This kitchen was more normal looking. Well, sort of normal. It had nice yellow walls, and cork tiles on the floor, and a big kitchen table with chairs around it, and a stove, and a breakfast nook, and kids’ pictures taped on the fridge door.
Except these kids’ pictures were diagrams of vampire bats (more of Mordred’s homework, I supposed) and the stove was
big
, roasting-Prudences-in-the-oven sort of big. And there was this giant pot on the top, that looked suspiciously like a casserole for Prudences too, and the table was laid for dinner with knives and forks and two place mats, and I had a horrible feeling that dinner was going to be me…
‘Phredde!’ I roared. ‘Bruce!’
‘We’re still here!’ said Phredde’s voice. I looked round. Phredde and Bruce were there behind the glass wall, their backs to the larder.
‘Do something!’ I shouted.
‘What?’ cried Phredde. ‘I told you, we can’t unmagic someone else’s spell!’
‘Then stop thinking magic!’ I yelled. ‘Think practical!’
‘Practical?’ I could almost hear Phredde’s brain humming.
‘Break the wall down or something! You’re my only hope!’ I screamed.
BANG! CRASH! Phredde beat her fists against the glass wall, but it must have been super-tough glass (the same stuff as the glass slippers were made out of, I suppose) ’cause it didn’t break.
Splot, splosh, splish!
Bruce beat on the wall with his froggy fingers too, and with his tongue. It left slimy smears all over the glass, but that was all.
PING! The Phaery Daffodil stood in front of me. She was still wearing her long, black, flowing thing—it would have made a cool dressing gown—but now it had a flowery apron over it, with ‘Don’t Kiss the Cook’ written on it. (I wasn’t tempted.)
Even worse, she was holding a giant stir-fried-Prudence sort of frying pan.
‘Enough of all this nonsense,’ she ordered, ‘or it’ll be midnight before we get any dinner. You, Prudence, get up on the bench!’
‘No,’ I said defiantly.
The Phaery Daffodil shrugged. ‘Have it your own way,’ she said calmly.
PING!
Suddenly I was stretched right along the benchtop. Even worse, my arms and legs seemed to be strapped down by invisible bonds.
‘Phredde! Bruce!’ I shrieked.
‘We’ll think of something!’ yelled Phredde.
‘Any minute now, I promise!’ cried Bruce.
‘Well, do it soon or
glub, glub, glub, glub
…’ Suddenly my mouth was full of cotton wool.
‘Mordred! The cleaver!’ cried The Phaery Daffodil.
PING! Suddenly Mordred was in the room too.
He looked okay. I mean, he looked just like a normal teenager, in jeans and a cap on back-to-front and a T-shirt with a tomato sauce stain on it (well, I
hoped
it was a tomato sauce stain) and a floppy pair of wings like Phredde’s and a sharp-looking cleaver in his hand—well, an
almost
normal teenager, anyway.
The Phaery Daffodil considered me. ‘She looks tender enough,’ she said, ‘even without a bit of torture to tenderise her first. I
do
hate it when people are stringy. Maybe we could have her fried with chips and tartare sauce.’
I spat out the cotton wool. ‘I’m not tender at all!’ I yelled. ‘I’m really tough! It’s all the netball practice we do at school!’
‘Then we shall have to roast you,’ decided The Phaery Daffodil. ‘Or maybe stewed. Which would you prefer?’
‘Er…roast,’ I said. It had suddenly occurred to me that if I was shoved whole in the oven I might just be able to tunnel out—or
something
—whereas escaping once I’d been chopped up with a cleaver and covered in batter would be a bit more difficult…
‘Actually, I wasn’t asking you,’ said The Phaery Daffodil. ‘Mordred?’
Mordred considered. ‘I feel more like pasta…’
‘Good thinking!’ I said.
‘With meatballs,’ he went on.
I had a feeling those meatballs weren’t going to be pork and veal.
‘Look, tomato sauce is
really
nice on pasta!’ I assured him. ‘With lots of basil and nice smelly parmesan cheese on top. That’s how Mum makes it. You don’t need meatballs at all.’
The Phaery Daffodil looked at me sternly. ‘You know,’ she said. ‘it really does make it difficult to work out a menu when one’s dinner keeps interrupting. No, not meatballs. That would mean we’d have to mince her, and you know how messy that can be. I think a nice plain casserole would be best.’
‘With tomatoes and carrots?’ asked Mordred hopefully.
‘And a little thyme, and garlic and celery…’
PING!
Now I was in the giant casserole on the stove. I peered over the edge…‘Look, Phredde, Bruce, I don’t want to hurry you,’ I yelled, ‘but…’
PING! The Phaery Daffodil emptied a really massive tin of tomatoes all round me.
‘Yuk!’ I said. ‘That was an almost clean T-shirt!’
PING! PING!
Plop, plop, plop, plop…
Carrots, onions, chopped celery, a few sprigs of thyme…
The Phaery Daffodil reached over and crushed a clove of garlic over my head.
CLANG. PING! Suddenly the world was dark, and smelt of tomatoes and garlic with just a hint of thyme. The Phaery Daffodil had put the lid on my casserole dish.
‘Phredde…’ I yelled.
Phredde, Phredde, Phredde, Phredde…
the words echoed off the walls of the casserole dish.
‘Phredde! Bruce! Heeelp!’
Elp, elp, elp, elp…
came the echo.
‘Globboddyity gloop,’ came something that sounded like Phredde’s voice from outside.
‘I can’t hear you!’ I shrieked.
‘I said we’ve thought of something!’ came Phredde’s voice faintly. ‘Just hold on!’
‘Hold on to what!’ A tomato floated past my chin. ‘Phredde, it’s getting warm in here!’
It was, too. First of all my toes felt warm. Then my sit-upon, and then the tomato juice started to heat up all round me…
Suddenly I had an idea. ‘Hey!’ I yelled. ‘Phaery Daffodil!’
‘I’ve told you before,’ said The Phaery Daffodil’s voice. ‘A well-behaved dinner doesn’t argue…’
‘But I’m getting caught on the bottom! My bottom! I mean, I’m getting singed! I need stirring! You don’t want a burnt dinner, do you?’
I heard her sigh. ‘Just hand me the wooden spoon, will you, Mordred?’ she said.
The lid lifted off me. I surged up…
Then everything happened at once.
Whoomp!
I grabbed the wooden spoon.
PING! Suddenly a pneumatic drill appeared in Phredde’s hands.
Gribbagriubba griba gribba!
The pneumatic drill pounded into the glass wall separating me from Phredde and Bruce.
‘We’ll be with you in a minute!’ shrieked Phredde. ‘Just hold on!’
PING! But before I had time to wonder who had PING!ed what, there was a
knock, knock, knock…
and the kitchen door opened.
‘What the…’ The Phaery Daffodil grabbed the wooden spoon back out of my hands and turned to the door. So did Mordred.
‘Excuse me. I hope I’m not disturbing anything?’
It was the handsome prince we’d seen eating his baked beans on toast at breakfast.
He looked even more handsome now, with his dark curls and this velvet hat with a feather and his really tight trousers and his really cool black leather boots and this sword at his side.
I’ve never been so glad to see a handsome prince in my life.
‘Help me!’ I screamed. ‘I’ve been captured by an evil phaery and she’s going to casserole me with tomatoes and carrots and garlic…’
‘And a sprig of thyme,’ said The Phaery Daffodil. She smiled really sweetly at the handsome prince. ‘Don’t pay any attention to her.’
The handsome prince blinked. I suddenly realised he didn’t look a very
bright
handsome prince. In fact he looked sort of…dumb…
‘Um…’ he said. ‘I don’t suppose she’s a princess in need of rescuing? You see, I’m searching for a princess to rescue and…’
‘Of course she’s not a princess!’ said The Phaery Daffodil, eying him up and down appreciatively. ‘I told you. She’s just our dinner.’
‘Um…you don’t mind if I have a closer look, do you? Just in case? I’d hate to leave a princess in distress.’
‘Of course not,’ said The Phaery Daffodil graciously, patting her hair to make sure it was in place. ‘Be our guest.’
Gribbagriubba griba gribba
, went Phredde’s pneumatic drill in the background.
The handsome prince picked up his sword and stepped into the kitchen and over to the stove. He peered into my casserole.
‘No,’ he said to The Phaery Daffodil, who was quickly reapplying her lipstick, ‘she’s not a princess. Not in those clothes.’
‘What! But I’ve got a ball dress and glass slippers and everything!’ I wailed. ‘They’re back at the Sweet Pea Guesthouse!’
The handsome prince shook his head. ‘If you’re not wearing them then you can’t be a princess,’ he said stubbornly. ‘My mum told me, “You go and rescue a princess.” She didn’t say anything about rescuing a girl in green tracksuit pants.’
‘Can’t you rescue me anyway?’ I pleaded, picking a bit of celery out of my hair. ‘Just for practice, until you find the real thing?’
The handsome prince looked at his watch. ‘I don’t think I have time,’ he said a bit anxiously. ‘I was told there was a sleeping princess around here somewhere, but I must have taken the wrong turning.’
‘Are you sure we can’t offer you a cup of tea before you go?’ asked The Phaery Daffodil, looking even more appreciatively at his really tight trousers and the way his muscles bulged under his silk shirt.
‘No, thank you,’ said the handsome prince.
‘Honeydew nectar? Glass of milk? Mug of warm bat’s blood?’
‘I’m afraid I never drink bat’s blood,’ said the handsome prince apologetically. ‘Look, I really have to hurry…’
‘Look,’ I yelled desperately. (Phredde’s pneumatic drill didn’t seem to be getting anywhere soon and it was really getting
hot
now.) ‘How about you rescue me and I’ll tell you where to find the princess…’
‘What would a tomato and garlic casserole know about finding princesses?’ snorted The Phaery Daffodil.
PING! BOOOOM!
I blinked. That hadn’t been Phredde’s pneumatic drill!
Then the smoke cleared and Bruce’s froggy face grinned at me through the clouds of disintegrating larder and glass wall. ‘Just a little hand grenade I magicked up!’ he said. ‘I thought it would be faster than a pneumatic drill.’
Phredde dashed over to my casserole and turned the heat off. ‘Hold on!’ she yelled.
PING! Suddenly I was wearing my ball dress again. AND the glass slippers, which immediately filled up with tomato juice with just a hint of garlic,
and
my tiara…
The handsome prince blinked. ‘She
is
a princess!’ he cried.
Well, I wasn’t going to tell him the dress and stuff were just magicked up for our visit to Phaeryland. ‘Sure am!’ I said.
The handsome prince drew his sword. ‘Stand back!’ he cried to The Phaery Daffodil. ‘I am here to rescue the princess in distress.’
‘Or in de casserole,’ snickered Bruce. Phredde elbowed him in the ribs.
The Phaery Daffodil let out a long breath. ‘Oh, put that silly sword away,’ she sighed. ‘I give up.’
‘Me too,’ said Mordred. ‘I don’t like eating people anyway.’ He gave Phredde a sort of shy, admiring glance. Phredde ignored him.
I sat back in the tomato juice. ‘Just like that?’ I said. ‘You give up without a fight?’
The Phaery Daffodil sighed again. ‘
Everyone
knows that a handsome prince
always
beats the evil phaery,’ she said, batting her eyelashes at him. ‘It’s the way it always has been in Phaeryland…and he is such a
handsome
prince, too,’ she cooed at him.
Phredde snorted. ‘That doesn’t mean it
always
has to be like that! Look, I bet if you went to karate or self-defence classes you could learn to beat any handsome prince! You just need to think positive!’
‘Phredde!’ I yelled from my casserole (thankfully it was cooling down now). ‘She’s the villain!’
‘Well, she’s not going to learn all that at once, is she?’ pointed out Phredde reasonably. ‘You’ll have plenty of time to escape before she learns even a basic ninja leap. Come on.’
‘Just help me out of here, will you?’ I asked.
Phredde pushed a chair over to the stove and climbed up on it. I took her hand and climbed out of the casserole.
Squelch, squelch
went the glass slippers, as tomato juice went everywhere.
The handsome prince gazed at me a bit dubiously, then went down on one knee.
‘Fair princess!’ he cried. ‘I am Prince Peanut, and…’
‘Prince what?’ snickered Bruce. (He’d hopped up on one of the kitchen chairs.)
The handsome prince looked a bit embarrassed. ‘My
parents had a dog named Peanut. It died before I was born so they named me after it.’
‘But Peanut!’ snorted Bruce.
‘Look, my parents were really fond of that dog…’
‘Peanut, walnut, macadamia nut, who cares?’ I said, fishing a bit of celery out of my tiara. ‘I’m just really glad you happened by, even if you didn’t do anything.’
‘He didn’t just happen by!’ said Bruce indignantly. ‘I PING!ed him up!’
Prince Peanut looked annoyed. ‘So
that’s
how I got lost!’ he said. Then he seemed to remember why he was on one knee. He turned back to me.
‘Fair princess,’ he breathed, ‘will you marry me?’
‘Hey, that’s not fair!’ yelled Bruce.
‘Gloop?’ I said. I mean, I’d never even thought he’d ask that.
Prince Peanut looked up at me with his big blue eyes. ‘Will you marry me, fair princess,’ he repeated, ‘and come with me to my castle?’
A piece of carrot fell out of my hair. ‘Er, no,’ I said. I thought I heard Bruce give a sort of froggy sigh of relief behind me.
Prince Peanut blinked. ‘But you
have
to marry me!’ he said. ‘I’ve rescued you! The fair princess always marries the handsome prince after he rescues her!’
‘You didn’t rescue her!’ yelled Bruce. ‘I rescued her! I was the one who PING!ed you over here!’
‘I did so too rescue her!’ insisted Prince Peanut.
This was starting to look almost as bad as Prudence casserole.