Chapter 17
For better and for worse, my guilt overwhelms my good sense, and I wind up inviting Driz back to my little room for a cup of tea.
I can’t not invite Sasha, of course, and the pirate—Bash, my mind whispers—won’t leave.
The only spaces we have that are large enough for all four of us are the cleared-out third floor and my little apartment, and the idea of trying to get a pot of tea up three flights of stairs strikes me as much too much to deal with.
I chivy everyone away from the door, flip the rock so that the shop closes up, and then direct my guests—and unwanted pest—into my apartment.
I have two chairs, a bed, and just enough space for a fourth person to stand, so we can all just about fit.
The only tea I have is the bitter stuff Mrs. Gooch left behind—which I am ever more certain is dried turnip leaves—but I’ve been experimenting with tisanes made with herbs from the garden, so I think I might be able to offer something reasonably potable.
I stop the pirate before he enters my apartment, however.
“Empty your pockets, please,” I say, straightening my spine and hoping I sound commanding.
“I beg your pardon?” he says, the damnable dimple reappearing in his damnable cheek.
“There are reasonably powerful anti-theft hexes all over this shop, and yet you managed to make off with several of my books,” I say, hoping I sound severe and not petulant.
“It stands to reason that you must have an amulet or some item that allows you to slip past my protections somewhere about your person. Empty your pockets.”
He shrugs and turns out his pockets, which I hadn’t truly believed he possessed at all, given the tightness of his breeches. They contain nothing exciting: an ancient florin, rubbed nearly smooth, a few tiny shells, and a bit of a crab’s claw.
“Ew,” I say. “Hand those things to me, if you please.”
“They’re not amulets,” he says. “I swear.”
“And I’m not a cursed princess having a really strange day,” I say. “Give them over.” I hold a little bowl out to him, and he obligingly drops his odd little collection into it.
I set the bowl aside and glare at him, too tall and too much, in the dim hallway leading to my tiny apartment, already full of people.
I swear I can smell salt air about him, even though we’re nowhere near the sea and he’s been hanging about in town long enough for Sasha to know he lives in a barn.
“Necklace? Bracelets? Rings?” I demand, dragging my thoughts away from the way he smells and racking my brains for anywhere an enchanted amulet could be secreted about a person.
He huffs, a little puff of air like a laugh, and rolls up his sleeves to show me his bare forearms, then wiggles his ring-free fingers at me. “Satisfied?” he murmurs, too close to my ear. A chill runs down my spine.
“Necklace,” I say, willing my voice to sound normal, unprovoked.
Holding my gaze, he moves one hand up to his collar and tugs it aside.
I swallow as my eyes trace the line of his neck, the expanse of his shoulders.
“Perfect,” I say. “I mean, that is, yes. Perfect. No necklace. Very good.” I cough.
He lets his collar go, slightly too slowly, and I brusquely usher him into my tiny apartment, wondering wildly what in the seventh hell I’m doing.
Sasha and Driz take the chairs. I bustle about, boiling water and adding mint and chamomile flowers, then perch on the open side of the box bed while the damnable pirate lounges along the wall, one foot crossed over the other, my ugly little teacup small in his hand, his head just about brushing the low ceiling of my little room.
“Oh, my dear Tanadelle,” Driz says, looking about himself. “To think of you reduced to such…such matriculation!”
It takes me a moment to decide he probably means “immiseration.”
“It’s really quite cozy, Driz,” I say, then feel my cheeks heat up again, and flash a glance at the pirate, who’s watching me with a glint in his eye, that horrible dimple back in his cheek. He’d called it cozy, too, curse him.
I shift and take a sip of my tea. It’s not bad. It’s certainly not dried turnip leaves, thank heavens.
“I can’t think what I’ll tell your poor parents,” Driz says, sounding morose. “Perhaps, if we were to clear out all the books, we could make this little building somewhat habitable for you…?” He trails off.
“Get rid of the books?” Sasha says, having more or less recovered from her earlier attack of the hysterics. “This is a bookstore.”
“Madam,” Driz says, rather airily, “this is the abode of a princess of the royal blood. Fourth in line for the throne of the Widdenmar.”
“Third,” I murmur.
“Your sister is, erm,” Driz begins, then blushes and looks away. “I should not be the one to tell you.”
“She’s pregnant?” I gasp. “What marvelous news!” One more person between me and the throne; I couldn’t be happier. I hope she has six more.
“You didn’t know your own sister was pregnant?” Sasha says.
“I’ve been on the road for months,” I explain, “and she’s really not much of a correspondent. Honestly, this curse business is the first holiday I’ve had in ages.”
“Holiday,” the pirate snorts.
Driz shoots to his feet.
“Sirrah,” he says, his loud voice back in full force, “sinecure in the face of one such as Her Royal Highness, the Princess Tanadelle, will not be tolerated!”
“Sinecure?” the pirate echoes, looking a little confused.
“I don’t think he was being sarcastic, Driz,” I murmur, hoping that the pirate will grasp my meaning. “I’m sure a royal life must look rather…shall we say, easy, if one is only observing it from the outside.”
“Easy!” Driz proclaims. “I am all astonishment! The very idea. Why, like you, I spend more than half the year moving about my homeland, hearing the pleas of my people, ministering to their needs, carrying out my royal obligations with all respect and humility.”
“Aren’t you the crown prince of Parciful, Your Worship?” the pirate asks.
“That is my honor and my duty, yes,” Driz answers, dignity more or less intact.
“The small island nation of Parciful?”
“Sirrah,” Driz says, drawing himself to his full height, “my duties are no less necessary, no less onerous, no less time-consuming nor honorable, for being meted out to a population of several hundred rather than many thousands or even millions. Why, if there were but two subjects in my entire kingdom, my duty would be the same, and I would carry it out with the same contingency and the same pride.”
Aw, Driz. I find myself feeling unaccountably fond of him. He is a bit on the silly side, but through no real fault of his own; he takes his role and his duty very seriously, and enjoys both ribbon-cutting and waiting for the throne in a way I never have.
The pirate waves a conciliatory hand between them. “Peace, friend. I meant no disrespect.”
“In any event, the Princess Tanadelle is well-known throughout her kingdom and, indeed, throughout the Shining Realm, as being absolutely devoted to her people, willing to visit every humble village, every hamlet, no matter how, how…how animacule it might be.”
“Animacule?” Sasha repeats.
I groan, inwardly. Driz’s creative vocabulary can always be counted upon to add a dash of confusion to the proceedings.
“Is she now,” the pirate says, glancing up at me.
I am grateful that my little room is reasonably dim and he can’t see that I am, again, blushing.
For no reason; there was nothing the least bit suggestive about what Driz said, and yet, for some reason, suggestion drips from the pirate’s perfect lips.
“Bash, was it?” I say.
He executes a rather less flamboyant bow than those he’d performed for us a few days earlier.
“What brings you back?” I say, trying not to sound quite as tart as I feel. “That florin in your pocket’s not nearly enough to pay for the books you stole.”
“You blaggard!” Driz nearly yells, leaping to his feet. “Am I to understand that you stole from the princess?”
“I did, yes,” he answers, “and I’m looking forward to doing so again.”
“Oh, for crying out loud,” I say.
“Told you,” Sasha murmurs.
“It’s not that I didn’t believe you,” I say, suddenly a little annoyed with everyone.
What was I thinking, inviting not just Driz but the pirate who has already stolen from me into my apartment to have tea?
Why haven’t I thrown him out or called the constable, since he just admitted he plans to steal more?
“What didn’t you believe?” Driz says.
“She didn’t catch on that he’s a pirate,” Sasha says. “Despite the, uh”—she gestures at the pirate, lounging against the wall, his shirt open to an almost obscene degree—“the all that,” she concludes.
Driz pats his hips as though seeking the hilt of a sword. “A pirate, in my presence? In the abode of the impoverished cursed Princess Tanadelle?”
“Impoverished?” the pirate echoes. “She seems well enough off to me.”
“He means poor as in pathetic, not poor as in immiserated,” I say. “And that’s not the point.”
“No, sirrah, the point is that you’re a blaggard and a ruffian and I must surely see you in the stocks before the day is out!”
“Sit down, Driz; he stole a few moldy old books a few days ago. And you,” I say, turning on the pirate, “have yet to explain what exactly you’re doing back here, unless it’s only to steal more books.
If that, then please get on with it and get out.
I presume you’re not returning the ones you’ve already taken, after all.
” In fact, I can be reasonably certain of that, having, well, searched him just a few moments ago.
He was not hiding them inside his shirt, next to that marvelous chest. Oh, hell’s bells, I’m blushing again.
He shrugs, aggravatingly unbothered by my irritation. “I heard there was a prince in town and came by to see if he could break my curse. But I certainly couldn’t leave without stealing something. It’d be rude.”