As the winter sun set in a crimson blaze to the west, a near full moon crept over the snowcapped mountains to the east, casting its variegated hues of silver and blue over the landscape. Dhumbo Thumass, The Royal Gatesperson, signaled for the closing of the inner gate, and the lifting of the drawbridge. With loud clanking of heavy chains the massive bridge was lifted from its footing across the deep moat, and with creaking groans, lifted and slammed into the seat near the top of the twin towers. The sentinel watching from atop the eastern turret sounded a lonely toll of the castle’s chapel bells. The castle was secured for the night.

Dyther Jhaybyrd, Clown Prince of Idyott Castle, climbed the stone stairs to the upper levels, and slipped into the topmost and darkest chamber. As his eyes became accustomed to the darkness, he fixed them on the Magic Mirror, its gilt frame, its surface smooth but opaque and darker than the whispering woods during the winter’s new moon.

Jhaybyrd approached the Mirror, his eyes wide and unblinking, and he gently touched the unreflecting surface. It felt cold to the touch, and without life. He hesitated, uncertain whether he wanted truly to ask his question again; not sure he wanted to argue his case with the Seer of the Silvered Window. “Damn!” he cursed half to himself, “Damn! Damn! Damn…!” He looked out of the corner of his eye, a sideways glance. Then, gathering himself, he stood full in front of the ornate Mirror, and fixing his amber-green eyes on the center of the dark expanse, asked, “Oh Mighty Mirror, Your Holiness – Who is the most beautiful person in all the realm?” Silence. The walls of the castle held their breath.

Jhaybyrd waited, perspiration forming on his forehead and in the folds of skin at his neck. Still, silence. He stepped back, hesitant, irritation building within, and his eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. Almost. Again, “Oh Holy Mirror – I beseech you, who is the most beautiful person in all the realm?” The Mirror stirred ever so slightly, but still, there was only silence. Jhaybyrd fidgeted, his body twitching, as he struggled to be patient. In these matters, one shouldn’t press too hard. The Mirror stirred yet again. This time a faint light, steel-grey and icy cold, glowed within the silvered glass. It spread across the curved surface of glass and grew, and became a bright presence in the room, pushing back the darkness, illuminating the darkest and coldest corners.

Jhaybyrd could hardly remain still as the silence continued. Then came the answer, flashed across the Mirror in bold 18-point font: “PrincessDi@CastleTremayne.com.” Jhaybyrd was stunned, angered by the message on the steel-grey screen. “Surely, you jest?” stammered the Clown Prince, disbelieving. “Princess Diana is a fairytale once told, and already fading. Her beauty is merely skin deep, and it too is passing. And, she is married to that Upstart Frog, Prince UpChuck!” continued Jhaybyrd, his anger now full blown and unbridled. “How can that be a consideration in matters of position, let alone beauty?” he shouted, stamping his feet and pacing to and fro.

The Holy Mirror stirred, then shook, and lights flashed across the curved glass surface. Then, in a window in the center of the Mirror, it announced in blood-chilling words: “General Protection Fault: You have completed an illegal procedure. If you elect to continue, your Holy Mirror will exit to the initial prompt, and you will lose all previously unsaved work…!” Jhaybyrd looked with unbelieving eyes at the steel-grey surface. “Damn!” he cried, “Damn TinyTinySoft…!” As he watched, the steel-grey light dimmed, and the glass went blank, pitch black in fact, with only the See Prompt in the upper left corner remaining. Jhaybyrd started to boot the Mirror across the room, but stayed his anger. “I shall reboot again on the morrow,” he muttered under his breath, removing his finger from the reset button.

Dyther Jhaybyrd stormed out of the darkened and seedy room, and retreated down the spiral stairs from the dark tower. “Dumoxx!” he screamed, his eyes filled with rage. “Dumoxx! Come at once to the royal chambers! The goddam Holy Mother has crashed again!”

Dumoxx Jhimbo, Consultant to the Clown Prince, and Chancellor of Soft Wear, came stumbling into the royal chambers. “I have a soft wear problem,” bellowed Jhaybyrd – “Now fix it!” Jhimbo recoiled at the vehemence of Jhaybyrd’s outburst, and rolling his eyes, mumbled half to himself: “At once, your Clownness.”

Jhimbo went to the royal closet, and sliding the doors open wide, surveyed the Clown Prince’s wealth of fine clothing. “Your memory is insufficient,” muttered Jhimbo more to himself. “The Holy Mirror’s message is always the same.” “What’s that you say?” roared the Clown Prince from the other room; “What are you muttering about?” “Nothing, your Clownness,” whimpered Jhimbo. “It’s just that – we upgraded your whole wardrobe, and not that long ago!” “You said the tailor digitally re-mastered all those garments!” roared the Clown Prince. “You told me we wouldn’t have to download all that clothing to the less fortunate until the next fashion season!”

“That I did, your Clownness,” stammered Jhimbo, feeling increasingly ill at ease. “But – but, bugs just have a way of getting into soft wear – that’s the way it is with digitally made clothing, your Clownness.” He was very careful with what he said to the Prince in moments like this, for he disliked being the one to remind him of his failing memory. The Clown Prince took his memory problems very seriously.

Jhimbo sighed, and pulled a silk cape with ermine trappings from the rack and held it up to the light coming in the high window. “Damned bugs!” whispered Jhimbo beneath his breath. He shook the cape, and several tiny creeping things dropped to the floor, and crawled toward the dark corners of the room. “Hmmm,” said Jhimbo. He turned as the door to the royal bedroom opened behind him. Dhumbo Thumass entered, joining Jhimbo in the royal bedchambers. As the formal Gatesperson, it was Thumass’ responsibility to insure that all the Clown Prince’s royal clothing was bundled together for convenience and ease of hanging in the royal closets. Jhimbo, though, was troubled that everything came all tied together, for it meant more work for him in upgrading the Clown Prince’s wardrobe if he had to separate everything before hanging each article of clothing. He much preferred hanging individual articles with separate system hookups. Thumass, though, cunningly exerted his powerful mind-numbing influence on the Clown Prince, and so the bundling continued.

Dyther Jhaybyrd had primped and fussed with his appearance since his youth. He was obsessed with his looks, and preoccupied with his reputation as the most beautiful of all people. Dhumbo Thumass had been drawn to him, because he, too, was obsessed with the most beautiful of people, though personally he was preoccupied more with their wealth. It was in the wallets of the beautiful and wealthy people, that Thumass sought his fortunes. Dumoxx Jhimbo was brought to Idyott Castle because of his reputation as a wardrobe consultant, and master of soft wear.

Now he was faced with upgrading the Clown Prince’s entire wardrobe for a re-visitation to the Magic Mirror. His own reputation counted on his success, as did his ongoing health and well-being. He and Thumass took various articles of clothing from the closet and shook each fervently, shaking loose a number of tiny bugs. There was something very satisfying in this. Jhaybyrd silently entered the dressing room, and surveyed the work of his trusty aides.

He frowned and motioned quickly with his hands, and Jhimbo held up a regal high-end cape with leopard collar and ermine fringes, as the Clown Prince slipped his arms into the sleeves. Jhimbo fastened the silver clasp at the Clown Prince’s neck, and stepped back. The Clown Prince looked over his shoulder at himself in the full-length Mirror, and beheld a magnificently appointed profile, with impressive heavy fabrics of rich lavender hues. The bejeweled gold crown on his head capped a most dashing and fashionable royal figure. Jhaybyrd was most pleased; Jhimbo himself beamed; and Thumass smirked through half-closed eyelids.

Jhaybyrd strode up the spiral stairs once again, his flowing cape trailing behind, reaching the dark upper chamber in short order. He held his head high, and stepped into the dark room with a renewed sense of importance about himself. He positioned himself in front of the Golden Mirror, and without hesitation, spoke: “Oh Holy Mirror – Now, who is the most beautiful person in all the realm?” Silence.

Jhaybyrd smiled, his eyes mere slits, and settled back so as not to appear pushy, and waited. Silence. “I can wait you out,” thought Jhaybyrd to himself, and he smirked broadly. Silence. The walls, responding to the absence of sound, now moved and began to close in on Jhaybyrd, and that unsettling feeling he had once had returned. Deafening silence. “Hmmm…!” – This a murmured whisper. “Dumoxx!” shouted Jhaybyrd, turning from the Mirror. “Come at once…!” Silence.

Then, a clatter of footsteps on stone stairs, and heavy panting; a stumbled step, muffled sounds, a curse; then more footsteps. Dumoxx stumbled into the dark chamber, breathing deeply, gasping for air. “Dumoxx….The Holy Mirror won’t boot up,” whispered the Clown Prince, his shoulders bent, his eyes closed, his hand holding his forehead. Jhimbo could barely see in the darkness, but knew the look of pain on his Clownness’ face.

“I am here,” said the soft wear expert softly. “Here, let me look.” Jhimbo stepped by the shaken Clown Prince, and checked that the cords were still plugged into the back of the Mirror; they were. Jhimbo slid his fingers over the Off/On switch, working it back and forth – it was working. He checked the surge protector – it was functioning, and the power was still on to the Gilded Window.

Jhimbo’s fingers flew over the keyboard, entering a series of commands to the Mirror’s Dormant Operating System. Jhaybyrd watched in fascination, and marveled at the skill of his Chancellor of Soft Wear. “I must see that he gets a raise at his next performance evaluation,” he thought to himself; then, “Nahh…!” Jhimbo frowned, puzzled; the Mirror wasn’t responding. “Damn! This is going to be tougher than I thought,” he muttered. He was afraid the Clown Prince might have been right when he said the Mirror crashed. Then, too, the Clown Prince may have hit the delete key, erasing something from the hard drive. That wouldn’t be too difficult for the Clown Prince to do. In either case, it would be hard getting the message off the Mirror’s drive and on-screen again.

But then, even though the message may not have been saved, he knew the contents anyway. And, in his judgment, the Holy Mirror was right on – Princess Diana was, surely, the most beautiful person in all the realm. Her beauty was not only legendary and timeless; it was more than outward beauty, for she was most beautiful in that way. But, she placed herself with the common people, and walked amongst them as one of them. She reached out and touched those whom the world rejected – those whom the world cast off and despised for reminding it of their existence. She embraced the unholy as holy, and gave from the fullness of her heart, and made theirs the richer for it. Oh, she was, indeed, the most beautiful person in all the realm, but Jhimbo knew he could not tell that to the Clown Prince. That would be suicide.

“Damn,” said Jhimbo again. He tapped the keys with yet another command, and the dark curved glass surface shuddered; then there was the familiar whirring as the soft wear responded and took his commands, and the familiar steel-grey light of the Mirror appeared once again. Jhimbo entered several more commands, these designed to tickle out the lost message.

The lights in the Mirror brightened, and the See Prompt appeared in the upper left corner. Jhimbo typed in “win,” and hit the “Enter” key and waited. The Mirror filled with magical colors and shapes, and the inner workings of the Golden Oval Glass could be heard in the dark room. He inserted his special soft wear enhancing disk to heighten the appearance of royal clothing as it appeared in the Mirror, and typed in “run,” and when asked hit “OK,” and waited again. Jhaybyrd watched as his soft wear expert worked his magic, as shapes and colors gave way to spectacular visions of the world of Princess Diana. And in a clear voice-over, the Mirror whispered, “PrincessDi@CastleTremayne.com. Now, print a damned hard copy…!”

There was a deep blood-curdling scream, piercing and pained – and it carried into the ether above and beyond the ramparts of Idyott Castle. Dyther Jhaybyrd fell into a chronically depressed state, and never consulted the Golden Mirror in the dark upper chamber ever again, though he dressed in his finest and often stood in front of his full-length wardrobe mirror for hours mumbling to himself.

He fired Dumoxx Jhimbo, his Exchequer of Soft Wear, who left Idyott Castle and sought a position elsewhere with a kingdom developing something called a MaqIntosh. And with that move the Clown Prince insured his self-destruction, and his wonderfully articulated clothing withered and deteriorated into utter disarray. And, it is said, the problem with bugs increased a thousand-fold, driving Jhaybyrd to total and utter distraction and madness. As for Dhumbo Thumass, he left the company of the Clown Prince, and he, too, sought another position elsewhere as Gatesperson to further research and develop his money-making soft wear and wardrobe packaging systems…

*         With apologies to Uncle Walt – and all due respect to Princess Diana, in another age and another time…