Intro: Kind of filler but there's a necessary plot device in there before the main event next chapter. Well.... you'll see.

Chapter 5

THE FIRST WEEK

Part 3 - The Ugly Duckling

The next day after lunch, Justin took a walk to where a river fed naturally into the moat.

His steps were slow and sad and his eyes were soft with already shed tears. In his hand he clutched a paper by its corner.

He was right.

Michael had been up to no good. As soon as he had been given the green light, Michael had started planning a contest scheduled the day before the next dinner.

This morning, at the crack of dawn, the notices had gone up all around the castle and sent out all through Spittsenburrgher and the rest of Liberty Kingdom.

Justin had come down to breakfast with Brian yelling and Michael looking prim and smug.

"That was really low, Michael! To pick the one thing that he can't participate in!"

"You said anything," Michael said.

And though Brian yelled and railed a good deal more and called Michael selfish and spiteful, the only reply Michael would say was: "You said anything." And anyway it was too late.

Eventually, Justin returned to his room to ring for Hobbs and to seek out a quieter breakfast.

It was Hobbs who read him the notice, which filled him with a quiet but constant sorrow. For now he understood Michael's smug look and Brian's anger.

And so he had allowed himself a few tears.

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Now, along the river's edge, Justin managed to find some comfort and serenity.

Justin walked till he came to a place where the river widened out and slowed. Reeds and marsh grass grew everywhere. Ducks swam and other birds and animals were plentiful in the water and trees bordering the water.

Justin sat at the riverbank and watched the ducks, especially a family of ducks with five yellow ducklings swimming all in a row.

It was so cute; he gave a small smile but sighed deeply and unhappily.

Then a sixth duckling appeared out of the reeds. It was white and awkward and larger than the others. It followed the mother duck, only not in the line as the yellow ducklings did. It meandered here and there and dove and swam to the edge of the riverbank and then back to the line.

And when it heard Justin sigh, it looked over. Justin figured he was imagining things but then the white duckling swam over. It gave a kind of deep HONK! HONK! in a kind of greeting.

Justin smiled at it sadly.

Encouraged, the duckling walked onshore and up to Justin.

HONK! HONK!

Justin smiled again. He patted the little duck on the head absently and looked out bleakly at the water.

HONK? HONK? It seemed to be asking something. Justin looked down at it strangely.

HONK? HONK? It was definitely asking something.

Justin shrugged his shoulders and shook his head. He patted his throat and slashed across it.

"HONK! Does that mean you can't speak?"

Justin jumped and his eyes bugged out. Did that little duckling just talk to him? He nodded.

The duckling walked down to the river's edge.

"It's all right everybody! HONK! He can't speak! HONK! He can't tell!"

The duck family and a heron swam over. A number of larks flew down to a low branch.

"Gus! That wasn't wise! He might have told on us!" The mother duck pecked him unkindly.

Justin made an angry face and shooed her. He drew the white bird into his lap. The meaning was clear.

The mother tossed her head. "Fine! You look after him then! You'll find out what a handful he REALLY is!"

She tossed her head again and led the rest of her children back into the river.

"She's been wanting to do that since I was hatched," Gus said, "I'm not really hers. We don't usually talk but since you can't talk, you can't tell on us so I figure it's safe around you. I'm Gus." The white bird finished unnecessarily.

Justin crossed his heart to say it was indeed safe.

"Why are you so sad?" asked Gus.

Justin held out the piece of paper. Although he could not read it, it would remain engraved in his heart and mind forever.

"I don't know all my letters yet," said Gus, "I'm only one and a half months old."

"I'll have a crack at it," said the heron, stretching his neck over. It seemed to be older. It had a rich, deep voice with a cultured accent.

They could read too? ‘But why not?' figured Justin, ‘If they could talk."

The heron read aloud:

LIBERTY IDOL

SINGING CONTEST

LET YOUR PIPES PAY YOUR WAY!

BE PRINCE (SS) FOR A DAY!

FIRST PRIZE: BE PRINCE BRIAN'S COMPANION AND ASSISTANT

FOR THE DAY AND PLAN THE WEEKEND DINNER PLUS 500 GOLD PIECES

SECOND PRIZE: 100 GOLD

THIRD PRIZE 50 GOLD

"Oh. I see. I'm very sorry, young man," the heron said and swam away.

Both Justin and Gus were silent for a while. A few more tears squeezed out. The larks stopped singing for a while to respect his sorrow.

Suddenly, Gus said, "I think I know of a way to help you. But I will want some help in return."

Justin looked inquiringly at the little bird.

"If I help you, you must bring me a loaf of bread destined for the Prince's table every day for a week. HONK! I know I must stay here but I can no longer rely on the ducks for help and (HONK!) anything I try to scrounge for myself will not be enough. HONK! Besides, I know the Prince's bread will help me to grow quickly and then I can fly from this place forever. HONK!"

Justin nodded in agreement and crossed his heart.

So Gus waddled off and swam to and fro and every so often he snipped a reed with his sharp beak. He carried each one to shore where Justin picked it out of the water. It took a long time.

However, finally the little duckling was done. Justin realized he had 12 reed pipes, all of varying sizes.

"Now, tie these reeds together with marsh grass and make yourself a pan flute. HONK! They will be your pipes and your substitute voice for the contest. HONK! Do not forget your promise. I will be here waiting for my loaf tomorrow morning. HONK!"

Justin nodded. He hugged the little bird and stroked them. Gus nodded and swam off.

"We shall help you as well," chirped the larks, "We will be asleep but we will tell our friends the nightingales to come and help you in your act when they hear your pipes."

Justin smiled widely and waved at them in thanks. The larks flew off.

So Justin gathered marsh grass and bound the pipes together from biggest to smallest. He made sure they were secure and blew through them to test them out.

They were perfect. They blew in perfect pitch.

Justin sat cross-legged on the grassy riverbank and played one of Ted's arias. This was easy for him, for although nobody knew...yet...he was very musically gifted. It was a sad piece but with every note his spirits rose. He charmed the birds and animals all around him and by the time he was done, he had a large audience made up of all the water fowl, a family of squirrels, two rabbits, and a deer.

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After returning to the castle with the pan-pipes under his shirt, Justin went up to his room and hid them in the drawer of one of his bedside tables.

At dinner that night, Brian was still upset and overly apologetic but Justin just smiled and consolingly patted his hand in a "Don't worry" type of gesture. He ignored Michael completely.

The rest of the week was rather amusing for Justin. Michael spent all of his time strutting around like a puffed up popinjay, barking orders here, checking this, overseeing that, hopping to, hopping fro, but not actually doing anything.

For the most part, Justin just stayed out of his way. If he entered a room, Justin would leave it. If he was obligated to stay, he would shut down. He just looked at the floor and sat still, communicating in no way with anyone but Brian and even then, only when Brian addressed him.

In the remaining days before the contest, Justin developed his own schedule. In the morning before breakfast, he would steal down to the kitchens, where he would wave and hug the cooks and baker's hello. Many of the bakers were grandmother types, as soft and doughy as the cakes and bread they baked. They took to Justin immediately, in the same way as Debbie had and after he left he was sent on his way laden down with sweets and banana breads and currant buns and many other things. They cooed and pinched his cheeks (and bottom) and Justin let them. He knew as long as he did they would never suspect what he was really after, and what he always got: A fresh loaf of bread that was destined for Brian's table. There was never any trouble about it; there was always a heaping pyramid of at least twelve loaves at all times.

After he had hugged and kissed the last grandmother goodbye, Justin would head down to the river and give Gus his loaf. In addition, he would also share the crusty buns and sweet rolls with him and any other birds that wanted to. By the third day, even the grumpy mother duck warmed up to him.

And since it was determined that he couldn't and wouldn't squeal on them, they all became good friends.

After his visit to the river, Justin would jog back to the castle for breakfast. He came to treasure this time (even with Michael there) for it was the only time that he got to see Brian in the day. As he warned, Brian went back to work. After breakfast, until 6 PM, Brian locked himself in his office and worked...doing...whatever it was he needed to do to keep Liberty Kingdom running smoothly.

After breakfast, Justin would go to his studio and paint. Sometimes he would lock himself in, sometimes he wouldn't. He just liked using the key because Brian gave it to him.

He started a few small paintings, a few easy watercolors and a large piece on one of the largest canvases the Remingtons had sent over. Whatever he was working on, he would always set aside a certain amount of time for the large piece. It was to be his magnum opus. His great work.

After he started the large piece, he covered it. He let no one touch it. He let no one see it. He began to lock the door when he left the room. It became the best known about and best kept secret in the castle.

At lunch, he would ring for it and have someone bring him something. Then he would cover everything and wait, for from 1:00 PM to 3, the tutor would come.

The tutor was seven feet tall and as thin as one of the reeds in the river. He had a long neck and pince-nez glasses. He spoke in a deep, snobby voice and was as boring and dry and dusty as one of the thick commentaries, long forgotten on the top shelf of the bookshelf at the other end of the ballroom. He reminded Justin of the old, thin heron.

Justin hated him. He was boring in every way and he made learning boring. But Justin tried for Brian's sake. Unfortunately, Justin found written script very hard to produce. He so much more preferred to draw and when he was supposed to be listening to the dusty old fossil or practicing his letters, images and pictures would fill his mind with vivid daydreams. His favorite was of a certain leathered and goggled superhero.

At 3 o'clock, the tutor would leave, usually tight assed and pissed off. Justin felt like he was let out of jail. He would paint and draw like a fiend until just before 6 o'clock.

At a quarter to 6, he would cover everything, lock the door, and run/limp to Brian's office door. He would lean up against the wall across from the door with one leg bent and foot flat against the wall in a nonchalant pose.

At 6 o'clock precisely, the door would open and Brian would step out wearily. As soon as he saw Justin, however, his face would light up in delight and his weariness melted away. Justin would pull him in by his tie and give Brian a quick but searing kiss.

Then, with their arms around each other's waist, they would go in to dinner.

After dinner, Brian would read to him, or they'd all listen to music or something else fun. There was a night where Brian said he needed to spend time with Michael, so Justin went to his studio that night to finish a few pieces he wanted to have ready for contest night.

However, what no one knew that at about midnight, he would steal down to the studio and study his letters and practice writing on his own for an hour or two. Then, exhausted, he would creep up to bed or just fall onto his little cot and fall asleep instantly.

Well, someone knew. Someone saw him go down. Because someone was watching.

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Deep in the castle, in the sparse sitting room, the Master waited. He was cloaked and hunched over a meager fire.

The secret knock came at the door.

"Come in!"

"Hello, Master."

"Never mind that! You're late again!"

"I'm sorry, Master. I got - I..."

The man looked into the blackness that was the Master's hooded face and faltered in fear.

"I'm sorry, Master."

"Have you been watching!?"

"Yes Master! Well, I don't know what they did in town, ands I cannot see into the studio but I follow him everywhere else. I watch him 24/7.

The Master leaned forward. His face was fanged and feral in the firelight.

"Tell me," he rasped, "Everything!"

TBC