The Dog Princess
Copyright © 2011 Fun London
Published by Crackerjack Publishing
Cover Photo © Isselee | Dreamstime.com
Visit the author's website: www.talesfromfunlondon.com
Also by Fun London
The Dog Prince
The Wonderkind
Lost in the Woods
Funtastic Tales
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The Dog Princess
In the months following the Festival of Loaves, both Ammed and Paint, his loyal black and white dog, enjoyed a high status in the land of Brink. The Brinkles, you may recall, valued their special baked bread so much that they held a baking contest each year to choose the royal bakery, and the winning baker would hold office as the king of Brink for the following year. Ammed's father had won, and that alone made Ammed a prince for the year. However, that wasn't the only reason Ammed's star shined so brightly. Paint had saved Ammed from certain death and they were able to stop the evil King Jamal from invading and destroying Brink, earning Paint the title of Dog Prince. He was the first dog in Brink history to become a prince, and Ammed was a national hero.
So, whenever thirteen-year-old Ammed and Paint strutted through the streets of Brink, the people would come to their windows to see the boy and dog who had saved their beloved country. Most people admired their bravery, and would wave and wish them well when they walked by. Most, but not all.
As Ammed and Paint walked down the cobblestone street in the center of the baking district, a man leaned out on the wide window ledge of his bakery between the loaves of freshly baked bread that were cooling there. He wore the special white hat and apron of a master baker, and there was a scowl on his face. “Just an ordinary boy and his dog, if you ask me,” Papa Rufus grumbled to himself. “Neither of them look very princely to me.” He spoke softly enough that no one else could hear, but loudly enough to try to make himself feel better. For he had lost the annual baking contest to Ammed's father, even though he had been desperate to win. The more Papa Rufus thought that he should have won, the less he liked Ammed. And oddly enough, the more he disliked Ammed, the more certain he was that he should have won.
Normally, none of this would have mattered much to a boy like Ammed. But in this case, it mattered a great deal to him. Papa Rufus happened to be the father of a young lady named Celia. And Celia was the prettiest and friendliest girl in all of Brink. At least, that is what Ammed would have told anyone who happened to ask.
Celia knew how sad her father was over losing the baking contest. She felt badly for him, and wished he had won as he had hoped. She had also heard him talking under his breath and knew how annoyed he was with Ammed. But, somehow, she didn't feel the same way toward Ammed. In fact, her father's annoyance made her like Ammed that much more. And that made Papa Rufus dislike Ammed even more.
So Celia peeked out of a second story window and smiled and waved at Ammed and Paint as they passed by, all the while her father grumbled away down below.
After the Festival of Loaves, winter came to Brink. And winter meant snow because Brink was located on a plateau high in the Himalayan mountains. Now spring had arrived, and the warm sun was melting the snow from a small bank in front of Papa Rufus' bakery. Ammed hadn't noticed Papa Rufus or Celia because he was playing in the slush. Paint preferred the dry cobblestone and circled around the wet snow. Ammed hopped up in the air and came down with both feet in the middle of the soupy puddle, sending slush flying in all directions.
“Hey ho!” came a loud angry shout from the bakery on Ammed's right. A muffled giggle came from the second story.
When Ammed turned he saw a blob of wet snow slide down Papa Rufus' hat and plop onto one of the loaves. “I’m sorry,” said Ammed, rushing over. He tried to brush off the snow with his sleeve.
“It is too late. You have ruined my bread,” said Rufus, pushing the boy away. Then he tossed the loaf at Ammed. “Take it, and be on your way, you foolish boy. And stay away from my daughter.”
Ammed hurried away carrying the loaf of bread. Paint leaped up at his side, hoping to get some of the tasty treat that smelled so delicious. When they were out of sight of Papa Rufus, Ammed stopped and broke off a piece of bread. “Here you go, boy.” Paint caught the chunk in midair and munched it down. He looked up expectantly.
“All right, here's some more,” said Ammed, tossing another piece in the air. “But that's all. We should save some for later.”
Paint understood, and after swallowing the second chunk, he ran ahead. It wasn't long before he disappeared around a curve in the road.
Ammed continued slowly, unconcerned. Paint had free run of the place, and could take care of himself. Ammed stopped frequently along the way, sampling the fresh desserts that were made in the little shops. The streets of Brink ran in a roughly circular pattern, partly because the people of Brink were home bodies not inclined to do much traveling, but more because Brink was located on a high plateau. There were not many other places to go.
An hour later Ammed had circled back close to his father's bakery. By the time he reached home, there was still no sign of Paint. Ammed removed his shoes, which were soaking wet from all the puddle splashing he had done, and went inside the bakery. His father was not there. He was at court taking care of his duties as king, those being mainly to hear and rule on disputes between citizens. Brink did not have what you would call a police force. The citizens were quite productive and generous for the most part, and those who didn't do much work would be too ashamed to admit it by resorting to criminal activity. The only disputes were minor ones involving bread recipes or undelivered goods. Because a Brinkle's word was his only form of contract, these disputes were usually sorted out quickly. If a man's word could not be trusted, he could do no business at all. Should a problem remained unresolved, an audience before the king would settle the matter.