adventures

her, at least. Sort of. She hadn't felt that nausea of unreality since she'd woken up, but the sleep
itself was a worry. Where had she been while she'd slumbered? No dreams, no memory of time
passed at all. She had a terrible vision of herself as a stream of data, and an awful feeling that
she'd been switched off. At least she hadn't been reprogrammed to fit in.
The castle itself was a delight, a vastly conflicting mess of styles that seemed to be the product
of an insane designer. The outside walls were white, with silver spires curling upward like some
late Germanic folly. But inside, the banners and flags looked medieval, and the pages and
courtiers she passed were dressed in bright colours, jerkins and tights – a sort of horrid collision
between the Jacobean era and the Renaissance. On the way to see the King, she had to ask
various of them the way, and was surprised that all of them bowed or curtsied to her. Amazing,
the difference a frock made. She was suddenly the King's daughter, another handbrake turn of
plot, but quite a fun one. Better than being Dick. She vaguely recognized quite a few of those she
talked to. But what was an obviously European King doing with a Vizier? And what did a Vizier do,
exactly? She had so few answers.
She found the King's chamber at the top of a grand flight of marble steps, up and down which
servants were running as the preparations continued for the ball that evening. The whole castle
was in uproar, with food being delivered, entertainers rehearsing, and bunting being hung. Despite
Bernice's situation, it was all rather exciting. She stopped outside the door of the chamber.
From inside she could hear the sounds of a woman sobbing. Then she heard the King's voice: he
sounded mocking and cruel. Oh dear, he was that sort of King, then. This world was about to take
a turn for the worse. Taking a deep breath, Bernice knocked on the door and, without waiting to
be asked, entered.
The King looked sharply across at her from where he was sitting on his throne, his face set in a
scowl. 'Yes?' he growled. 'What is it?'
On the other side of the room stood a beautiful young woman in a green dress, who was crying
into her handkerchief, but Bernice's attention was focused completely on King Rupert.
Because she knew exactly who he was.
'Captain Balsam!' she exclaimed.
The King blinked, not knowing quite how to respond.
The girl in the corner threw down her handkerchief and shouted at the King. 'You can't keep
me here for ever! My love will come and save me!'
'I'm sure he will, my dear . . .' The King, or Balsam as Bernice knew him, got to his feet, his
attention diverted away from Bernice. He went to the table and poured himself a goblet of wine
from a flagon. 'And when he does, my men shall be waiting for him. I think I shall give you his
head as a keepsake . . .' He threw back the wine and grinned, giving out a little, malicious
chuckle.
The girl gathered up her skirts, and ran out, shrieking. She slammed the door behind her.
Bernice glared at the King. 'That wasn't very nice.'
His Majesty slumped back into his throne, suddenly looking rather sad. 'Oh, I know. Daughters,
what can you do with them? Apart from you, of course, my dear.' He gestured for Bernice to take
a seat opposite him, and she did so. 'You're the only one of them who doesn't cause me pain.
Aurora's asleep in her tower. Marian there . . . well, I just can't understand her choice of boyfriends.
I'm a good King, I really am, but I have this terrible blind spot concerning her Robin and
that gang of his. Normally, I'm fair and just and actually rather jolly, but whenever I hear about
what that lot in the forest are up to it turns me into some sort of . . . evil villain! I just can't help
myself!'
'No,' muttered Bernice. 'I'm sure you can't. Tell me, does the name Balsam mean anything to
you?'
'Why, of course it does, child! It's our family name, the name of the royal house. You should
know that.'
'Oh, of course . . . Dad. I'm just having one of those forgetful days.' Bernice stood up and
wandered over to the King, putting a hand on the shoulder of his elegant purple doublet. 'Tell you
what, can I do something that I used to do when I was a kid? That old joke of ours?'
'Oh, erm, yes, of course . . .' The King looked at her suspiciously.