Wyatt and the Useful Things

Three buttons, one smooth stone, and absolutely no interest in waving from the balcony.

“Your Highness,” said Mr. Brindle, my royal teacher, “a prince must stand tall, smile brightly, and wave with just the right amount of wrist.”

He demonstrated. His hand swished back and forth like a very polite fish.

I tried. My sleeve slid down over my fingers.

“Excellent,” said Mr. Brindle. “Now, the crown.”

The crown sat on a velvet cushion. It was grand and heavy, with pointy gold bits that tickled my ears. I set it on my head. It tipped forward and covered one eyebrow.

“Perhaps I need a smaller crown,” I said.

“Perhaps you need more practice,” said Mr. Brindle.

Outside the palace, the little kingdom of Bellwether was busy getting ready for its yearly parade. The streets were swept so neatly that you could see your face in the cobblestones—if you were willing to bend down. Shopkeepers put out baskets of pears, ribbons, and warm rolls. At the end of the main street stood the grand palace, with tall windows and a front staircase wide enough for a marching band.

I liked the shops best. I liked the bakery’s bent wooden spoon, the cobbler’s spare laces, and the tiny paper clips the mapmaker dropped whenever he sneezed. Useful things had jobs. They held, tied, scooped, or fixed.

I kept my own collection in a little tin in my pocket. Three buttons. One smooth stone. A short piece of string. A small brass washer. Nothing fancy, but every piece had helped me once.

At lunch, Queen Elowen asked what I wanted to do in the parade.

“Something useful,” I said. “Something that feels like me.”

“Princes have an important job,” she said kindly. “You can wave from the balcony while the parade passes.”

“Would the parade need help waving?” I asked.

The queen laughed, but Mr. Brindle brought out the crown again.

The next morning, I was supposed to lead the parade from the palace steps. As I practiced my wave, I spotted the bright blue banner waiting by the gate. One corner sagged from its pole, and a little piece of string dangled below it.

I slipped my hand into my pocket. My buttons clicked together.

“That banner needs fixing,” I said.

The parade captain, Captain Fen, hurried over. “The corner came loose,” he said. “We have to carry it carefully, but we can’t find the little hook that held it.”

Mr. Brindle glanced at the crown on my head. “Wyatt, it is almost time to take your place.”

“I can take my place after I help,” I said. My voice sounded small, but I stayed beside the banner.

The loose corner flapped whenever someone walked past. Captain Fen held the pole steady while I looked closely at the cloth. The cloth had a small opening by its edge, and I could fit one of my buttons through it. The old stitch had come undone, but the cloth wasn’t torn.

I felt the buttons in my pocket. Three buttons, one smooth stone, a short piece of string, and a brass washer. I knew what to do.

“Could I borrow the dangling string?” I asked.

Captain Fen handed it to me. I threaded the string through the hole in the banner, then through the middle of my biggest button. My fingers fumbled once. The button slipped, bounced off my shoe, and rolled in a small circle before Captain Fen caught it.

“Quick-footed captain,” I said.

“Quick-footed button,” he replied.

I tied the string around the pole, snug but not too tight. Then I tugged the banner gently. The button held the cloth in place. Captain Fen gave the pole a careful shake. The banner stayed put.

“Wyatt fixed it!” called Tamsin, the baker, from the parade line.

People clapped. I felt warm all the way to my ears. Mr. Brindle looked from the repaired banner to my pocket.

“I believe the kingdom has found a job for you,” said the queen. “Would you lead the parade as our Keeper of Useful Things?”

I stood straighter. The crown still pinched, so I handed it to Mr. Brindle. Then I took my place at the front of the parade, beside the banner.

I practiced my wave as we started down the tidy street. This time, my sleeve stayed out of the way. People cheered, and I waved back—just the right amount of wrist.

The parade moved past the bakery, where Tamsin waved her floury hands, and the cobbler’s shop, where Mr. Purl tapped his awl against the door in time with the music. Children marched behind us, holding paper flowers and little flags. The blue banner traveled above the crowd, its button fastening snug and safe.

At the end of the street, we turned around the fountain and walked back toward the palace. I didn’t have to wave every second. Sometimes I waved, and sometimes I watched the banner. Captain Fen let me check the string once, just to be sure. It held firm.

When the last drum gave a happy thump, the parade was over. The musicians packed their instruments, and the shopkeepers carried their baskets inside. Queen Elowen walked down the palace steps and rested a hand on my shoulder.

“You looked very much like yourself out there,” she said.

“I felt like myself,” I told her. “And I still know how to wave.”

Mr. Brindle gave me a careful, fishlike swish of his hand. I answered with my own. Mine was a little crooked, but nobody seemed to mind.

That evening, I sat at my bedroom table and emptied my pocket onto the wood. The smooth stone sat beside the two buttons I had left. The short string was gone, doing its important work on the banner. The brass washer rolled a little, then rested against the edge of the tin.

I put the crown on its cushion. It looked grand there, and I was glad it didn’t have to ride on my ears tonight. Then I placed my useful things in their tin and set it beside my bed.

The palace grew quiet. Far below, the kingdom’s tidy streets rested after all their marching. I thought about the baker, the musicians, Captain Fen, and the banner traveling safely home. My feet were tired in a pleasant way, and my waving arm felt pleasantly wobbly as I drifted off to sleep.