Chapter 6 #2
“Brad,” she echoed, drawing out the word like it was something foreign.
“Don’t hear too many sorcerers named Brad these days, do you?
They’re all much grander, aren’t they, like Reginaldus or Alasandoral or Zumzilzor?
My own court’s sorcerer is named Olabeus.
Oh! Maybe it’s a name you earn or take when you pass your Master’s exam?
Since you have no impressive beard and no staff, you must be an apprentice. ”
When he didn’t reply, for his brain was still working to catch up to all she’d rattled off in the span of three seconds, Millie darted a worried look at Dirk. “Forgive me, is he slow?”
Dirk snorted into his teacup. Bradley Donmarin was one of the most brilliant minds of his generation.
“Cursed.” The sorcerer apprentice bit out.
The princess’s hand flew to the pearls strung about her neck. “How dreadful. It’s not catching, is it?”
Bradley rolled his eyes.
“What a relief.” There was that dismissive hand flick again. “Well, it’s a . . . pleasure to meet you, Brad. How is the tea?”
They both knew he hadn’t tasted it yet. The mug and its dangerous chip remained right where it was, poised in Bradley’s hand with no future of ever touching his lips.
“I see the grease trick worked in your favor. Excellent.” She gave an approving nod as if she had expected no other outcome.
“Marvelous advice, Millie.” Dirk shot the sorcerer apprentice a scathing side-eye over the rim of his teacup. Could you be more awkward right now?
“After we finish this pot,” Millie continued, “I daresay I would enjoy some supper. Who knew being kidnapped would boost the appetite?” She interlaced her fingers on the table in front of her mug and gave Bradley an inquisitive look.
“What’s on the menu? And before you panic, let me remind you I’ve given up the princess lifestyle to become a pirate, so there is no need for nine courses.
Three is perfectly sufficient. And I’ll have the flummery with berry sauce for dessert.
Or pavlova, whichever you have on hand.”
“Three?” Bradley had had enough. He slammed his mug down on the edge of the table and signed to Dirk, “I’m a sorcerer apprentice, not a cook, and certainly not a servant! Especially to some royal brat who wants to be a pirate.”
Dirk’s golden eyes rounded, and his teacup clattered into its saucer. He shook his head, making little waving motions with his front paws, but the sorcerer apprentice noticed none of it.
“Is this you keeping her out of my hair, Dirk? Next time you kidnap a princess, pick a capable one, would you? Maybe someone who can do more than smile and pour tea? Someone with a brain in her head instead of cotton and air?”
The chair screeched against the stone floor like the scream of a banshee as the princess stood.
“A head of cotton and air, is it? If you’re going to insult me, grow a backbone and do it to my face.
Otherwise you’re nothing more than a pathetic coward.
” She scoffed, her eyes flashing like freshly harvested pearls.
“With snide and pettish manners as you possess, it’s no wonder you’re alone in this tower with only a luck dragon to keep you company. ”
She left Bradley momentarily speechless and turned to Dirk with a small, tight smile. “I think I’d like to retire now, Master Dirk.”
The baby dragon seemed to choke, presumably on his own saliva that had pooled in his mouth from his stunned slack-jawed expression, then shot out of his seat. “O-of course. Take a right at the kitchen door and pick any room you like. Oh, and watch out for the hermit crabs. They’re everywhere.”
“Thank you. Goodnight. Come along, Duchess.”
After a scalding, up-down glance in Bradley’s direction, she marched out of the kitchen. The cat glared at Bradley for a moment, flicked her tail, and disappeared after her mistress.
Bradley watched them go—his duty as the tower caretaker nagging at him to follow to make sure she didn’t touch anything she wasn’t supposed to—before whirling on the blue luck dragon. “I didn’t know she could sign!”
“Of course she can sign, you idiot! She’s a princess. They speak almost as many languages as we dragons. And you offended her cat! Ugh.”
Dirk gave him a disgusted look and flew to the cabinets, yanking each open and slamming them shut when he didn’t find what he wanted. Eventually he did, and the kitchen was soon filled with the sound of banging cutlery, ratting plates, and the whoosh-wump of the icebox door opening and closing.
“Wh-what are y-y-you d-d—”
“What am I doing?” The baby dragon knew the sorcerer apprentice didn’t like being interrupted and didn’t care. Not this time. “Not being an ass and making my princess a three-course meal, that’s what.”
Dirk’s paws weren’t well-suited for meal prep.
The first course’s slice of bread was a ragged hunk, the wedge of cheese more like a brick and riddled with so many holes which had nothing to do with tiny hay particles and the Propionibacterium present in Swiss and everything to do with Dirk’s claws puncturing it.
The second course consisted of a rough-cut slab of ham (plus a little extra shaved for the cat) and the remaining half of a jacketed baked potato Bradley had saved from yesterday’s dinner.
Fruit was the third and final course, a peach the baby dragon had mashed into a chunky sauce before sprinkling it with cinnamon and brown sugar.
He hoped it could also serve as dessert.
He’d done his best to arrange it all on matching dinnerware and settle it on a wooden tray, though he had to overlap the edges of the plate a bit to get it to all fit.
Dirk selected the one fork that didn’t have bent tines, plus the spoon with the least amount of tarnished blotches, and nestled them where he could.
Without sparing a look at the sorcerer apprentice, Dirk refilled the princess’s mug—Bradley’s mug—added another two lumps of sugar, and wedged it between the ham and the potato.
A gust of wind lifted the tray and had it bobbing through the air after him as he flew into the stairwell in search of the princess.
Alone, Bradley stood in the middle of the kitchen.
He could take a princess’s temper-tantrum in stride—they were all self-absorbed, vainglorious peacocks—but Dirk’s reprimand hit deeper.
He was called an idiot or a moron by the baby dragon daily, but never ass, and never with the vehemence he’d just experienced.
Frowning and feeling like a boat suddenly cut from its mooring line, the sorcerer apprentice turned to the stove and struck a match to light it. He suspected he’d be dining alone tonight, but just in case the dragon came back, Bradley would have Dirk’s favorite grouper almondine waiting for him.