Page 10

seven

Heavy is the Crown

H eather tugged the underarms of the doll king unceremoniously, convinced that the blasted thing was twice her weight.

She successfully dragged the plaything to the main stairwell, allowing the lifeless burden to collapse in a heap of limbs to the floor.

The ache in her own arms and legs reverberated like a drum.

She lowered herself to a stair step, her breath sawing through her chest.

Blowing a stray hair from her face, she considered the exhausting climb up the series of stairs.

Although limp with fatigue, she needed His Majesty, the doll, out of sight, if only temporarily.

She sought to hide him away in the wardrobe closet of the spare bedroom, preventing the princess from making further ridiculous demands.

But could she maneuver up the staircase with it in tow?

She’d accomplish it- whether it took her all day with rests in between to achieve it. Her only concern, completing the task before one of the ‘bigs’ found her out.

Rising, she switched tactics and clasped the wooden figure by its ankles and carried on. She twittered a laugh as the king’s head thumped up the stairs, bouncing off the stone stair treads. On the second floor, she leaned against the wall briefly to relax her over wrought muscles.

One more level remained. She continued her climb, filled with renewed strength for the last stretch. Pushing herself forward, she passed by the first spare bedroom and crossed into the threshold of the following room, doll dragging behind her like a shadow.

After she successfully made her way across the chamber, she released the wooden figure once more and swung the armoire open wide.

With a powerful tug, his upper torso filled the cabinet, his wayward knees and elbows overflowing the opening at unnatural angles.

She crammed the appendages within and slammed the dual doors shut.

With the solid wood at her back, she collapsed, out of breath.

Stumbling over to the canopied bed, she crumpled into the mattress. The shift to her new size continued to wreak havoc, her muscle loss apparent.

For how long she lay there, recuperating was difficult to tell. She watched the light change on the ceiling as her breathing slowly steadied. Her newly injured ribs, a gift from the princess, protested at her every breath.

Sometime later, rested and happy for her accomplishments, she rose, deciding that a celebration called for a chalice of mead!

She flew down the stairs, the return journey unencumbered by dead weight.

She sat next to the wooden queen, “Cheers!” She clinked her goblet against the one at the queen’s place setting and took a swig. “Good riddance, I’d say!”

Three goblets in, she gestured to the sovereign.

“I don’t know how you do it. Having to bed that old goat.

” She physically shuddered. Heather shook her head, pausing mid shake, for her eyes landed on the glint of the king’s crown on the hallway floor.

Her stare narrowed onto it. The tiara Heather wore for the princess appeared as if it were real diamond stone…

could the doll king’s jewelry be genuine gold?

Perhaps it would be worth stowing away? Her gaze shifted to Her Majesty, whose brow was adorned with a golden diadem.

Wobbling from her chair, she fuddled over to the king’s crown, hoisting it high.

All the while hiccupping and giggling to herself.

She needed to sit back down. The room refused to stay still.

She clumsily placed her backside on the first step of the stairs.

When she struck it against the stone floor, it twanged in vibration.

Shrugging, she lifted it to her mouth, biting the prong at the top.

Her inspection grew difficult with the sudden appearance of two crowns in its place.

Her tipsy mind couldn’t decipher between them.

Blinking slowly, she glanced again, this time observing the telltale indents. It was honest to goodness gold!

“The audacity!” She shook her head in disbelief, too many servants lived by the bare necessities…

and this child’s plaything had treasures as accessories.

She palmed her pounding forehead. Sleep beckoned.

Stumbling over to the solar, she collapsed on the divan, with the valuable clasped in her right hand.

She’d need to hide it somewhere for safekeeping.

But for now, she struggled to keep her eyes open.

Early the next morn, Heather was in the great hall awaiting the delivery of her breakfast. She cradled her aching head in her hands, feeling the repercussions from the mead the night before.

“Don’t place that foul creature in my dollhouse!” screeched the princess from beyond the miniature castle walls. Heather covered her ears in pain. What ‘foul creature’ could they be discussing? Would it cause her harm?

It was her ill fortune they would spring a surprise on her on this morning of all mornings, when her vision was still a haze, and she was depleted of all energy. She needed water and something to fill her belly. She felt like a ship in turbulent waters, the nausea about the same.

As the tower shook with the twins' approach, she scrambled out of her seat and held fast to the column in the room. The children appeared at the open side of the keep, tussling over the creature in the prince’s hand.

“It’s our castle, not thine ,” he argued. But they were both incorrect. The castle was now Heather’s home.

The princess stomped her foot, sending Heather’s abode into a shudder. “Put it in the courtyard!” she demanded.

Heather’s concern grew, fearing what she would find outside the tower.

“Children, you’re late for lessons!” the nanny called from the doorway.

One day, when Heather was back to her old self, she was going to make a friend of this nanny who had the best of timing. Mayhap kiss the ground the woman tread.

Heather watched as the prince placed something in the cobblestone courtyard and both children hurried from the library … leaving without serving Heather breakfast.

Missing one course wouldn’t be dire, but what if they failed to deliver midday meal or her evening repast? The anxiety of this new life was beginning to compete with the stress of taste tester.

The crimes she’d commit for another cup of mint tea from Mae. Or several flagons of water.

Heather crept down the exterior steps, keeping the balusters between her and whatever it was the prince abandoned in the courtyard. Her heart was beating like a drum. She crouched behind the banister, peering over it as a precaution. Expecting to see a spider, a leech or some dreadful thing.

But there, in the faux yard, was a snail.

A snail slowly crawling its way toward the salt perimeter.

Salt would dehydrate the snail within heartbeats.

When pests encroached upon the garden, Mae would sprinkle salt on snails and slugs.

It would be a slow, painful death. Having tasted the substance herself, she could vouch for its potency for creatures this size.

She had to stop the creature before it creeped to its own demise.

Heather hoisted her skirts and ran.

She followed in the creature’s wake. A misstep sent her boot sliding into its slime.

Her foot adhered to the tabletop, the viscosity of clear mucus stretching between the two.

She gagged but trekked onward. Her sticky appendage stuck with every additional step, a wet squelching sound announcing her approach.

She caught up to it perilously close to the line.

A brown snail with a winding shell reached her knees in height, two antennae eyes sprouted up from its head.

She rushed forward, jumping into the snail’s path.

Mayhap she could shew the creature in the opposite direction.

Herd it like one would do sheep? She didn’t want to come into contact with its slime again.

Foul enough that her boot was covered in it.

Even worse, she had no means of washing.

The snail came to a skidding halt, rearing back the way a horse was known to do.

“Goff, who goes there!” an ancient voice sputtered. Heather froze.

The. Snail. Spoke.

Her thoughts were a whirlwind. There was a talking snail in the courtyard. Heather was sure that her jaw touched the floor.

What would happen next in this tiny life?

It was Heather’s turn to sputter. She leaned in and blinked down at the shelled creature.

She cradled her temple. Was she unwell in the head?

All that rattling about when one of the ‘bigs’ accidentally knocked the castle or the table it rested on.

Or could it have been the lack of human companionship?

Ill effects of the mead? Did shrinking addle her mind?

There was to be no more conversing with the dolls, she resolved.

“Did you… speak?” she wondered aloud.

“Pffff, of course I’m speaking!” The snails’ head reared back in exclamation. Its eyes stood atop two slim stalks of antennae, bobbing. “Do ye make a habit of walking in other’s paths?”

“Um, you, er - I must have lost my senses!” Heather clasped her temple. “Talking snails, play-acting as a doll… what next?”

Snail lowered one round eye, warily considered her saying, “Mayhap yer marbles are loose. “

Heather shook her head as if the motion would set her thoughts to rights. It was important to prevent the snail from crossing the salt line regardless if she was imagining him vocalizing or not.

“You can’t go that way,” she gestured behind her back, “For some reason the bigs placed a salt ring around the castle.”

“Ah, they’re trying to contain ye.” Snail said, nodding to itself matter of factually.

His lips pursed in disapproval. Heather squinted, hoping for clarity.

She bit her lower lip. “How would that even work?” she blurted.

My saints, she was conversing with an insect.

Hastily, she scrubbed a hand over her ribbon.