The Purple Bag

This is my response to Day 20 of http://aldersprig.livejournal.com/'s 30 Days of Flash Fiction, the list for which can be found at http://aldersprig.livejournal.com/221684.html?view=1245940#t1245940

After the lock cutting incident in Singapore the purple bag followed Carla Lombardi through three more sets of Customs inspections without fuss. The attempts to steal the bag had ceased with the arrest of the man with the fake Scottish accent and the tartan jacket. When Carla returned home the bag was unpacked and the letter in the airmail envelope was scooped up with the accumulation of postcards and other holiday ephemera to sit in a drawer for six months.

It was only when Carla was packing to move flats that she found it. Its presence puzzled her but, as it only needed an ordinary stamp, she bought one and posted the letter.

Finally, as the desperate man in Madrid had intended, his information reached his superiors unintercepted and intact. Some interesting things happened but you had to read the Spanish and Portuguese newspapers to find out about them, the English language press was salivating over phone tapping scandals and a celebrity wedding at the time. There was a blogger who posted some fascinating photos, if you knew who you were looking at, but didn’t know what he had – his post was complaining about his neighbours’ late night parties. And that matter was resolved.

The purple bag went on other trips with Carla Lombardi and although they were just as exciting in their way, particularly her honeymoon, none of them was ever as dangerous to the purple bag as that first one.

The Purple Bag

This is my response to Day 20 of http://aldersprig.livejournal.com/'s 30 Days of Flash Fiction, the list for which can be found at http://aldersprig.livejournal.com/221684.html?view=1245940#t1245940

After the lock cutting incident in Singapore the purple bag followed Carla Lombardi through three more sets of Customs inspections without fuss. The attempts to steal the bag had ceased with the arrest of the man with the fake Scottish accent and the tartan jacket. When Carla returned home the bag was unpacked and the letter in the airmail envelope was scooped up with the accumulation of postcards and other holiday ephemera to sit in a drawer for six months.

It was only when Carla was packing to move flats that she found it. Its presence puzzled her but, as it only needed an ordinary stamp, she bought one and posted the letter.

Finally, as the desperate man in Madrid had intended, his information reached his superiors unintercepted and intact. Some interesting things happened but you had to read the Spanish and Portuguese newspapers to find out about them, the English language press was salivating over phone tapping scandals and a celebrity wedding at the time. There was a blogger who posted some fascinating photos, if you knew who you were looking at, but didn’t know what he had – his post was complaining about his neighbours’ late night parties. And that matter was resolved.

The purple bag went on other trips with Carla Lombardi and although they were just as exciting in their way, particularly her honeymoon, none of them was ever as dangerous to the purple bag as that first one.

A Worthy Hero

This is my response to Day 21 of http://aldersprig.livejournal.com/'s 30 Days of Flash Fiction, the list for which can be found at http://aldersprig.livejournal.com/221684.html?view=1245940#t1245940 . I rolled prompts 13 and 20 for my combination.

So the seeming goatherd, still with the purple bag over his shoulder, brought the terrified princess back to the palace.

He marched her past the guards.

He marched her past the knights.

He marched her past the ladies-in-waiting.

He marched her past her page and her little dog and her own dear nanny, past the chancellor and right up to the king.

“I’ve brought your stolen daughter back, Your Majesty,” he said. “Now I want my reward.”

And the princess could say nothing and do nothing because of the spell he had put on her, but the purple bag began to swing on its strap.

The king offered the seeming goatherd his own farm on the best land in the kingdom and a herd of prize goats.

“Oh no,” said the seeming goatherd, “That’s not a good enough reward for returning your daughter and saving the kingdom. I want your daughter’s hand in marriage or the curse the sorcerer put on her won’t lift and she’ll never talk again.”

“Scoundrel!” declared the king.

“Practical,” said the pretend goatherd, “What’s the use of a ruler who cannot talk? Give me your daughter’s hand in marriage and the morning after we are wed, she‘ll be able to speak again.” The purple bag swung even harder on its strap. “Shake on it?”

He offered his hand to the king, but as the king went to take it the purple bag slid down the apparent goatherd’s arm and pulled the magic ring off his finger. The sorcerer was suddenly the sorcerer again, the purple bag turned back into the goatherd and the king called for his guards and knights.

The goatherd took the farm, the princess married the chancellor and both of them avoided purple bags for the rest of their lives.

A Worthy Hero

This is my response to Day 21 of http://aldersprig.livejournal.com/'s 30 Days of Flash Fiction, the list for which can be found at http://aldersprig.livejournal.com/221684.html?view=1245940#t1245940 . I rolled prompts 13 and 20 for my combination.

So the seeming goatherd, still with the purple bag over his shoulder, brought the terrified princess back to the palace.

He marched her past the guards.

He marched her past the knights.

He marched her past the ladies-in-waiting.

He marched her past her page and her little dog and her own dear nanny, past the chancellor and right up to the king.

“I’ve brought your stolen daughter back, Your Majesty,” he said. “Now I want my reward.”

And the princess could say nothing and do nothing because of the spell he had put on her, but the purple bag began to swing on its strap.

The king offered the seeming goatherd his own farm on the best land in the kingdom and a herd of prize goats.

“Oh no,” said the seeming goatherd, “That’s not a good enough reward for returning your daughter and saving the kingdom. I want your daughter’s hand in marriage or the curse the sorcerer put on her won’t lift and she’ll never talk again.”

“Scoundrel!” declared the king.

“Practical,” said the pretend goatherd, “What’s the use of a ruler who cannot talk? Give me your daughter’s hand in marriage and the morning after we are wed, she‘ll be able to speak again.” The purple bag swung even harder on its strap. “Shake on it?”

He offered his hand to the king, but as the king went to take it the purple bag slid down the apparent goatherd’s arm and pulled the magic ring off his finger. The sorcerer was suddenly the sorcerer again, the purple bag turned back into the goatherd and the king called for his guards and knights.

The goatherd took the farm, the princess married the chancellor and both of them avoided purple bags for the rest of their lives.