Young Writers Society

The first thing Braxton heard the next morning was the triumphant call of his younger brother.

“I knocked a feather off it!” he yelled, bursting through the door to Braxton’s room. It might have been the one place in the palace untouched by their mother’s rabid thirst for redecorating. The doors still squeaked on rusted hinges, standing out against the fading white of the door. Even the doorknob had seen better days.

Leaning against one of the posts of Braxton’s bed, Ferrell proudly dangled a golden feather from his gloved hand. “Look what I got last night,” he teased, a smile on what should have been his exhausted face.

“A golden feather,” Braxton yawned, “Great. Did you catch the bird or did you stay up all last night for nothing?”

“No,” Ferrell said, dramatizing his failure. He hung his head pitifully. “Alas, even with a special arrow carved by my wonderful big brother, I could not down the feral beast.”

“Wonderful,” Braxton droned, “Have fun staying up again tonight. Now get out while I ready myself. I’m going into town today.”

“Actually,” his younger brother said, suddenly regaining his vigor and standing proudly, “Father has ordered each of us to try capturing the golden bird.”

This was not wonderful. It meant that Braxton would have a long day at some point. Maybe Gordon could fail and the notion could be left alone for months to come. “Fine. I’ll go into the country tomorrow. Tell Father I’d rather not chase a golden bird.”

He shoved his covers from his person and staggered to his dresser. He’d carved the item himself out of cherry wood, a masterpiece if he said so himself. The dark finish perfectly accompanied the wallpaper, a tessellated pattern of light green leaves that transformed the room into a well-lit forest.

His brother blocked Braxton’s way to his dresser. “Oh please, Braxton, you’re not getting away without trying. Who knows, maybe you’ll have fun!”

“I will not,” Braxton snapped, scratching his bare chest. “Now let me get to my clothes.”

Laughing, Ferrell sidestepped extravagantly and swept out of Braxton’s room, allowing a servant to open the door for him after he had already done most of that work himself.

“Good riddance,” Braxton sniffed, feeling the air of the slamming door wash over him. He liked the sensation and hoped that if the family built a new palace, they’d make all of the doors open outwards.

As fast as was possible in his family, Braxton escaped to the city to wander. People waved and smiled as soon as they noticed who it was walking down the street. He reached a street with a large, red-painted delicatessen and many people scrambling about. Hanging from the stone carvings that separated floors were handmade signs depicting the purpose of the shop. Scanning their symbols, he searched for the pressing machine silhouette trademark of all print shops. Ah, there on the other side of the street.

Braxton skidded across the cobblestones, jostled along by others of like mind. A horse whizzed past his back, sending Braxton a nice gust for the last few steps. He slowed to a confident stride before turning the well-polished handle of the print shop and stepping inside.

“Ah!” A young lady exclaimed, seeing Braxton step inside the shop, “Prince Braxton, a pleasure to see you again. What sort of thing are you looking for today?”

“I’m in search of the young mistress and master of the Trador family. They appear to have gone missing. May I place an advertisement in the paper?”

The young lady, a brown-haired girl in a pastel blue bodice and skirt, dusted her hands on her cream-colored apron and examined them for ink as she led the prince to an office. The main room of the print shop was certainly too loud for any real business to be done, what with apprentices shuffling madly about, and working hands cranking printing boards heavily onto paper.

The wooden floors creaked softly as the print shop lady closed the office door. She bustled to her desk and sat down, dipping a feather pen in ink. “What’s this about again?” she asked, hand at the ready. A stack of paper had been prepared for such requests.

“I’d like to place an advertisement for information,” Braxton explained patiently.

“On what?”

“The young mistress and master of the Trador family were cursed and have disappeared recently. Any information is likely to be rewarded. Lightly.”

“Only a small reward?” the girl asked, furrowing her brow.

“Apparently the girl gets lost rather often. Both missing persons ought to be in their teen years, with slightly red hair.” This was mostly a guess based on prior knowledge of the only resident nobles in the city, as well as the appearance of their parents.

“I always mean to ask you this, Prince Braxton,” the girl said, replacing her pen in a graceful wooden stand, “But why do you always come out here yourself?”

“One can never get enough fresh air,” Braxton replied, chuckling.

“Of course, Sire,” the print lady said, not sounding at all like she was in agreement, “I suppose you’d like information sent to us before it’s passed along to you?”

“Precisely.”

The print lady whipped the newest paper from the stack and walked past Braxton to open the door. She led, dropping the paper in a large box labeled, “important,” and clapped her hands to fruitlessly remove dust and ink. Braxton followed her through the constantly moving machinery, wrinkling his nose slightly. Ink did not smell half as pleasant as the Trador roses, even it wasn’t as pungent as the stables.

Resuming her place at the front, the print lady flounced onto a stool and crossed her legs. She did not seem satisfied with her job, and flared her nostrils at the apprentice printers, obviously jealous. Braxton opened the door, swinging it outwards, and smiled despite himself.

As Braxton strolled back through town, humming a stately tune, he wondered what he might do with the rest of his day. His black boots clomped satisfactorily on the cobblestones, putting him in the mood for a horse ride, possibly through the orchards or the royal hunting forest. In fact, thinking about the fragrance of pine assured him of his choice for that afternoon’s activity. He could use a break from office work anyway.

Managing to avoid his parents, secretaries, and idiot brother, Braxton snuck into the stables and called for a stable boy to ready his horse. Most everyone around knew Braxton’s preferences for riding, and in short time, his mare trotted lazily out of the stables, guided by an old man who had serviced the royal family for years. In his crinkly old voice, the man bid Braxton ‘good day’ before watching him urge the horse towards the forest.

Once in, Braxton felt the hum of the forest’s magic settle in around him. In fact, it was because of the forest’s magic that the royal family had chosen this area. They couldn’t have wizards running around all willy-nilly using it, and magic kept the forest full of game, and rich with flora. Silent as a fox, his mare trotted along a dirt path, not needing any instructions from Braxton. He was free to take in the sights around him.

Everything was so green and brown, with a mix of conifers and deciduous trees, ivy and ferns providing ground cover, and bushes of summertime berries. Occasionally, Braxton spotted a deer grazing in open meadows from fallen trees. But even with Braxton’s silent approach, the deer pricked its ears, listening, before bolting away.

And then Braxton heard it, a scratchy voice that sounded neither male nor female. He turned, gently patting his horse’s neck to keep her still, and searched the foliage.

Red. Red and white. “Stupid deer!” he heard someone say, “just run away, would you, leave a poor little fox to go hungry, thank you very much!” A fox, slender and smooth with a shiny copper coat slinked into the meadow. “Gah! I don’t need your dumb vegetarian meat anyway! Run! Run faster, dumb animal!” It wrinkled its black nose before noticing something or other. Ears swiveling, the fox froze in place. Then it turned towards Braxton and shouted, “You stupid prince-man! I was going to eat that deer!”

“I’m not the one who scared it away,” Braxton called back, chuckling slightly, “and you should know that foxes aren’t large enough to bring down deer. You’d be trampled.”

“Oh! You’re going to pay for insulting me like that! Get over here, prince-man. Dismount and face me like a man!” It reared to sit on its hind legs and threw a weak punch; its fox legs were not meant for that kind of motion.

Braxton laughed. “It wouldn’t be fair, little fox. You have claws and teeth as weapons and I’m unarmed! Besides, it’s better not to pick fights with enchanted animals. Everyone knows that.” He nudged his horse gently to get her moving again.

“Well I’m the one picking a fight with you!” it barked. “Wait a minute, hey! Where do you think you’re going? Just going to leave like that? You’re a huge wussy, prince-man! A wussy, you hear?”

Waving casually, Braxton continued sauntering along the path, spending the rest of the afternoon in quiet, green bliss.

Dinner was a tiresome an affair, as always. The queen’s interior decorating was still as awful as ever, but at least there weren’t guests that day. Listening to false compliments was not something Braxton enjoyed. He was silently prodding his roast when his father made the announcement.

“Tonight, Gordon will stay up in the garden to try catching the golden bird,” he said, sounding much more like a king than he usually did. “Tomorrow, Braxton will have a shot at it, and then Ferrell on the next night. Are we clear?”

“Father,” Braxton began, “if I may.” His father nodded, approving Braxton’s wish to speak. “Would it be possible to skip straight to Ferrell after tonight? I was planning on spending more time searching for the children of Trador, and thought I might have to spend the night in the country tomorrow.”

“Then forget it and stay here,” his father ordered, stabbing his meal with his fork. “You are to stay up tomorrow to attempt at catching the golden bird, clear?”

“Yes.” He shot a glare at his younger brother, who smiled haughtily. This was a terrible waste of time.