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Diary of a Spinner Prince
Part Two
Gray Time, Twenty-Five, Hobgoblin Year
High tide went out at the second hour after Sunrise, so that was when I was aboard the King's Brand. Father chose that ship for his flag ship. Not that he rode in it much. But he never got seasick either. Maybe that is because he was not native to the Glittering Island. Our company consisted of Father, me, Beatrice, Beatrice's maid Miranda, a servant called Ellen, and one bodyguard called Calvin. Father was in a hurry to get rid of Beatrice I suppose. But I was still very surprised that he would not prepare a massive entourage. Father liked grandness and flashing his power in other people's faces.
Anyway, a little bit more about our group. Beatrice is tall for a woman almost six feet tall. She has really dark brown glossy hair and big dark eyes. Her skin is light for a daughter of the desert, but then she gets her complexion from father. She overloads herself in fine garments and jewelry which does nothing to improve her person or hide her sharp tongue. Calvin the soldier has dark weather beaten skin. His dark eyes glower under his bushy eyebrows. His thick hair is gray blue. He never wears armor, but does carry a massive sword everywhere. Lady Miranda, Beatrice's maid resembles Beatrice somewhat, but no one would ever notice because of the scars on her face. Miranda lost her husband in a terrible fire and almost died too. She is now as poor as a rat with a heavily scared face. Beatrice likes her, because in contrast her, meaning Beatrice, face is dazzling. Beatrice likes to appear at her best. Ellen, the servant, is maybe fourteen or fifteen. She has bright golden hair like Ester and Zeno, so obviously she is not a true native of the Glittering Island either. I am not sure why father likes her better then the other servants. I never heard her say much. Father is tall, not what I would call handsome, with a shining bald head and a gray trimmed beard. Then there is myself. I have dark sandy brown hair that sticks up and refuses to behave. I am sixteen years old and ready for anything. That is all you need to know. Also I am very seasick.
Gray Time, Twenty-Seven, Hobgoblin Year
A terrible storm crashed down on us. I lay in my bunk moaning. Beatrice moaned louder. I could hear her in the next cabin over the top of the roaring waves and crashing thunder. She made poor Miranda keep emptying the barf bucket. Poor Miranda had to stagger up on the rolling pitching deck, dodge sailors, empty the bucket and return, all the while she was sick herself. Beatrice is a monster. Calvin curled up under my bunk and prayed in a foreign language. Ellen played Grabapple dice with father and the two of them chatted an laughed. That just made things worse for me. How could they laugh when we were dying?
Gray Time, Twenty-Eight, Hobgoblin Year
Then we did sink! Just like that! Well, maybe not just like that. A bolt of lightening struck the main mast and set it on fire. I would think that the rain would put it out, but instead the mast tumbled over taking the rest of the sails and knocking over more lamps. The King's Brand turned into a burning wreck.
“Everyone out!” father roared, as he scattered the pieces of the game he was playing with Ellen. She snatched the blankets off of me, rolled our swords and some bits of food and laundry up in it and tied it. I rolled out of my bunk with a yell. Calvin crawled to the door. Father was forced to drape the hysterical Beatrice over his shoulder and carry her out onto the deck. Miranda crawled like Calvin. I staid upright, but I kept clutching at Ellen's hasty bundle to steady myself. She seemed remarkably graceful on the pitching deck.
Ice cold rain beat down, soaking us in seconds. Blazing hot flames and smoke roared up all around us.
“Jump!” father bellowed and gave me a push. The last thing I heard before the ice cold waves crashed over my head was Beatrice screaming that she was being murdered. I sincerely hoped she was.
Gray Time, twenty-nine, Hobgoblin Year
I opened my eyes to find myself lying face down on a hot sandy beach. Gentle waves were lapping at my feet. I moaned, then heard someone call my name. It seemed very far away. I sat up blinking. The sun glared down painfully. I squinted around and saw someone crouching by my side. It was Calvin. His shirt was torn and their were bloodstains on it. One arm hung crookedly by his side.
“C-Calvin?” I croaked. My tongue felt curiously thick in my dry mouth.
“Now, all we have to do is find Beatrice and we all escaped.” Calvin said. He helped me up with a grimace.
We limped across the sand. Heat glared up in my face. I groaned softly. But other then an aching head I did not seem to be damaged much. Calvin was a wreck and he was not complaining. We soon came upon father, Miranda and Ellen seated discontentedly on the shore staring out over the floating debris of the King's Brand. My heart sank. Were we trapped?
“I found little Uli, but not young Beatrice.” Calvin grunted as he dropped to the sand and cradled his injured arm. Father looked up. I had never seen him look so wretched.
“We should go find my lady.” Miranda said with a long sigh.
“Where are all the sailors?” I cried as I glanced around, “Maybe Beatrice is with them.”
“Dead!” father growled, “We were the only ones that jumped in time. Calvin was last and you see the condition he is in.”
“Now all you stop it this instant!” Ellen cried as she sprang nimbly to her feet. We stared at her. She put her hands on her hips, “Now Miranda, you bandage poor Calvin up with something, maybe your coat.”
“Excuse me?” Miranda gaped.
“Maldirk, Uli and I will pull some of the debris ashore to see what we can salvage.”
“What?” we gaped. I dared not look at father. He was probably seething that a common servant had called him by his first name with no respect whatsoever. I shook my head and braced myself. Father always put uppity servants in their place pretty quickly.
“You heard the girl, do as you are told!” father growled. We all stared at him. When he shook his fists at us we jumped to work.
We salvaged a nice tidy list of things from the sea. A crate of soggy cheese, a barrel of tack, a barrel of salt pork, a barrel of wet flour, a stack of wood and planks from the ship, two masts, one with Beatrice afloat on it, four barrels of fresh water. We also collected one ax, some rope, lots of sail cloth, a compos, a crate of soaked maps, and a dog. A nice pile of junk.
Gray Time, Thirty, Hobgoblin Year
Ellen, Miranda and I constructed a shelter, while father and Calvin made a round of the island. Beatrice lay on her back wailing. We ignored her. I picked out the planks for the wall then pushed them into the sand upright. Miranda would then hold it steady, while Ellen used the blunt end of the ax like a hammer. It was clumsy, but it had to do.
“Uli, hurry!” Ellen called, as I had trouble disentangling some wood.
“Lend me the ax and I shall do as you wish.” I growled.
“Ellen, why is it that you dare to yell and boss the prince around?” Miranda protested.
“Listen,” Ellen said bluntly, “We are all in this together, we have no time for bowing and scraping. Our food will not last long and we need to escape or we will die. I am the only one who has experience with hard menial work, so you all take your orders from me!”
“Not true!” I interrupted, “I saw Calvin doing that kind of work once!”
“Then he will no the importance of what I am doing.” Ellen said with a sniff.
“I would have learned all about it, if I had going to the Camp like I was supposed too.” I muttered sourly.
“But then you would not have needed the knowledge as you would not have been shipwrecked.” Ellen retorted. I scowled.
“Nobody cares about me!” Beatrice wailed, “Someone bring me a nice cold drink of ice water. I shall complain to father!”
“He will cover his ears.” I snapped unfeelingly.
“Of course my lady.” Miranda said as she stood up and brushed the sand off of her dirty dress.
“Oh no you do not!” Ellen cried, “Water is rationed!”
“Why?” Miranda gasped.
“Because the need for water is the thing that brings the death quickest.” Ellen said grimly. Miranda gasped and covered her mouth.
“A good thing too.” I said sourly, “Beatrice would have dumped it on the ground for being warm and stale.” Nobody disagreed with me.
We were pulling some sailcloth over our finished wall, when father and Calvin came trudging back. They did not look very happy.
“Well?” I asked as I abandoned my corner of the wall and approached them.
“Good or bad news first?” Calvin grunted.
“Give us the good news.” Ellen said, “We will need some bolstering before our courage sinks again.”
“We know where we are.” Father growled.
“Oh good.” I said sarcastically, “We can now postmark our letters.”
“Do not get fresh with me young man!” Father growled, “Even if there is no respect left, I am still your father.” I hung my head in shame.
“So where are we?” Ellen asked quickly, “Is it good or bad?” Calvin and father exchanged a long look.
“Well, it all depends on what your view of good is.” Calvin said at last, “But we are on Desolate Island.”
“Is that the island Yaron got abandoned on?”
“Verek too.” Beatrice moaned from the ground.
“Well yes, but no enchantress is going to give us a flying trunk, and I highly doubt a genie will offer us a magic carpet either.” father growled.
“So, it's a wretched strip of nothing according to both Yaron and Verek, so that is bad news.” I said dryly.
“Yes, but we could easily make the Grimwarian Provence in less then two days if we could row.” Calvin cried, getting excited, “All we need to do is build a raft.”
“That is good news.” I said.
“What about the bad news?” Ellen asked grimly, “I trust that it was not that this is Desolate Island. That seemed bad enough.”
“No that was the good news.” Calvin sighed, “Bad news is that there is not one thing on this island. We will have to rely on what food we have.” he glanced over our shoulders, “That is if the dog doesn't eat it all first.” we whirled and found the ugly hairy dog munching on our soggy cheese. Ellen chased him with the ax. No one else had the energy.
Icy Season, One, Hobgoblin Year
The shelter provided us with some shade, it was a relief to escape from the blazing sun, but it could not get rid of the heat. We took to sleeping in the day and working at night when it was cooler. In such a way we started working on the raft. Since most of the good pieces were being used for our shelter we lashed both masts together. Using more rope and sailcloth we strapped small seats to it, made of splintering wood. We also provided a place to put what supplies we would still have.
Icy Season, Two, Hobgoblin Year
I sincerely wish that it was really icy out. That would be more pleasant. Although my only knowledge of ice is from Xander's outrageous tales. We finished the raft today and dissembled our shelter.
“No stop!” Beatrice wailed, “What are you doing?” Everyone, except Beatrice grabbed a board to use as a paddle. Then we loaded all our meager supplies. It took a lot of pushing, puffing, straining and cursing to launch our ridiculous raft, but we did it, then we leaped aboard. It was very uncomfortable.
“Which way do we go?” I asked, as I pulled the compos out of my pocket.
“East!” Calvin grunted. I held up the compos then frowned.
“I am so mixed up. I keep thinking East is the direction of the Island, but the compos points opposite.”
“So we follow the compos not your opinions!” father growled. I shrugged. Then we started paddling.
Icy Season, Three, Hobgoblin Year
Sometimes we paddled, sometimes we drifted, sometimes we tried to sleep, and sometimes we ate. That was the life on our wretched uncomfortable raft. But we always steered Eastwards. At least Eastwards according to the compos. But I still thought of it as Westwards. I could not understand why I was so mixed up. Perhaps I never was very good with directions in the first place. I never had the need in the past. But then I never was lost.
Icy Season, Five, Hobgoblin Year
Calvin awakened us all with jubilant yells. We all sat up and added our cheers to his. We were approaching shore. Not just any shore, but one that was thick with shady trees.
“That is so not Kildimere.” I observed, “Unless the Grimwarian Provence is greener then the Capitol.”
“Who cares, it is shore.” Miranda sighed.
“I think the boy is right.” Calvin grunted.
“As Miranda said, who cares?” father growled.
“We might if they turn out to be hostile.” I protested.
“Uli is right.” Ellen said primly, “You will have to hide your identities. Kings, princes and rulers may simper and make friends with one another when they are surrounded by armed hosts or separated by borderlines, but if they were ever to get each other alone in the dark, blood would flow.”
“You mean they would assassinate father and me?” I gaped. The sea looked more inviting then land now.
“If they discovered who you really are.” Ellen said.
“Well, I for one, shall not go creeping around in a disguise, and neither will any of my children!” father snarled.
“Well, Yaron, Xander, Waylan and Verek all did it.” I pointed out, “They thrived better when no one knew who they really were.”
“Not true!” father retorted, “Xander could have saved himself much trouble, Waylan almost got killed and Verek had to spend more time convincing Jasmine to marry him.”
“Waylan almost got killed because he was a prince.” I correct, “He was much safer in disguise.”
“He also almost got killed because he was in disguise!” father snapped.
“Boys stop this arguing at once!” Ellen shouted, “Pick up your paddles and start paddling, we will go ashore! We spend tonight on the beach.”
“Food.” Jasmine whimpered, “Fresh water.”
“Exactly!” Ellen snapped. I started snickering. It was funny to see small little Ellen calling my big sour faced father a boy.
Icy Season, Six, Hobgoblin Year
We camped on the shore last night. It was lovey to sleep in the shade of the swaying trees. The air was much cooler then it had been on Desolate Island. I almost wished for my over shirt and cloak again. We had long since discarded all heavy and unnecessary garments. I awoke at dawn shivering. The air was very chilly and I could see my breath when breathed. It was really weird. I got up to look around. The cold grass burnt my bare feet. It was not very pleasant.
The first thing I found were vines wrapped around the trees. They had some kind of grape like fruit on them. I ate half a dozen of them. To bad if they were poisonous. At least I would die with fresh food in my belly. I was walking back in the direction I thought the camp was, when I came upon a man. I dropped my grapes and froze. He was dressed funny. He whipped out a strange stick out of a holster in his belt and began to spin it. There was a second feathered stick with a sharp end attached to it. A second holster full of more feathered sticks. I guessed they were like arrows. But for the life of me, I could not figure exactly how they worked.
The man gibbered something. I shrugged. Not one single word sounded familiar. Kildimere and Glittering Island had similar languages and everyone spoke a common tongue as well.
“He-lo.” the man said after a pause.
“Ah- yes, hello.” I said in the common tongue, “That is much better.” the man lowered his stick weapon.
“Where you from?” he asked thickly. I gestured over my shoulder then in front of me and shrugged.
“I seem to have misplaced my people.” I said.
“Ah- more like you?” he gestured at my faded ragged clothes.
“Yeah.” I said.
“Come.” the man said and gestured for me to follow him. I did, wondering if I was an idiot.
To my surprise the man led me down to the shore. We were barely thirty yards from our camp. Beatrice saw us first and screamed. The others came running.
“Broke ship?” the man asked and pointed at our ungainly raft. We all nodded.
“Ah- cast the ways.” the man said, “This is Bel-a-mor.”
“Belmor?” father repeated.
“No, no.” the man shook his finger, “Bel-a-mor.”
“That is what I said.” father snapped. The man shook his head.
“Come, I take you.”
“Where?” Ellen demanded as she put her hands on her hips.
“House.” the man said, “Food, bathe, clothings.” I sighed. It sounded so lovely. The man poked me in the face.
“Ouch!” I yelled backing away in surprise.
“Honey cream for red face of all.” the man said. I figured he meant soothing balm for our sunburns. It sounded wonderful.
Icy Season, Nine, Hobgoblin Year
The village was full of odd houses, but after the first day we were given a strange shack which we moved into. Father, Calvin, and I were expected to work in fields. We did this in exchange for food. Water was free from a stone well in the center of the village. I thought it rather fun to work barefoot in the rich dirt and make the funny plants come up. The people called it winter grain. It could thrive in the heat and the cold. It was always cold except at midday. That was when we worked. While the men tended the field, I say field because there was one gigantic field and everyone worked together, the women and girls took sheep, goats, pigs and ducks to a large pasture surrounding a pond. While there they spun, sewed or knitted. Miranda and Ellen did this more or less cheerfully. Beatrice, of course, staid at our hovel, and cried. I am not sure what a hovel is, but that is what everyone called our shack.
One thing we missed was meat. We could not so much as catch a mouse and eat it. All food in the forest belonged to King Maverik. I decided that I did not like him. He was greedy. The villagers had to give him half their supplies and all the meat they raised. At least they could keep eggs, milk and fur. Ellen and Miranda were admired by everyone, Beatrice was disliked. She was named lazy. I laughed. But father was angry.
“We need her to work.” he growled, “We need all the food we can get so we can save up and travel home.”
“We do not even know where that is.” I protested, “Our compos is obviously trash!”
“Maybe it was right.” father argued, “Perhaps there really is an island between Desolate and Kildimere. Just because Yaron and Verek did not name one doesn't mean there isn't one.”
“Didn't Yaron speak of a Greystark and Greengrove Islands?” Calvin asked.
“Those are North of Glittering Island.” I protested, “Remember he was up near the Capitol.”
“His trunk could have brought him anywhere.” father argued, “Remember Desolate is on the Southern side.” I gave up. No one was going to listen to me either.
This afternoon, I left the fields earlier then usual and headed into the woods. I wanted to take a look and test the compos, which I kept in my pocket. I had not gone far before I heard a growling sound. I whirled. I massive wolf like creature with dripping jaws was slinking towards me. I picked up a rock and chucked it at the beast.
“Git out of here!” I yelled. The beast leaped. I saw my life flash before my eyes. Then someone leaped between us. Man and beast went down in a tangle and I realized that it was father. Horrified, I snatched up another rock and tried to get into the whirling snarling mess. But I could not strike without hitting father. He was sort of armed with a hoe, but it was awkward and unwieldy from his position. I saw lots of blood. This was not good. I gritted me teeth and struck. The beast let go of father and tried to attack me. Father hacked at it's throat with the hoe. I struck some more with my rock. The animal howled and slunk away. I hurled my rock after him.
Father groaned and fell to his knees. Quickly, I turned back towards him and helped him lie down. Father's body was torn all over from the teeth and claws of the beast.
“Go get Calvin.” he gasped.
“You cannot stay here.” I gasped, “What if the- the monster comes back.”
“Get Calvin!” father grunted. Leaving him alone and defenseless I took off through the woods. Tears stung my eyes. This was all a nightmare.
I found Calvin, sleeves rolled up hacking at weeds. He was talking and laughing with several of the villagers. Ignoring them I rushed to Calvin and almost got hit in the face with his hoe.
“C-Calvin!” I screamed breathlessly, “Come qu-quick!”
“What?” Calvin gaped as he dropped the hoe. I think I scared him. The villagers muttered in their own language. I suspected that they thought me a fool for almost getting killed, but I did not care.
“Father is hurt!” I yelled, then I turned and darted back into the woods. Calvin was right behind me.
Icy Twenty, Thirteen, Hobgoblin Year, End of the Reign of Maldirk
Someone needs to record it somewhere. But on this ninth day of the Icy Season, in the year of the Hobgoblin, the reign of Maldirk the first of Glittering Island came to an end. Zeno was now king. We buried father on the shore facing the North.
“The King is dead.” Calvin intoned and cast a shovel full of dirt over the body. Once the hole was filled he spoke again, “Long live King Zeno of the Glittering Island.” Father was dead and it was all my fault. He had been a good king, but perhaps not the best of men. I wished I could cry, but I could not. My throat hurt and I felt a dull ache. For the first time since our wretched adventure began, I felt lost.
To Be Continued
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