The Seven Gifts Read Free Page B

thoughtfully.
    “Does the Princess know that we are supposed
to be the band?" he asked.
    “No," said his friend nervously. “She might
have us all shot when she finds out; but if there is no band,
she'll shoot us anyway. So we've nothing to lose." He looked hard
at the unkempt figure of the guitarist and crossed his fingers
surreptitiously. “I won't blame you if you don't want to do it," he
went on. “It's your life and your decision, and anything could
happen down there when she finds out, although we've bribed as many
of the guards as we can".
    “Never you mind about that, Sunshine," said
Coalhole briskly, suddenly making up his mind. “Tomorrow night is
going to see the first appearance of Coalhole Custer's new band -
by appointment to Her Regal Majesty the Ice Princess herself. And
it'll be a stormer, believe me - the start of a new musical era."
He chuckled and picked up his guitar.
    “Rehearsal time, Psycho my old buddy. Let's
run through the programme."
     
    The city streets were athrong with people;
noblemen and their ladies, Princes and minor Princesses, courtiers,
ministers and Royalty from neighbouring lands; all clutching their
gold-embossed invitations and wending their way to the ball. The
gutters had been whitewashed, and the common people sent out into
the fields for the night. The city was clean and tidy, as befitted
the Coming-of-Age celebrations of a cold-blooded Ice Princess.
    Gay bunting filled the streets and gay
people the carriages. Trumpeters stood on either side of the Palace
steps sounding a fanfare for the arrival of each carriage. The
Royal Standard flew from the flagpole. At the top of the steps the
Ice Princess stood in her new ball-gown cordially greeting her
guests, while backstage of the ballroom Coalhole Custer's new band
was tuning up.
    Finally, all the guests were received, and
the Ice Princess made her regal entry to the ballroom on the arm of
a suitably handsome neighbouring Prince. She looked very beautiful;
quite splendid in fact, and was rapturously received by all the
guests spread around the room sipping champagne. The ranks parted
to allow her escort to guide her to a small daïs close by the main
stage, which she mounted before turning to the assembled
company.
    “I thank you all," she said, “for your fine
gifts, and I welcome you to this Grand Ball. Let the music
begin."
    The heavy drape curtains drew back from the
main stage and the wild, yellow-haired figure of Coalhole Custer
stepped forward. He turned with a smile and bowed low to the Ice
Princess. An audible gasp came from her lips and she stared at him,
tight-lipped with anger. Belligerent murmurings rumbled from the
crowd.
    Ignoring their reactions, the guitarist
walked slowly into the centre of the stage and surveyed his
audience. They glared at him challengingly: the nobility of the
kingdom; soon to be sliding slowly beneath a sea of champagne and
lust. And why not? the glares implied.
    It was their night. A night for pleasure.
The night of the wrong wives. When the guardians of the Nation's
morals might forget their own.
    The common herd was in the fields; armed
guards at the doors. Who need pretend between these walls? The band
must conform. Their scowls relaxed into satisfied smiles. The
singer dare not censure them.
    Coalhole Custer smiled too. Then he turned
and addressed the glowering Princess: “Your Highness." He bowed
again. “My first song is for you. A celebration of your
flowering."
    He stepped back, picked up his old thirteen
string guitar and slung it round his neck.
    “OK!" he shouted. “Let's go. One, two,
three, four."
     
    The audience was stunned, as a melody of
exquisite gentleness flowed softly from Coalhole Custer's band. It
was conventional, beautiful, and totally unexpected. The ballroom
was hushed and they all listened, as Coalhole Custer sang:
     
    You must be sad, my little Princess,
    in your boudoir full of incense,
    when there's nothing in the world
    you haven't tried.
    How