‘My lovely palace,’ said the Princess. ‘I do hope Mummy and Daddy got out okay.’
‘The powder magazine must have blown up or something,’ I said.
‘Don’t be a clot,’ said Boo. ‘The palace is under attack. See there, landships on the move.’
She was right. Far in the distance we could see the unmistakable rhomboid shape of King Snodd’s defensive landships moving across the land, one of which exploded into fragments as we watched. Beyond the palace, another distant smudge of smoke was drifting into the sky. They – whoever they were – had attacked Hereford as well. I think I felt anger rather than fear, and concern over my friends and colleagues.
‘Who would dare attack us?’ said the Princess. ‘A sneak attack by, what, Midlandia? But why? My cousin is the Crown Prince and the one I was most likely to marry. Our kingdoms would have been joined peacefully in the fullness of time.’
‘It’s not Midlandia,’ said Boo in a dark tone. ‘Look down there,’ she went on, pointing towards the Cambrian–Snodd border. The Cambrian artillery, which had been pointing towards the sky as we entered the country, was now pointing across the River Wye towards the Kingdom of Snodd. Tharv had mobilised his troops to defend his nation, although quite how well they could do this wasn’t clear. As we watched, we could see a single Snoddian landship heading towards the border.
‘Boo,’ I said, ‘can you do a fingerscope?’
‘Of a sort.’
She made two circles with her middle fingers and thumbs and then uttered a spell. In an instant there was a lens in each of her encircled fingers, and we crowded around her shoulder to see the Snoddian landship close up. It was badly battle-damaged, and from the forward hatch there fluttered a white flag of truce – whoever was in the landship was attempting to escape. This was a defeated army on the run. There was another explosion at the castle.
‘Oh!’ said the Princess, clutching her chest in pain. ‘Oh, oh, oh!’
She dropped to her knees and tried desperately to regain her breath.
‘She’s frightened,’ said the Princess, ‘I can feel her.’
‘Feel who?’ asked Addie.
‘Me – her – Laura, the Princess. She’s running. Running for her life!’
I held her hand and squeezed it, and she looked up at me with the same expression of confused realisation I had seen on her face when her body was swapped.
‘This is bad,’ said Boo, ‘and I think this war is all but lost.’
As if to punctuate her words a huge explosion tore through the palace, flinging masonry and rubble in all directions, and as we watched the remains collapsed in on themselves in a massive ball of dust and debris.
I looked at the Princess, who was silently sobbing on the ground, and then at Boo, who shook her head sadly.
‘It’s over,’ she said, ‘I can feel it in the air. A collective sadness, a negative emotion that is disrupting the background wizidrical energy. I’m sorry, ma’am, but your parents, the King and Queen, are both dead.’
‘Oh no,’ she said in a quiet voice, as tears welled up in her eyes, ‘and my little brother Stevie?’
‘Of this, I know nothing.’
‘What about Laura Scrubb?’ she asked. ‘And my beautiful and elegant body?’
Boo shook her head sadly, and the Princess nodded, accepting what she knew to be the truth, that she could never truly be herself again. But with the King and Queen dead, her real body destroyed and the Princess’s little brother’s whereabouts unknown, this could mean only one thing.
‘Your Gracious Majesty,’ I said to the Princess, bowing my head, ‘rightful ruler of the Kingdom of Snodd, you have my loyalty above everything. I wish only to serve, and serve well.’
‘And I,’ said Addie, giving a low bow, ‘humbly request leave to be your personal bodyguard.’
‘I, too, am at your disposal, Your Majesty,’ said Once Magnificent Boo, ‘in matters magical or wherever I can serve. Loyal, like us all, until death.’
‘Loyal,’ we affirmed in unison, ‘until death.’
The new Queen stared up at us from where she was sitting, still on the ground. We’d not had confirmation that Laura Scrubb had gone, but something inside the Princess knew it was true. A small part of her that had stayed with the real Laura until her death, perhaps to guide her back in when the mind switcheroo was over.
‘Okay, then,’ she said, taking a deep breath, and wiping away her tears, ‘I accept all the responsibilities of my birthright, and will not rest until the perpetrator of this foul deed is brought to justice. But I will not be calling myself Queen until I am once more in full command of my lands and people. Help me up, will you? I think I’ve got cramp.’
We helped her up and sat on a bench, all four of us, and watched the black smoke drifting across the distant countryside. The Princess broke the silence.
‘Jennifer,’ she said, ‘I should like you to be Royal Counsel.’
‘With respect, ma’am,’ I said, ‘I’m only sixteen. That’s a job usually reserved for grey hair – someone with experience.’
‘Nonsense,’ said the Princess, ‘you have plenty of experience, and what’s more – I trust you completely and know you will always do the right thing. You accept?’
‘I accept, ma’am.’
She thanked me, smiled, and looked at her hands. The left was still raw and calloused from the previous owner’s years of toil, and the other was the hand of the ex-stoker, with ‘No more pies’ tattooed on the back, and held on with duct tape. It wasn’t an ideal situation, and as far as we knew it, a first for royalty.
‘This is my body now, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, I think it is.’
‘Then I’d better start looking after it. Tell me, Jenny, am I horribly plain?’
I looked at her pale, sun-starved face, her brown hair, which was still lank with undernourishment, and her dark-rimmed eyes.
‘It’s not the outside that counts, ma’am.’
Aftermath
It was too dangerous to cross the border until we knew more about what was happening, so we stayed put. I tried over and over again to reach Kazam on the conch, but with no success.
The road to the border was soon packed full of refugees, vehicles and medical personnel tending to any wounded who had managed to escape across the border. Tharv, true to his cherished principles of unpredictability, had welcomed the refugees from the Kingdom of Snodd, and from the garbled reports of the inrush of displaced citizens, we managed to piece together broadly what had happened.
The Snoddian Royal Family were, as we had feared, killed when the Palace was destroyed. But it was worse than that: the victors had displayed their heads upon poles outside the shattered remnants of the palace, and fed their corpses to wolves, for fun. We also learned that the war had not been solely against the Kingdom of Snodd. Of the twenty-eight nations within the unUnited Kingdoms, all but nine were now overrun, or had surrendered. Information was scarce but it seemed that Financia had been spared owing to the fact that it was a centre of banking, the Duchy of Portland Bill had been defended successfully thanks to their deep moat, and the seagoing nation of the Isle of Wight had been away conducting sea trials in the North Atlantic.
It was hard to describe the chaos in which we found ourselves as we walked up to the border. Homeless people had grabbed what they could before fleeing, and mothers desperately searched for husbands, their children clinging on tightly with a look of numb terror upon their faces. There were casualties, too – soldiers with appalling wounds being treated as best they could – and among all this, the Cambrian Gunners lay waiting, their weapons trained upon the invaders, poised to return fire if attacked.
For the invaders were there, sitting outside the Snoddian customs post on the other side of the River Wye, doing nothing, awaiting orders. The larger members of the group were six in total and each about twenty-five feet tall, dressed only in a loincloth and heavy battle bootees. The Trolls’ skin was covered in elaborate tattoos, each had a dead goat decorating its copper war helmet, and their small, cruel eyes stared at us greedily.