  ‘I’m not like you!’ she added viciously as she slammed the door behind her.

  *

  It was an old, relatively small building: one that had been converted into apartments (too many apartments!) rather than having been purposely built.

  There hadn’t been enough room or money to install an elevator. On the upper levels of the building, even the stairwell was cramped, the stairs steep and constantly turning back upon themselves.

  The minute landing at the very top of the stairs only gave you one option, of course: you had to go down.

  Yet when Crystine stepped onto the landing, her recent experience with the meeting of the goblins – sorry, dwarblins – made her look afresh at the closely confining walls.

  Yes, the dwarblins had dropped through the apartment’s ceiling: but how was anybody else – anyone from her world – supposed to ascend to this fairy storey?

  The walls were, like those throughout the rest of the building, in a terrible state. The overly dried plaster was flaking off, with sparse remnants of what had once been a thin wallpaper covering only a few sections of each wall.

  Crystine ran her fingers over the rough plaster, wondering if she would come across signs of an old doorway that had been covered up long ago.

  But there was nothing there that she could see. If there ever had been a doorway leading to a long-forgotten stairwell, it had been effectively hidden from view.

  Come to think of it, she didn’t know of any way of climbing up to the roof.

  Wasn’t that unusual? Wasn’t there supposed to be some way of accessing a roof to make repairs and what have you?

  With a dismissive shrug of resigned indifference, she continued on her way down the stairs.

  Then the single bulb hanging above her head flickered and died.

  *

  Chapter 7

  It wasn’t an unusual occurrence: bulbs in the stairwell were always blowing, sometimes remaining un-replaced for months at a time.

  Naturally, Crystine hadn’t been suddenly plunged into complete darkness. The bulbs lighting the lower landings were still working. They threw up enough of a dim glow for Crystine to ensure she wouldn’t trip and fall as she continued to descend.

  Then the bulb immediately below her went out with a crack.

  Then the one below that one spluttered and died.

  Crack. Crack. Crack…

  All the other bulbs were going out in quick succession.

  The last died with a pained hiss.

  Now the stairwell was a well of nothing but the most intense darkness.

  Crystine recognised that it was too dangerous to try to navigate her way down the full flight of stairs in such an impenetrable blackness. She turned around, heading back up towards the landing she had left only moments before.

  She hadn’t realised she had already descended so far down the stairs. There were more steps to climb than she had anticipated.

  Up and up.

  More stairs?

  When did it end?

  She at last stepped out onto a landing. She almost stumbled, she had become so used to finding yet another step rising before her.

  She had to reach out in the darkness to find the door, scrambling around blindly for the handle.

  When she opened the door, she found herself standing in a vast, empty warehouse.

  *

  The warehouse had an air of being abandoned long ago.

  Everything was filthy, especially the piles of what appeared to be discarded items: collapsed tables, broken chairs, rolls of material.

  The most amazing thing about it all, however, was its incredible size: it stretched out way beyond what should be the confines of the building it had been built upon.

  It must be projecting out right across the road lying in front of the house, Crystine realised with a surge of amazement.

  She glanced out of windows that had been smashed, or
simply fallen into disrepair as the frames rotted. Outside it was the greying light of an early evening sky

  Hadn’t that dwarblin said it was evening in their world?

  This was obviously their fairy storey. The warehouse they had referred to.

  So did that mean that the door on the far side of the room opened up onto their world?

  *

  The door facing her on the far wall looked much like the door she had just entered by.

  It made sense, surely, that this was the door to the other world?

  If sense was the right word to use while standing in a warehouse that shouldn’t by rights exist on top of the relatively small building lying beneath.

  As she wandered across the room, heading towards the beckoning door, Crystine nervously wondered if her weight would cause the whole structure to begin to lean, to topple. It didn’t, of course.

  The whole structure felt sound, secure.

  Even so, as she prepared to open the door, Crystine briefly feared stepping out into the empty air lying above the busy road she knew existed within her own world.

  The door did indeed open up onto nothing but empty air, air that violently whirled and pummelled her. Strong gusts ripped past her, seeking entrance into the building.

  The gusts struck viciously and unexpectedly, wrenching Crystine up off her feet. They forced the door she was still clinging to wide open.

  Crystine couldn’t support her own weight while grasping nothing but a handle.

  Besides, the handle turned slightly under her weight, dropping into an angled position.

  Before she was aware what was happening, Crystine was falling.

  Falling through the empty air lying above the busy road that existed within her own world.

  *

  Chapter 8

  As Crystine fell, her hair, her clothes, whirled everywhere about her.

  As if refusing to be confined by the rules of gravity, the necklace also rose up from her chest, breaking free of the veiling blouse. The sparkling ruby hung in the air directly before her face.