This is part 2 of my son’s short story, set in Tudor times. You can read part 1 here I really would recommend it if you haven’t, otherwise this won’t make much sense!
I thought the story was so brilliant, I had to share it with you. I haven’t changed a single thing – not a spelling, a piece of grammar or a typo, it is all as he wrote it.
My son is 9 and in year 4. He wrote his story a couple of months ago.
Solemnly, the curer sat in his cell rummaging through his labelled medicines. However, he came across a peculiar one. ‘Life?’ he asked himself, his brain buzzing for ideas. When it dawned on him. He would keep the Queen alive for a week or so. By then he could escape the country. Unluckily, disaster struck him; the bottle was empty. Trepidation surged through his veins as he remembered the judge drawing a line across his throat. Shocked, he raced around the room picking up the ingredients for what he was about to do. He poured them all into a pot he heated it, stirred it and retried it. Until at last, it was perfect.
The guards trooped in and seized him. In addition, they made sure he wouldn’t escape by aiming at him with muskets. They chained him to the floor in the throne room in the presence of the King and Queen. Gasping, Jane Seymour opened her mouth and swallowed the cure. She seemed no better or worse. ‘We will wait one hour to see the effects. For now, take him to his cell.’ announced the King, pointing at the guards.
One hour later, the same process went on: the guards seized him, aimed muskets at him and chained him to the throne room floor. ‘How are you?’ the King asked the Queen, looking down at her. ‘ I’m feeling…better.’ She mumbled, looking upwards with a smile. ‘Release him!’ he announced, raising his fist in the air. The guards opened the door for him to leave.
He jumped onto his horse and rode to the sea. He paid with the money he was given by the courtiers. He leapt onto the ferry sailing towards France. Soon England was just a dot on the horizon. Eventually, he arrived. He headed to the palace to give their King some good news. Twelve days after he had been asked for the cure the newspapers were only saying things like the English Queen is dead. When the curer arrived at the palace he informed Francis II that he killed the Queen with his so-called cure. ‘You killed the Queen?’ he enquired, perplexed. ‘No doubt about it.’ He replied, proudly on the outside. He felt a tiny bit guilty and selfish on the inside. ‘Well the English are quite big rivals to us.’ Francis carried on, pacing up and down the room. ‘How much do I owe you?’ the King asked, standing still at last. ‘Well you can have a job. Not a curer though. You killed the Queen with your last medicine.’ he chuckled, smiling broadly. ‘How about you become a noble man?’ he offered, with a confused face. ‘Sounds good to me.’ he answered, getting used to talking with Francis.
From that day on he lived a life without crime situations. He also learnt how to speak French. He lived until Catherine Parr was widowed after Henry died, which was followed by celebrations in France, it was a sad day for the curer though as he passed away that day.
I’m linking with Wednesday Words at Crazy with twins Pop over and read some other words which have inspired people. Also linking with Prose for Thought at VeViVos where people share their own poetry and prose. Go and have a read!