The Princess and the Privy

The Princess and the Privy

  Tales of Myrick

  the (not so)

  Magnificent

  Berin L. Stephens

  The Princess and the Privy

  Copyright © 2012 Berin L. Stephens

  Special thanks to:

  James E. Curwen, cover artist

  https://jamesecurwen.blogspot.com/

  and

  Jaleta Clegg, editing

  https://www.jaletac.com/

  Don't believe any of that stuff about slaying evil wizards or rescuing fair maidens from dragons. It's all a bunch of troglyn poo. Yeah, sure, the stories sound exciting and all that, but don't believe a word of them. I did. And that's how I got into this mess.

  And it's all my mother's fault.

  Okay, so there I was, standing in front of the main entrance of Castle Fringol, excited to begin my new life as a soldier in King Frankfurt the Fifth of Fingolia's (try saying that three times fast) army. Of course, they didn't know I was there to enlist, but I figured I would surprise them and bring them great joy. Why did I want to join the army? Well, for the adventure. Duh. How else was a skinny little fifteen-year-old going to get out there and rescue beautiful maidens in distress? Okay, so I was pretty young and naive at the time, unlike the wizened nineteen-year-old I am now.

  A few weeks before I had heard through the royal troubadours that King Frankfurt was looking to expand his army. Now that I’d arrived, all I needed to do was find the royal wizard, Lord Korac, who was in charge of recruitment. It would then be a simple matter to let him know that Myrick the Great; warrior, magician, philosopher, poet, scholar, and let's not forget, lover; was there to aid the kingdom.

  I sauntered through the main gate, taking a bite out of the apple I'd snagged from an orchard outside of the castle.

  “Halt!” shouted a burly guard wearing a metal cap and brandishing a menacing-looking spear. “Who are you?”

  I gave him one of my best smiles. After all, we were soon to be working together and I wanted to make sure I had a friend. “Myrick. I am here to sign up for King Frankfurt's noble and great army.”

  I took another bite of my apple.

  “Aren't you a little small to join the army?” the guard asked, trying to hold back his mirth.

  I stretched myself up to my full five-foot-two-inch height. “I am big enough.”

  The guard looked at me for a second, snickered a few times, and followed with a full, uproarious guffaw. His spear clattered harmlessly to the ground. When he could finally breath, he tried to say to his companions, “He . . . wants . . . (more laughter here) . . . to . . . (even more laughter) . . . army.”

  His friends laughed with him. And I, being such a good sport, joined in. I even patted the guard on the back as we shared our laugh.

  Once he recovered enough to bend down and pick up his spear, the guard said, “Now git home, kid.” He snickered a couple more times. “You ain't right for the army.”

  Who was this man to deny me, Myrick the Magnificent? Okay, so I gave myself the title, but it had a nice ring. I straightened my shoulders and puffed out my chest to let him see I was serious. “I am here to see Lord Korac.” Obviously, these buffoons couldn't recognize real talent when they saw it.

  All humor vanished from the guard's face. “I've seen urchins like you before. All ya do is pick pockets, steal stuff, and cause all sorts of mischief.”

  I put my hand on my chest and gave him the most indignant look I could muster. “Me? How dare you accuse me of such things?”

  The guard's eyes glanced down at the apple in my hand. “Where'd ya get that?”

  “I walked past an orchard on my way from the village. I was hungry.” Having grown up in a small farming community, I was used to helping myself to local produce; we all did it.

  The guard's face twisted into a sneer. “Those are the king's orchards. You are a thief!”

  I handed the apple to him. “Here, you can have it back. I didn't know.”

  He pointed his spear at me. “Git out of here!” He poked me in the shoulder.

  “Ow!” It pierced my shirt and drew blood. “But I–”

  “Git!” He smacked me in the leg with the shaft. When I turned around to walk away, he poked me in my sitting muscle.

  “Hey!” I said, putting my hand on my offended posterior. The look on his face told me that the conversation was over. “Okay, okay, I'm leaving, I'm leaving. Sheesh.” I limped across the drawbridge, hand still on cheek, and back toward the village a couple of miles away.

  Okay, so day one didn't go so well, but I hadn't walked the last week through rain, mud, poison ivy, and rabid skunks (you don't want to hear that story) to just turn around and give up. No, not me, Myrick the Masterful.

  I looked down at what remained of my clothing. A week of hardship on the road left them as little more than filthy rags. I looked like something that had been licked up by a Samsoden Fur-dragon and spit out as a hairball. But what could I do? I had no friends, no money, and no place to stay.

  Of course, there was always the option of going home; back to farm life under the cruel hand of my evil step-father. I could tell you some horror stories. Can you believe he used to make me get up before dawn, before dawn, to milk the cows? And on top of that, he expected me to plant crops, weed the fields, and all sorts of other menial tasks. Do I look like a farmer to you? Of course not! I just had to join the army, even if it killed me. What other way was there to gain fame and great fortune? How else could I stride across battlefields with my magical sword held high as I vanquished vile dragons and rescued fair maidens?

  As I walked the streets of the village, a new plan began to formulate in my superior brain. If I improved my looks to that of an upstanding citizen, they'd have to let me through to Lord Korac. Of course, that meant I'd have to find some better clothing. Now, I didn't 'steal' the clothes I found on the clothesline, I 'rented' them. I returned the clothes later and paid a small fee (I gave them an apple from the king's orchard). Honest. Even we lowly peasants have some morals.

  Renting the nicer clothing was the easy part. Finding a place to bathe proved to be a bit trickier. At first, I checked out several houses, but people were arriving home for the evening. I had to walk out of town a ways before I found a spot that would work. The farmer who caught me in his cow watering trough didn't seem very pleased, though. He forced me to grab all my clothes and run off into a wheat field as naked as a newborn. At least the place he poked me with his pitchfork was on the opposite cheek from where the guard stabbed me.

  After a less-than-refreshing night's sleep in a barn (don’t chickens ever sleep?), I slunk out before sunrise to prepare for my next attempt to join King Frankfurt's army. When I reached the castle, I looked at my reflection in the moat. I had to humbly admit, I was pretty darn good looking. It would be impossible for them to refuse me now.

  I strutted over the drawbridge and under the portcullis like I owned the place. I smiled; I would be the best thing that ever happened to Fringolia. I was dashing, I was in control, I was confident, I was going to become rich and famous.

  “You're going to the dungeon,” I heard from behind as a heavy hand landed on my shoulder.

  I spun around and saw my old friend with the spear. “How are you doing, good sir?” I held out my hand, smiling. “It is such a pleasure to meet one of the brave and fearless soldiers of our great kingdom.”

  The man gave me a friendly snarl as he tightened his grip on my shoulder. “I told you to git, now stay git!” He pushed me back toward the gate, causing me to lose my balance and land on the paving stones; right on my tender bum. He hoisted his spear and pointed the business end at my chest.

  With my rump reminding me how sharp that s
pear was, I jumped up and ran before that thing came anywhere near my precious hind quarters again. Obviously, Mr. Bum-stabber had an overzealous desire to keep me from reaching my righteous destiny. But I would show him; I just needed another plan.

  I wandered around outside the castle, lost in thought, until I reached a cliff with a waterfall falling into the moat. The back part of the castle jutted up against the cliff face, probably to save money on castle walls. Yes, the royal Fringol family was frugal to a fault. There's another tongue twister there somewhere.

  I sat down on a rock and stared at the waterfall. The area was secluded and off the main road. I looked up the cliff face and wondered if I could climb high enough to scramble over the castle wall. Unfortunately, the rocks looked slick and dangerous with very few hand holds.

  It was then that something struck my eye, or I should say, nose. Right where the castle wall met the cliff, I saw a balcony-like projection with holes on the bottom side; a castle toilet. The toilet holes emptied into the moat below, causing me to make a mental note to never swim or bath there. There were two holes, one of them with a rusted grate over it but the other was open. It also looked wide enough for me to squeeze my slight frame through. A scraggly tree had managed to take root in the side of the cliff just above the privy holes. If I could get a rope around that, I might be able to swing across the distance and climb up through the hole. Now, I didn't necessarily like the