The Prince and the Hip-Hopper

            by Mariel Austin

 

            Long, long ago, in a far away land, there was a mighty kingdom. The king spent ridiculous amounts of money on grand feasts and fabulous balls. Everyone in the kingdom was invited—that is, if they were rich, upper class snobs who had a net income of at least one million pounds. If they weren’t, they were dirt-poor, working class peasants who roamed the streets looking for stray animals to eat for dinner. The wealthy were only concerned with their gambling and diamond ball-gowns.

            But there was one member of the royal court who, not only didn’t care for gambling or diamond ball-gowns—seeing as he was a twelve-year-old boy—but who actually wanted to escape his life of luxury and riches. The king’s son, Prince Albert, longed for the chance to roam outside the castle walls. Each day, the prince endured his mind-numbingly boring home schooling and recorder lessons. Each day, the sounds of street musicians flowed into his window and made him scowl at his hated instrument and long more and more for the outside. Unfortunately, Prince Albert was as brave as a sheep and couldn’t see himself leaving home. Luckily, he gathered the courage one night to confide in his mother at dinner time.

             “Mother,” he asked after finishing his fillet mignon. “Can I go to the village?”

            The queen stopped chewing. She and the king exchanged nervous, awkward glances. They didn’t want their son going anywhere.

            “Son,” the king cleared his throat, “I think you’ve misunderestimated your impression of what’s on the outside.”

            “What do you mean, father?”

            “Well, you never know what can happen outside these walls. The last time I went outside, I done shot my best buddy in the shoulder.”

            “Really? Why?” said Albert, wide-eyed.

            “All right, this conversation is ending right now,” the queen demanded. “Albert, go to your room.”

            “But mother—“

            The king silenced him. Dejected, the prince left the table and was escorted to his bedchambers on the twelfth floor by a guard in case he got lost in his own home.

            Albert sat on his silk sheets with his knees to his chest.

            “It’s not fair,” he said to himself. “I’ve never been anywhere outside the castle walls. Just for one day, I want to see what it’s like without having these lousy lessons and this unspeakable luxury.”

            Suddenly, as dimwitted as Albert was, he came up with the perfect solution. “That’s it,” he said, “I’ll run away. If no one will take me outside, I’ll do it myself!”

 

            “Alms, alms for the poor…” The persistent chant of the poor and the homeless was ever present in the village. Because the king had privatized social security, nobody could afford food or healthcare. Disease and famine crept up and down the urine-saturated streets, pervading the corrugated metal sheeting people had for houses. Sam, a lowly pauper, made money as a street musician, of which there were many in the village. After a long, arduous day of work, Sam went home and was bombarded by seven other hungry siblings.

            “How much did you make today?” groaned Sam’s mother, who had typhoid fever.

            “Not much, only two pounds,” Sam said, emptying the hat on the table. “But don’t worry, it’s enough to get us a loaf of bread for today.”

            “Two pounds?” bellowed Sam’s father, who had glaucoma. “How the hell do you expect to make a living and feed your family off of two pounds a day? You’re twelve years old. You’re not a kid anymore. Grow some balls, my boy!”

            “I’m your daughter,” said Sam dryly.

            Her father blinked. “Oh, yeah.”

            Every time Sam stood on the street corner to play her lute, the huge castle on top of the hill always came into view. Why does there have to be such an economic gap? She thought. Why’s it always black and white in this society? And why can’t that old king talk correctly?! A curious, spunky girl she was, Sam pondered how she would close the economic gap, end hunger and improve society for everyone.

            “Mom, Dad,” she asked. “Why is it that some people have lots of money whereas others have barely any?”

            “Commie!” her father grunted.

            Sam frowned. Unsatisfied and befuddled, she reclined to her thread-barren bed on the floor in the corner. Then an idea popped into her head. I know what I’ll do! I’ll walk up to the king’s door myself and I’ll persuade him to cut taxes for the poor and deprivatize social security. I can give him a piece of my mind!

 

            The next morning before the sun rose, Prince Albert was already devising his escape plan. He decided he should go in disguise to venture out into the village, so he wouldn’t look or act too conspicuous. He searched through his closet and found a BAPE hoody and some stunna shades. As he prepared to leave, he drilled himself on his vernacular.

            “Whas-up, homies? I’m about to kick it with my G’s on the west side, fer sure.”

            Sneaking out of his window, he attempted to climb down a nearby tree, but fell twelve stories to the ground. Luckily, the branches slowed his fall.

            When Albert got up off the ground, he watched his back as he tiptoed down the hill toward the castle walls. Wow, this is the furthest away from home I’ve ever been, he thought. On his way, he decided he would climb up and over the stony wall, until he realized it was topped with menacing barbed wire. Ouch! There’s no way I’m going through that! That would hurt like heck, Thought Albert. Maybe I’ll dig a hole and go underneath…No, I wouldn’t fit…

            Albert looked for an area that was safe to climb over. Suddenly, he had an idea. The latrine grate! He knew it was unspeakably filthy, but his longing for the outside became stronger and stronger. He thought maybe he could somehow loosen the grate and crawl through until he found another opening.

            At the same time in the village, Sam also prepared for her journey away from home. She figured she should at least look and act decent if she were to appear before the king. She practiced speaking formally and politely.

            “Let me in His Majesty’s crib or I shall kicketh thine ass.”

            Sam left the house, but instead of going to her usual street corner to play her lute, she headed up the hill to see the king. She approached the enormous front gate, which was guarded by two even more enormous security guards holding 9 mm automatics.

            “Pardon me,” Sam cleared her throat, “I am but a humble pauper who wishes to speak with His Majesty. May thou grantest me permission to enter or else I kicke—?”

            “’ho dja tink y’are, peasant?!” roared one of the guards in an unnecessarily thick Scottish accent. “wha’ makesya tink a young lad like yoursel’ can appear before de king lookin’ like tha’, eh?”

            “I’m a girl,” said Sam.

            “Oh, sorry,” said the guard. He cleared his throat, “...Bu’ why, ladja wanna ge’ in ‘ere, eh?”

            Sam furrowed her brows. “What?”

            “Oh, ay, dja ‘no wha’ ails ya, eh?’”

            Sam shook her head. “What?! Look, pal, all I want to do is speak to the king and maybe persuade him to do something about our taxes. Is that too much to ask?”

            The guards exchanged confused looks. Impatient and disgusted with their stupidity, Sam decided that if no one could let her in, she would have to do it herself. Her eye caught a latrine grate outside the wall and around the corner. Then she had an idea….

            “Oh look!” Sam said, pointing at the sky, “A…uh, fire-breathing dragon!”

            The guards whirled their heads around, looking for the alleged beast. Right then, Sam made a run for the sewer grate. I hope this works, I hope it’s loose enough…

            Meanwhile, Albert was wading through raw, mucky sewage. Sam knelt next to the manhole outside the wall. Sam and Albert pulled with all their might on the lid, not knowing that the other was on the opposite side doing the same. Finally, Sam’s strength gave out and she leaned, defeated into the grating. Albert’s soft, weak hands let go and he rubbed them in pain. Just then, Sam fell through the hole with a splash. Albert backed away in surprise.

            “Wow, it worked!” said Sam, standing up. Suddenly, she realized there was another person standing in front of her. Enough sunlight leaked in through the hole in the ground to shine on their faces; enough for them to recognize that they looked exactly like each other.

            “You look just like…but you’re a…and I’m…” The two stuttered in astonishment.

            Finally Albert regained his composure. “I’m Prince Albert.” He held out his hand.

            “Your hand’s covered in excrement, Your Highness,” said Sam.

            “Your Hand’s Covered in…that’s an interesting name,” Albert contemplated.

            “Samantha,” she curtsied before him.

            Suddenly, the rumble of horse hooves on the ground above them signaled the approaching guards, searching for the dragon—and for Sam.

            “Quick, we’ve got to do something! “ Albert exclaimed, closing the lid.

            “No, wait,” said Sam. “Why don’t we switch places?”

            “What?”

            “Switch places,” Sam repeated, “I’d give anything just to spend one day inside the royal court and to speak with the king about our taxes.”

            “Hey, yeah,” said Albert. “And I’ve always wanted to see what it’s like to be outside the castle walls.”

            “And you’re filthy and smelly enough to look like a pauper who just took a bath. You’d fit in perfectly,” said Sam.

            Albert smiled. “And because you look nothing like a girl, the guards would never think you weren’t me.”

            Albert continued, “Here, just keep crawling up this tunnel until you get to the next manhole,” said Albert. “Then you’ll be on castle grounds. I’ll keep going forward until I see sunlight.”

            “Good luck,” said Sam.

 

            Once Sam was inside the castle, she took in her new surroundings: carpeted wooden floors, long silk tapestries, delicious food in every room and a weird contraption in the bathroom that looked like a toilet, but spat water violently into the bowl.

            “No more dead cats for me!” Sam said to herself as her mouth watered.

            “Your Highness!” gasped Prince Albert’s tutor, catwalking into the room. “You look atrocious! And you smell unbearable!!” And with the flick of his wrist he sent Sam to the royal bathroom to clean up. But once they got there, Sam began to panic.

            “Uh, can I bathe by myself?” said Sam nervously, noticing the guards at the door.

            “What? Nonsense!” exclaimed the tutor. “Why would we leave you alone for a second? There are ghosts and goblins and wicked witches and….”

            “And fire-breathing dragons?” Sam raised an eyebrow.

            “Uh, yes!” said the tutor.

            Sam had to think of something quick. Luckily, she came up with the perfect plan. She stood with her chest high, feet apart and said:

            “I will take no such excuses. As prince and Royal Highness, I demand I bathe alone and in peace.”

            The guards and the tutor exchanged shocked looks. They both knew the prince would have them beheaded if they didn’t obey his every order.

            “Yes, Your Highness,” they reluctantly bowed and exited the room.

            “Our little prince is growing up,” the tutor teared with happiness as they walked down the hall.

            “Yeah, looks like he’s stopped being a little pussy for once,” said one guard.

            Sam was happy to finally do what she dreamed. The first woman heir! And because she was royalty, she could just order the guards to let her bathe alone, dress alone, and use that strange toilet-looking thing alone. That way, she would never be found out. To Sam, this was the life!

           

            Albert evaded rats and cadavers as he waded through the dark, dripping sewage duct until he got to the nearest latrine. When he saw it, he pulled himself out, uprooting the toilet bowl, which spewed geysers of raw sewage all over the room.

            “Phew, I hope I didn’t get E. Coli,” said Albert as he stood up and brushed himself off.

            Coincidently, Albert had ended up in Sam’s latrine. Her father barreled into the outhouse.

            “Sam,” he beamed, “You took your bath like I asked you to.” Then he shoved a wrench in his hand. “Now fix that latrine.”

            “Hey, chillax, homes, I just came in from dah hood,” said Albert as the geysers calmed down.

            Sam’s father looked at Albert, puzzled. “Are you high? You’re in ‘dah hood.’ Now clean up this mess.”

            Albert wasn’t used to manual labor and ended up screwing the latrine on backwards. Making money was just as difficult. At first Albert lit up when Sam’s parents gave him her lute and told him to go outside. But as excited as he was to see real street musicians up close and in person, he knew he was not going to make a single cent.

            “What the hell is wrong with you?!” roared Sam’s father when Albert came home empty-handed. “None of us will be having bite to eat tonight because you chickened out, you Commie!” He reached for the leather whip in the corner and grabbed Albert by the wrist, “You’re coming with me.”

            Just as Sam’s father was about to strike Albert’s back, the sound of a ram’s horn penetrated the air. A courier came into the village on the fifty-horse power stretch carriage that was used by officials to spread news. All the villagers stopped what they were doing and came out of their houses to hear him speak.

            “Citizens of Wessex,” said the courier, reading off a scroll. “Come hither for I bring terrible and tragic news. The king has choked on a pretzel and has been pronounced dead. The coronation of His Highness, Prince Albert will take place promptly at sunset.”

            Silence swept over the village. For five seconds.

            “Wooooo, yeah!! No more privatized social security! Gay marriage is legal again! Go stupid, go, go, go stupid…” cried the happy villagers.

            Albert’s heart seemed to stop. His father was dead and Sam was about to be crowned as king. He had to get back the castle, before it was too late! The sun inched closer and closer to the horizon. He hopped into the trunk of the stretch carriage, hid himself in a bag of fertilizer and was driven back the castle.

 

            The coronation ceremony was well attended and grandly decorated. Royalty from as far away as France and Italy came to see the crowning of the alleged Prince Albert. The real Prince Albert, however, was stowed away in the horse stables. As soon as he emerged from his bag of fertilizer underneath a horse’s rear end, he had a pleasant surprise waiting to land on him.

            Meanwhile, as Sam fidgeted on the throne, she realized Albert must have had heard the news of the king’s death when he was in the village, and that he would be devising a plan to stall the coronation. She grew anxious through the hours of speech each royal official had to make before the crown was placed on her head.

            The Earl droned on with his prayer, holding the crown an inch over Sam’s head, “…et terra majestatis tuae—”

            “Um, mister Earl, sir,” whispered Sam. “Could you skip ahead to where you crown me king and we get to drink and be merry and get the hell out of here?”

            “Oh, sure, sorry…By the power vested in me, I herefore crown thee, King of—“

“STOOOOOP!”

            Albert burst through the doors of the hall. He ran down the aisle pushing away the security guards, leaving a trail of excrement.

            “A peasant!” “What’s going on?” “Ew, I almost stepped in it!” The guests complained amongst themselves.

            “Your grace, I got here just in time,” Albert panted.

            “Hold on, hold on,” said the Earl, “Now what’s going on here? How dare you, a filthy pauper intrude before His Majesty? Not to mention ruin the royal carpet?”

            “I can explain,” said Albert, taking off his stunna shades to reveal his face.

            The guests gasped. Some women fainted. Others covered their mouths in disbelief.

            “I do not believe this,” whispered the Earl, weak in the knees.

            “I am Prince Albert,” he said. “And you were just about to crown this peasant girl king.”

            Screams arose from the court. More women fainted.

            “Silence! Silence all of you!!” boomed the Earl. “Is this true?” he turned to Sam.           

            The entire court held its breath.

            “This peasant does intrude on this happy gathering uninvited,” said Sam. “But, seeing as he is indeed the rightful prince, I shall give him the throne and remain myself as ward and royal counsel.”

            Everyone released his breath.

            “Oh, thank you Samantha,” sighed Albert in relief.

            “PSYCHE!” Samantha spat in Albert’s face. “Even an idiot wouldn’t fall for that. Me, a female imposter? Get real! Who in his right mind would give up the throne for a bum like you? I am King Albert of Wessex!” she snatched the crown from the Earl’s hands and yanked it onto her head. “Guards, take him away!”

            The guards grabbed Albert on either side and dragged him to the dungeons.

            “But wait…I am the rightful prince…WAIT…YOU COMMIES!”

            “Yeah, yeah, whatever,” murmured King Sam.