The Legend of Frog Page 3

  “What are you on about? I just said—” began Frog. “Wait, did you say princess?”

  “That’s Her Most Tremendously Royal Princess Rainbow to you, gobbin,” noted the other sentry.

  “What are you—? There is no princess! There is only me! Prince me! I mean, Prince Frog!” snapped a flustered Frog, striding towards them. “Who is this pretend princess? Let me in! I demand to see her!”

  The sentries clacked their spears together in defiance.

  “None shall pass!” they cried.

  “Pfff – don’t say I didn’t warn you,” said Frog smugly. He drew his stick from his belt. “Prepare to face Basil Rathbone!”

  Basil Rathbone

  Having a mighty sord is super importunt if yor a Prince. Even though Princes are mighty enuff to beat everyone in the wurld with their bear hands it might take a million years. A mighty sord makes beating everyone ten times easier. Basil Rathbone was forged by the most skilled-up sword maker ever and is so first-rate and magically unbreakable it can chop through anything. Only to be wielded by the most excellent top skilled-up prince in the wurld.

  “You’re about to get a bath full of hot defeat tipped on your heads,” replied Frog, brandishing the stick in front of their faces. “And I’m running the bath!”

  The guards began to chuckle. Then laugh. Then guffaw, falling about with unconcealed merriment. But at the precise moment that the guffawing was at its most unbridled – it suddenly stopped. In an instant, the guards’ expressions turned to icy terror.

  “Oh, no … no, no, no!” shrieked one guard. “R-r-rare—”

  “R-run!” squealed the other.

  The guards threw their spears to the ground and frantically opened the palace gates. They sped through as fast as their clanking armour could carry them, shouting, “It’s happening again! Sound the alarm! The alarm! Sound it!”

  “Yep, you’d better run!” he said. “Come on, Sheriff Explosion!”

  Frog strode inside. His sheep turned slowly back and peered down the bridge. At the other end, silhouetted against the bright morning light, was the rarewolf. It nodded to Sheriff Explosion, who let out a nervous bleat and followed Frog inside.

  “Don’t let me down, prince,” said the rarewolf – then it turned to leave. “Prophecies … nothing but trouble.”

  The Throne

  “Pfff – ‘princess’ indeed!” Frog huffed, as he strode down the grand marble corridors of the palace, Sheriff Explosion trotting nervously behind. “How long has this imposter been playing with my rightful stuff and messing up my royal things? She’d better not be sitting on my throne…”

  Frog barely noticed the breathtaking majesty of the palace’s interior as he searched for the throne room. He ignored the golden statues, the polished marble pillars, the grand, intricate tapestries … the room that had nothing but a big slide in it. Frog pressed on, barging past servants and handmaidens, officials and dignitaries, guards and watchmen, all of whom muttered in confusion at the appearance of this disturbingly green visitor.

  “Where is it?” cried Frog, finding himself in a vast, open courtyard lined with perfectly spherical trees in every imaginable colour. “Where’s the throne room?”

  He raced down another corridor into a hall that seemed to be made entirely of gold. At the end of the hall was a door, as high as Frog’s house. Frog ran towards it and pushed it with all his might.

  The door swung open.

  “Sheriff Explosion, we’ve found it!”

  The royal throne room was long and grand – and empty but for a wide gilded staircase leading up and up. There, at its summit, framed with cascading crimson velvet and polished to a glorious sheen, were three thrones. “Baa,” said an impressed Sheriff Explosion.

  Frog walked slowly towards the foot of the steps. He took a deep, long breath and climbed the stairs. He reached the top and examined each throne in turn.

  “Too big … too big… Bingo.”

  My Throne

  A Poem by Prince Frog

  My throne is best of all the chairs

  There’s nothing speshul that compares.

  I bet it will be regal green

  And princely royal polished cleen.

  I bet it fits my bottom rite

  Not too loose, but not too tite.

  All my subjects will neel down

  And one will fetch my royal crown.

  They’ll put it on my hed and say

  Hail Prince Frog! Hips hips hooray!

  “My throne…” Frog whispered, staring at the smallest but finest golden seat.

  It was a moment he thought would never – could never – come. His skin tingled with excitement and the rest of the world seemed to disappear. This was his birthright. His knobbly green knees trembled as he bent to sit…

  “Intruders!” came a cry, as a dozen guards charged into the room, spears in hand.

  “Baa!” cried Sheriff Explosion, as the guards surrounded him.

  “Shut up, you! No bleating unless you’re bleated to!” cried the captain.

  A moment later an old man with a ridiculously long moustache and unfeasibly tall hat swept into the room.

  “Gah!” cried the old man, gathering his robe in horror, as he fixed his stare upon the sheep. “Who let that in here? It’ll mucky up the whole throne room!”

  “We’re not sure what’s afoot, Lord Oldasdust – the palace is in uproar,” replied the captain. “The sentries made claim of a rarewolf at the palace gates – as if such a thing is possible! Now folks are sayin’ they’ve seen a gobbin wandering round the palace…”

  “Gobbins? Rarewolves? My omen hat is getting tighter by the minute,” wheezed Lord Oldasdust. “But where—”

  “Loyal subjects! The wait is over!” came a cry.

  Oldasdust and the guards peered up at the throne – and a uniform look of horror spread across their faces.

  “What…”

  “Is…”

  “That?”

  “That’s right, it’s me,” nodded Frog, his hands on his hips. “Look upon my greenness and know that I am Your Royal Majesty, Lord of all Kingdoms, Rightful Ruler of—”

  “Gah!” cried Oldasdust. “Get that … thing away from that throne! Don’t let its foul buttocks touch the royal seat!”

  “Foul – what? Is everyone in Kingdomland colourblind? I’m green!” said Frog, pointing to his face. But before he could say another word, the guards had flung their spears at him.

  “Yoiks!” cried Frog. He pushed off his mighty legs and sprang upwards. He landed halfway down the golden steps and hopped again, taking his stick out of his pocket as he spiralled in the air. He landed a single step in front of Oldasdust and their eyes met.

  “What’s wrong with you?” said Frog, shoving his stick up Oldasdust’s right nostril. “Don’t you know a prince when you see one?”

  “Gah!” cried Oldasdust, stumbling backwards. He reached into a pocket of his robes and took out a small piece of carved stone. “Foul gobbin! None may intimidate the royal wizard!”

  With that, he cast the stone talisman to the ground. It exploded like a firework, creating a blinding shockwave that sent Frog stumbling backward into the guards. Before he knew what was happening, Frog felt himself being manhandled to the ground.

  “What the … what?” he muttered, his head spinning. He looked up to see the guards surround him, their swords inches from his slender, green neck. As he gripped his stick tightly, readying himself for battle, he heard the sharp klik-klak of tiny heels on the white marble floor.

  “What’s going on?” squeaked a mouse of a voice.

  “Your Majesty, stay back!” Oldasdust cried. “There’s badness afoot! The common herd has infiltrated the most royal of rooms!”

  “I want to see! Let me see!” said the mouse voice again.

  Lying on the ground with swords pressed to his neck, Frog could only see the bottom of the old wizard’s robes. Then, with a klik-klak, something pushed past them and appeared before h
im.

  “Hello. I’m five and three-quarters,” it said.

  It was her. It had to be. The pretend princess.

  “Your breath smells like turnips,” she said.

  The Princess

  “You are not a princess!” cried Frog, as he lay pressed against cold stone, half a dozen guards looming over him.

  A gasp rang out across the throne room as he eyeballed the imposter.

  The pretend princess didn’t look anything like a real princess. She wasn’t even green – but rather pink and as round as a pebble. Her face was plump and so rosy that it looked like she’d been standing in a gale. She wore a glittering, sugar-pink dress, sprinkled with diamonds. Her strawberry-blonde hair fell in ringlets and atop it sat a gleaming tiara.

  “Your eyes are really big,” she said with cheerful curiosity.

  “Shall we lock the gobbin in the Tower of Tallness, Your Majesty?” asked a guard.

  “Or throw him in the Dungeon of Dread,” suggested another. “The one that smells like old socks dipped in cheese on a hot day.”

  “Smells more like a cow eating rotting broccoli out of a sack full of old witch’s farts,” added another.

  “Or we could just run him through,” suggested the captain, his blade hovering over Frog’s neck. “I just sharpened my stabby sword today…”

  “Try it!” Frog replied. “I’ll cook up an all-you-can-eat buffet of defeat and feed it to you!”

  “Gah! Show some respect, gobbin!” shrieked Oldasdust. “You are in the presence of the Most Tremendously Royal Princess – Monarch of the Eastern Mountains and the Western Upside-downtains, Duchess of the Dawn, Ruling Royal from the high, frozen plains of Refrigia to the undermost hillocks of the Eastern Hintercounties … the one and only Princess Rainbow!”

  “I’ve got twenty dresses just like this one,” said the princess, twirling round.

  “Are you all blind? She is not a princess!” yelled Frog. “Now let me up this minute or I’ll unleash my mightiness!”

  Silence fell across the throne room.

  “You’re funny,” said the princess and the smallest of titters fluttered out of her mouth. “I’m going to keep you as a pet. I’ll call you Greeny, because you’re green.”

  “Now, Princess, I really don’t think—” began Oldasdust.

  “A pet?” howled Frog. “I’m a prince!”

  “Silly pet,” the princess said. She turned to the wizard. “Oldasdust, get my champ’un to bring Greeny along – I want him to meet my other pets.”

  With that, the princess klik-klak-ed out of the throne room into the courtyard.

  “But … but … fine,” Oldasdust sighed. “Sentry! Blow the horn! Summon the Champion! Our greatest warrior, the royal protector, the heroic barbarian … Man-Lor!”

  The captain blew hard on his horn, filling the throne room with a resounding blare. Barely a moment later, from behind the throne, there emerged a figure of impractically huge dimensions. He was impossibly burly and muscular, and clad in little more than a furry loincloth and chainmail harness.

  Man-Lor stepped forward, each of his well-oiled muscles straining like a balloon close to bursting.

  “I … am … Man-Lor,” he boomed, with such gravitas that the whole room seemed suddenly heavier.

  “We know who you are, Man-Lor,” sighed Oldasdust. “What were you doing hiding behind the throne?”

  “…Toilet,” admitted Man-Lor.

  “Gah! This is the royal throne room!” snapped Oldasdust. With another sigh he added, “Just take this gobbin and go with the princess. I shall join you momentarily.”

  “I am Man-Lor,” said Man-Lor. He reached behind him and drew a broadsword that was as big as Frog himself.

  As the guards backed away, Frog got to his feet, straightened up and rolled his neck until it cracked. The bulging, brawny barbarian stood over him.

  “Call that a sword, you great swollen lump of lumps?” Frog said with a wide grin. He held his stick aloft. “Now this is a sword. Prepare to eat defeat!”

  The Hall of Kings

  Frog awakened to find himself being carried, upside down, through the palace.

  “What the— Oww … what?” cried Frog, his head bumping along the ground. He looked up and saw Man-Lor’s great hand wrapped round his left ankle. He checked his hand to find he was still clutching his mighty weapon. It had been snapped down the middle – one half clung loosely to the other.

  “Basil Rathbone!” Frog cried. “You’re meant to be unbreakable! I’m meant to be unbeatable! What happened to all my mightiness?”

  Frog looked behind him (as best he could while upside down) to see if Sheriff Explosion was following … but there was no sign of him.

  “Sheriff Explosion!” he cried. “Stay alive, I will find you!”

  Frog’s strapping captor pushed open a large, heavy door and Frog found himself in a long, golden chamber, with impressively imposing portraits lining every wall. As he craned his neck to look, the chubby face of Princess Rainbow appeared in front of him.

  “This is called the Hall of Kings, Greeny,” said the princess, skipping down the long hall. “These are all the kings and queens and princes and princesses from ages and ages all the way until now.”

  “Princes? Let me see!” cried Frog.

  “You’re great – I’ve never had a pet that speaks,” noted Princess Rainbow. She leaned into Frog until he could smell her floweriness. “But you can’t ever speak when other people are around or they’ll make me get rid of you … and prob’ly cut your head off.”

  She skipped away to a portrait of an old man wearing ornate armour and an impressive crown. There was nothing even slightly green about him.

  “Here’s my daddy,” she continued. “My daddy’s the King of Everything! He’s conq’ring the Land of Ice Gobbins right now. It’s hard when you’re King of Everything because people keep saying, ‘You’re not the King of Everything!’ so he has to bash them on the head until they say, ‘OK, you are the King of Everything.’”

  “How can that be the King of Everything? He’s not even green!” shouted Frog, trying to get a look at the portraits as Man-Lor bumped him along the ground.

  “And this is my mummy and she’s the Queen of Everything,” continued Princess Rainbow, pointing at a portrait of a woman with long, copper hair and a golden dress, holding the most impressive sword Frog had ever seen.

  Princess Rainbow let out a sigh and added, “She likes going out conq’ring even more than Daddy, so I don’t see her very much.”

  “Queen-shmeen! She isn’t green either!” protested Frog. “You don’t know the first thing about royalty, Princess Brain-slow!”

  Princess Rainbow giggled at her new pet’s silliness, stopping in front of the largest and grandest painting in the hall. “This is my favourite painting. It’s Mummy and Daddy and me when I was four and three-quarters.”

  Something about the huge portrait immediately caught Frog’s eye – apart from the fact that no one was even remotely green: Rainbow was cradling something in her arms.

  “The golden egg…” said Frog, staring wide-eyed at the painting. “That’s my egg! What are you doing with my egg?”

  “That’s not an egg, silly,” replied Princess Rainbow. “That’s my golden ball. I saw it float up out of the lake in my back garden. Mummy and Daddy let me keep it. But then—”

  “Ha! Shows what you know! That is an egg! I know it’s an egg ’cause I hatched out of it, ’cause that’s how royal folks get born. You don’t know anything about royal anything. I bet you didn’t even hatch out of an egg!”

  “Silly Greeny – princes and princesses don’t come out of eggs,” replied the princess, wagging a stubby finger. “And they’re not never, ever green – look.”

  The princess pointed to the numerous portraits in the Hall – kings, queens, princesses and princes. She was right. None of them were green. Not one.

  “Trees are green and grass is green and frogs are green,” added Princ
ess Rainbow. “And that’s what you are. You’re my pet frog.”

  The Curse of a Vivid Mind

  The Chamber of Pets was a bright, grand room, with walls covered in gemstones and filled with ornate, decorated cages … but it smelled worse than Frog’s vegetable patch. It was teeming with an army of less-than-house-trained animals – crystal cats, diamond dogs, glamsters, even a tall, blue-feathered postrich…

  …And one tiny green creature at which Frog could not help but stare.

  “Ribbit.”

  “See? Mr Hoppy is a frog, just like you,” said the princess, holding the frog in her hands. Man-Lor stood over them, staring into space.

  “A frog? I’ve never seen— I’ve never even heard of one of these … things before,” Frog muttered. He never even knew “frog” was the name of an animal. He always thought it was just an excellent prince’s name. But he did look a lot like this tiny creature. There was a ball of doubt in Frog’s stomach – and it was growing heavier by the second.

  “What’s going on?” he muttered, as he peered at the frog. “Am I Frog … or a frog?”

  “I like that you can talk,” said the princess. She let out a small, sad sigh. “I wish my other pets could talk.”

  “Of course I can talk! I’m a whole year old,” insisted Frog.

  “That makes me four and three-quarter years older than you,” said Princess Rainbow. “Maybe you’re a magic frog. Did you really hatch out of the golden ball?”

  Frog didn’t answer – he was already beginning to wonder why the idea of a prince hatching out of an egg seemed so ridiculous to her.

  “Do you know Buttercup?” he asked the princess. “She was a loyal subject here until the End of the— Until a while ago.”