They decided to stop and rest at the comfy base of a large hill on a remote side of a enormous fortress. While Barley grazed, Francis gazed up at its turrets wondering why he couldn't find it on his map. Danny meanwhile took off the boot of his injured foot to inspect the healing process. Sort of.

"Francis, I can't look. Tell me is it festering? Has gangrene set in?"

"Look for yourself," he said distractedly. Some might say selfishly.

"Come on. Be a pal. I can't stand the sight of bandages, never mind what's underneath them."

"Give me strength," he muttered. He kicked the boot out of his way while drawing his sword, then used the pointy end to undo the knot of torn material wrapped around Danny's toe.

"Careful with that thing!" Danny shouted, but was quickly put at ease by the sight of his wound healing over.

"Guess why they call this a scab-bard," Francis joked putting his weapon away.

"Oh now he's funny."

"You big baby. With all the bloodshed we've seen?"

"I mostly stay in the tent."

"On the battlefield?"

"Anything's a tent if you can throw it over your head and cover your eyes."

Francis grunted as he took a seat. "Sometimes I wonder how it is you joined the army in the first place."

"Well, if you must know, technically, being the king's messenger is kind of a cushy gig. My big mouth's always been my best feature."

"Except when you use it call out 'Yoo-hoo!' before a midnight raid."

"One time!"

"Seriously, why the army?"

"I guess it shouldn't surprise you that I'll do anything for a beautiful girl, and this one was a pretty farmer's daughter. One night we went for a stroll, holding hands in the moonlight, a little serenading action - my best stuff. Then we sat under a tree and gazed at the stars. She told me about her farm and how she loved to cook and how she got kicked in the head by a horse once."

Barley continued to munch innocently, but more quietly.

"Anyway," Danny said, "It wasn't until she took off her bonnet that I believed her. She had a dent in the side of her head you could keep your change in! I guess it didn't bother me too much at first while she was sighing big sighs, and batting her lashes, but my leg fell asleep so I couldn't move, and when she put her head on my shoulder, it fit. Well, I tried to skip town the next day, but her father said we missed curfew so we had to get married. I'll do anything for a beautiful girl but that. So I joined the army."

"Yours is a vanishing breed," Francis said.

Danny nodded in agreement and wiggled his toes. "Hey maybe when I'm fully healed I'll be able to tell when it's going to rain."

Suddenly, as if on cue, Danny was knocked on the head by an object falling from the sky.

"Ow!" he yelped, recovering more from the shock than the pain of the thing. He patted the ground around him and brought his hand up with a yellow ladies shoe dangling from his finger. Then Francis felt his sleeve scraped by the heel of another plummeting to earth. A blue one, with a pink silk flower. "What gives?"

"Quiet," Francis hushed him, jumping to his feet again. He cocked his ear as a faint noise in the distance grew louder. Dull at first, it began to sound like voices garbled by water. It grew higher in pitch, almost like squealing. "Do you hear that?" he asked.

"Sounds like me when I see a buffet."

From either side of the hill they were rushed by a stampede of village women. In that same moment, an avalanche of shoes rained down from above. The women dove for them, grasped at them. One knocked right into Danny and yelled, "Out of the way, fool!" They fought for ownership with tugs-of-war between toe and heel. All the shoes had holes in their soles, but that didn't stop the melee of swiping and begging and swapping of matching pairs. "I have the purple!" one yelled. "Well, I have the other," another said. "What are you going to do about it?" They were ferocious.

"Ladies," Francis tried, and was promptly checked aside by a determined elbow.

"Incoming!" another woman yelled as the last shoe dropped. The group crammed together with arms in the air like a crazed bridal party trying to catch a bouquet.

It was headed straight for Francis who, out of reflex, drew his sword to protect himself. The periwinkle pump was sliced in half.

"BOOOOOOO!"

The horrified women actually booed him. "How could you?" they spat, along with several other un-lady-like words, and left in a group with the holey shoes the same way they came.

"Hey!" Danny said. "Where's my boot?"

Somewhere from the disappearing cloud of angry bonnets and aprons, a scratchy voice cried, "Pew!" and his boot was thrown back to him.

Danny and Francis stared at each other in disbelief until their dumbstruck silence was broken by a strange jangling sound and an old woman approaching. Her steps were small and laboured as she dragged a lumpy burlap sack behind her. Her face was kind...of craggy, and her posture seemed bent under the weight of her brown cotton kerchief, though it was probably more from the hefting of whatever goods were clanging around in her bag.

"Did I miss 'em?" she asked. No greeting or anything.

"Don't see how you could have," said Danny. "They broadsided us like a battleship with brooms for oars."

She dabbed her hot face with a hanky. The corner of it got stuck in one of her thick forehead folds a second before it dropped. Francis scooped it up like it was an honour, and not just the first thing they teach you at chivalry camp.

"Such a gentleman," she said before blowing her nose with it.

Francis didn't flinch. "What goes on here, my good woman?"

"Every day at twelve o'clock for the last month or so they throw out the shoes."

"They?"

She pointed towards the fortress towering above them just in time to see window near the top close its shutters.

Their location dawned on Francis. "Of course! We're in Fredericton! That must be the princesses' fortress."

"Princesses?" Danny said, springing to attention. He leapt up on both feet without wincing. "What do you know, I feel better already."

"It is indeed," the old woman said. "The shoes may all be ruined, but what with the cost of war, and keeping that dragon fed, there isn't much money for dainty things like those. It's sort of a charity."

"Dragon?" Danny gulped, and sat back down again.

"You must be strangers here. Have you come to solve Sir Frederic's puzzle? There's a reward, but not much of one."

"What's the puzzle?"

"Every day the girls are given a new pair of shoes and by the next morning the bottoms are worn through. They don't call him Frederic the Frugal for nothing. He says they're cobbling him out of house and home."

"How are they getting worn through?" Francis asked.

"That's what the good Sir Fred wishes to find out. The princesses aren't allowed to leave the fortress, you see, so there's no explanation as to how or why the holes appear. He's offering a reward to anyone who can provide one."

"Well, well!" Danny said, encouraged again. "This sounds like a job for two of the army's finest."

But the killjoy wasn't having it.

"In case you've forgotten, Daniel, there's still a war going on."

"Dear me!" the old woman tutted. "Haven't you boys heard? We've won!"

Francis looked something between sickened and elated. "What?"

"Days ago! We've defeated Robert at last! Victor's army is victorious on all shores. A celebration is declared. By week's end the king himself comes to Fredericton to collect his daughter, if he can figure out which one she is."

Were it not for his present company, Francis may have allowed himself a tear or two, out of pride and relief, and out of gratitude for goodness prevailing. He only whispered three words of awe, "Victory at last", before Danny slapped him so hard on the back he almost choked on his own saliva.

"That seals it!" Danny chuckled. "We'll stay here, interview some princesses, collect a reward, and deliver the King's message when he gets here. I can't wait to be thanked. Francis?"

"I guess it would take us just as long to ride on."

"Sure it would! What are we waiting for?"

Danny clicked his tongue for Barley to come to him and he quickly mounted the saddle.

"Begging your young men's pardons," the old woman said, "but do you think you'd be so kind as to help an old lady with her things? I'm headed your way."

"Certainly, dear woman."

"Sure, just toss it up here," Danny said.

Francis and the woman stared at him. Barley shook his head.

"Of course, I could use a little exercise," Danny said with sheepish laugh as he dismounted. "Just me and my good manners, recovering slowly."

They helped the woman up on top of Barley and began a slow, gentle plod toward the fortress gates, and their almost certain good fortunes.

*****

A-waaaaay up yonder in a sunshine filled chamber of Frederic The Frugal's fortress, the twelve princesses dreamed of freedom, and family reunions, and finding true love, despite Lady Winifred's best efforts to keep them awake during their dance lessons. They drooped over their ballet bar like washing on the line, and if yawning could be counted as stretching, stretched all through their warm up as their chaperone coaxed a jaunty melody out of a slightly out of tune piano.

For weeks they'd been suffering from a strange sort of lethargy. Sleeping in late, perking up at around 2 o'clock, then going to bed early. Secretly, Lady Winnie worried that after eighteen years, all that lack of outdoor exercise was catching up with them. There were parts of that fortress that never saw the light of day; mazes of stone corridors lit by lamplight always suggested the same time of night. Maybe they weren't getting enough vitamins. They ate well, but Frederic's constant fretting over the food budget meant he bought in bulk, and their diet didn't vary much outside of staples.

You'd think the news of the war ending and the Royal Court coming to claim them would've filled them with excitement, but the only buzz was the intermittent snoring throwing Winifred off her count. What, she wondered, were their parents going to think?

They wouldn't know what to call them for starters. Their birth names had been mixed up long ago, if not totally forgotten, by Fred and his earliest staff before he let them all go. It might seem unforgiveable, but the safekeeping of twelve babies to a single man was a lot to ask. He couldn't just address them as 'the sweet one' or 'the pretty one' because they were all sweet and pretty and without a spoiled bone in their bodies. He tried remembering them by eye colour and hair colour, but if, for example, he called out, "Hey Red!" three of them turned around.

They were two years old when Winifred came on board and assigned the names that would stick. Without them, Lena might have been the graceful one, Lucy the clumsy one, Lana the optimistic one, Dorothy the smart one, Katherine the athletic one, Rosalind the talkative (and tallest) one, Betty the vivacious, Marilyn the flirtatious, Ava the cool, Judy the shy, Ginger the fun one, and Rita the nurturing type. Though, let's face it, no one label could ever do a single princess justice, unless at that particular moment, that label was the tired one.

"Alright girls!" Lady Winifred said, thumping on random keys to shock them into straightening up. "Partner up and today we practice our special waltz for your parents' arrivals. Isn't it exciting?" The girls nodded drowsily. "Deep breaths now, and let some of this fine fresh air wake you up. Lena with Lucy. Lana with Dorothy. Katherine and Rosalind, Betty and Marilyn, Ava with Judy, and Rita with Ginger."

The girls obeyed their orders, laughing as they usually did when deciding who would lead. Here's a hint, it was always Katherine and Rosalind, even when they were paired together. If Lucy had two left feet, fortunately Lena had two rights. Lana and Dorothy always perfectly mirrored each other's form, while Betty and Marilyn only looked forward to dance class to practice their flirting techniques. Ava's confidence gave Judy's insecurity a boost, and Rita and Ginger, the most like sisters of all the cousins, always danced together because the others could simply not keep up.

"Now take your positions," Winifred instructed. "This is three-quarter time, beginning on three. And-a-one, two, three, one, two, three. Rosalind and Katherine, in the same direction please."

With a clearing of his pelican's throat, Sir Frederic announced his sudden, and unusual, entrance into the room. Winifred stopped her playing and stood to greet him while the girls folded into each other grateful for the chance to rest.

"Your Grace! What a pleasant surprise!"

"Pardon the interruption."

"Nonsense. We are most pleased you are attending us today. Aren't we ladies?"

She had to clap loudly to get them to stand at attention and curtsey. "Yes, Sir Fred," they answered in unison.

"Good afternoon, girls. Getting ready for the big celebration, I see. Should be a splendid affair. Not extravagant, mind you. We don't want to seem ostentatious, that is, frivolous, or, er, irresponsible. A wise man once said, mushrooms are as good as meat when you're hungry."

"I'm starved," said Rosalind.

"We have to stop sleeping through breakfast," Lena yawned.

"Don't worry, ladies. It's not like we're going to run out of porridge," Fred said. "I reckon by the last inventory there'll even be enough to send some home with you when you go. I'll have to weigh it again first to be sure."

"It's as if all our dreams are coming true," Ginger said with her hands clasped to her heart.

Frederic's lip curled as he squinted, trying to get a good look at the princesses' feet. "Lady Winifred, they aren't dancing in their shoes are they?"

The girls smiled innocently.

Winifred pointed to the pile of shoes in the corner of the room. "As per your instructions, Your Grace, you see their new shoes are there. They dance only in slippers."

"Splendid. Splendid! Well, keep practicing, my dears. We want your parents to be proud of the ladies you've become when they see you for the first time in, well, ever really."

Winifred gave a small sigh. "However will we tell them apart?"

"Even I can't do it," Fred sniffed. "Never could."

Winifred clapped twice sharply, her specific cue for the girls to form a line so they could be reintroduced to their guardian for the thousandth time. "Lena, Lucy, Lana, Dorothy, Katherine, Rosalind, Betty, Marilyn, Ava, Ginger, and Rita."

Rita held up a dainty finger. "I think what Lady Winifred meant, Sire, was how will we know which of us belong to which of our parents?"

"That, I don't know," Fred said. "But these things have a way of sorting themselves out. Speaking of sorting, I'm off to the counting room. Lady Winnie, a word outside?"

"Aw, he's finally giving her a raise," Ginger whispered, and the girls had to keep from laughing until they were alone.

"When I'm Queen," said Lana, "I'll go through as many shoes as I want and no one will say anything about it."

"Yes, and neither should we if we know what's good for us," said Rita.

"We should just stay off the topic of shoes altogether," Ginger added as Betty sneaked to the door to see if Fred and Winifred were in the hallway.

"Okay, kids. They're out of earshot."

Rosalind said, "Good! If anyone finds out about our little secret, permanent grounding will be the least of our problems."

"Imagine" Judy sighed, "after eighteen years of being hidden away, we're finally going to be free."

"Free to get locked up in another castle, you mean," said Katherine. "Not me. I'm going to see the whole country!"

"Not if you're the future Queen, you won't," Lena said.

Rita nodded and began to pace. "Lena's right. Whichever of us really is King Victor's daughter will have a lot to live up to."

"All responsibility and no fun," Ginger agreed.

"Do you ever wonder whether our parents will like us?" Dorothy asked. "We'll be like strangers."

"Maybe if they don't we can swap," Lucy shrugged.

Marilyn took a seat on the piano bench, hugging a knee to her chest. "I'm just dying to meet other people."

"She means boys," Ginger said.

"Is that all you can think about?" Ava drawled.

Betty crossed her arms. "What else is there to do? If you don't think they're going to marry us off right away, you're crazy."

"I mean, we are getting up there," Marilyn concurred.

"How much more up can I get?" Rosalind said with a flat palm over her head to measure her height. "What kind of giant's going to want to marry me?"

"We should at least be able to choose," Lena said.

"The true princess won't," Katherine huffed. "It'll be a match for strategy not love."

"We should make a pact that we'll only marry for love" Judy said.

"And money," Betty added.

Some of the girls groaned, some looked worried.

"I think, we should look for partners who want a purpose, not power," said Rita.

"Some power, surely," Marilyn said. "I like them strong."

"Resourcefulness is a strength," Rita said. "Intelligence too."

"Yeah and a good sense of humour," said Ginger. "Too many dull characters have been popping up around here lately."

"Someone brave?" Judy asked.

"There are other ways to be brave than fighting," Rita said.

"Besides," said Ginger, "we all know how hard it is to get blood out of silk."

A moment of silence passed for lost garments. (They had fencing classes too, folks.)

"At least not out of leather or armor," Marilyn pointed out, inaccurately, I might add.

"It'd be mud if you married a pig farmer."

"How about a physician?"

"All those leeches?"

"A leech farmer!"

"Ewwww!"

"One of us should snag a cobbler."

"We won't need one soon," Ava said.

"Speak for yourself," said Rosalind pointing to her feet. "Look at these boats! I mean, I wouldn't mind so much if Frederic didn't think we were all the same size."

"Just saw the heels off," Katherine suggested.

"The heels aren't the problem. It's the toes!"

"Saw the toes off them then."

"What about winter?"

"Wrap 'em in some scarves." Lucy suggested. "You could make a nice bow."

"And what'll save me when my dance partner is stepping all over my feet?"

"Fine then, wear a slipper inside," said Katherine.

"How??"

"Get a bigger shoe."

Rosalind stared at her. "Sometimes I don't know if you're joking."

"I never joke about comfort," Katherine said.

"Well, we'll never get our endless supply of shoes and terrible husbands if we don't get this dance right," Ginger said.

Rita mimicked Winifred with a clap. "Ladies! Partner up. Step together. And-a one, two, three, one, two, three..."

She and Ginger saw to it that girls got the hang of the steps. When Winifred returned to find her pupils dancing divinely, her heart filled with pride. What would she do when what had been her life's purpose was no more than a completed task? Rita stepped in to swoop her from her melancholy thought, waltzing her around the room. Ginger cut in for a turn as did all the girls until Katherine and Rosalind's leading arms naturally found their way into a wrestling match over top of the piano. Winifred couldn't be bothered to scold them. She was just happy they had the strength to go best two out of three.