Chapter 35
A BOOZED-UP PRINCESS, BIRTHMARKS IN NAUGHTY PLACES, AND OH, LOOK. A FIREBALL!
When the griffin was the size of a dung beetle against the horizon, Dirk abandoned his dervish and fled for the nearest porthole window. He disappeared inside just as Sir Eustace stumbled out of his tent, hair askew and eyes wild.
“Did anyone see that?” the ministry official bellowed.
“See what?” Dirk answered from his window.
“That tornado, of course! It sprang up out of nowhere and camped out literally on my camp!”
“Well, the desert is known for its freakish weather. Glad you weren’t ripped apart. Also, have you seen a white cat anywhere?”
“You mean this divine gift to the feline species?” Sir Eustace extracted the cat in question from his tent and cradled her in his arms.
“Duchess!”
“A fitting name. Tell that princess I’m not of a mind to return her if this is how she treats her.”
At the insinuation that the little man, or anyone else, for that matter, had any command over her whatsoever, Duchess wiggled free of his embrace with a yowl and began a stately trot back to the tower.
“Sweetums! Please, come back,” he implored, chasing after her.
“Good luck,” Dirk called. Then he swirled up the tower to recount his marvelous feat with his friends and bask in their praise. “Bradley! Millie! Where are you? I found Duchess! Did you see my tornado? Wasn’t it the most amazing thing you’ve ever seen? Hello?”
Noise guided him to his best friend’s suite. When he snaked his head inside, he discovered the pirate aspirant in nothing but her knickers and chemise, hurling shoes, hairbrushes, hangers—frankly whatever she could get her hands on—at the apprentice.
“You left me locked in that closet for over an hour!” Millie lobbed a comb at him.
She hadn’t received the proper training in knife throwing from Sir Roger yet, so the comb didn’t impale the apprentice, but Dirk admired her pluck.
“I would have peed myself if I hadn’t sweated all the water out of my body first. And that silk blouse I found?
It’s absolutely ruined now because of that sweat.
How am I supposed to be the most fashionable pirate to ever sail the high seas when you keep ruining all my fine things?
First the taffeta, now the silk, and you still haven’t explained why I had to hide in the first place. ”
“I w-would if y-you’d stop th-throwing things at m-me!”
“Hey,” Dirk said, “you barely stuttered that time. Just like yesterday!”
Millie paused her attack to beam a grin at the little dragon. “He didn’t stutter at all an hour ago. Shouted clearly and succinctly right in my face.”
“Jubilations!”
“I know, right?” From heap of clothes, she tugged loose a corset decorated with little flowers and shimmied into it. Gave the strings a tug to tighten it and tied a pleasant little bow. “Clearly my tutoring has paid off.”
Bradley didn’t get to celebrate with them, or clarify that the victory was his alone, because the princess’s mood shifted like a fickle wind and she was back to throwing things at him again.
“Not only did you ruin my new clothes and scuff my new shoes, you haven’t had the decency to make us any breakfast yet! Who was that woman, anyway?”
“D-do you w-want an answer, or do you w-want to keep throwing th-things?” Bradley barked.
The princess thought about that. “Yes,” she answered and launched the parasol at him. “You can explain while I finish getting ready. Shoo.”
Before Bradley knew what had happened, the princess had ushered him and Dirk out onto the landing and locked him out of his own bedroom. And unlike her, he didn’t know how to pick locks.
“Go on,” Dirk urged. “Use your almost stutter-free voice.”
Bradley rolled his eyes at the description but still favored the little dragon with a quick smile. So, with only a few stumbling words, Bradley explained through the door who Miss Penelope was and why it was important she never discover the princess and the hedge knight.
Millie emerged from the bedroom with a lightweight linen skirt, soft leather roper boots, and the embroidered corset.
The pommel of her letter opener peeked above her cleavage, and her reticule dangled off her wrist, removed of nonessentials in preparation for this day’s Anti-Fainting Noshables, since this skirt didn’t have pockets.
She finished tying off her braided hair with a piece of ribbon and flicked the wet rope over her shoulder.
The restorative moonstone bath had done wonders for her hands, so she only slipped on a pair of soft leather gloves today instead of her bandages.
“So Miss Penelope could put the kibosh on this whole operation and it’s in our best interests for her never to know me or mine were ever here,” she summarized. “Got it. So, breakfast?”
The apprentice crossed his arms over his chest. Just because he was relieved that Miss Penelope hadn’t discovered their secret didn’t mean he’d forgotten about the fiasco this morning.
It was time to remind this princess, yet again, who ruled this tower.
“Training b-before b-breakfast. Y-you k-know the r-rules.”
The corner of her eye twitched, then she bared a smile at him. “And you’re still having difficulty with your Bs. Guess you’re going to practice ‘Bradley bumbles blindly before baboons’ today.”
“Aww, but I’m hungry,” Dirk complained. “Hiding all that treasure in my mattress was hard work. And I maintained a whole tornado for over an hour. I need carbs!”
Eyes on the princess, the apprentice ignored him and pointed to the stairs. “March.”
The princess spun to face the stairs with enough force to whip the apprentice with her braid. Bradley grunted.
“Hmm, we need to work on your enunciation,” Millie mused as she descended the stairs. “And to think we were past the point of you sounding like a Neanderthal.”
She’d only taken a step before the melody of a familiar bugle echoed through the tower.
“A Lord Frederick B. Smith for the Dragon Dirk the Dangerous,” Sir Eustace announced.
Dirk seized the front of Bradley’s robe. “Did Miss Penelope bring the rice paper?”
“Lots. B-b-but it’s g-g-gonna t-t-take t-t-time t-t-t—”
“Take a breath, everyone,” Mutineer Millie commanded.
“Master Dirk, relieve Mr. Donmarin of his key and go release Sir Roger. He will coach you from the training room as before. You, Mr. Donmarin, will go to the kitchen and write the necessary spells. I’ll go vet the Hero.
” She clapped her hands. “Quick march now!”
Millie thumped up the steps to the workroom and heaved open the trapdoor.
She checked her reflection in the abalone-framed mirror and decided a more disheveled appearance was required.
Dirk needed a lot more training before he was ready to take on another experienced knight, and if she could gift him that time by dissuading this Hero from attacking because he found her undesirable, then all the better.
She unbound her hair, loosened the top of her corset, removed her chemise, and tucked the hem of her skirt into her belt to reveal her ankles and a scandalous amount of leg, too.
Much more strumpet-like, she snatched an amber bottle off the shelves to really sell it and strutted out onto the eastern balcony.
Lord Frederick B. Smith was accompanied by one of those desert guides, though he had carried his own pack across the desert unlike Lord Thespian.
His clothes and gear were more fashionable than functional, but it was evident he was no stranger to the spear he carried in his kid-gloved hand.
From the sunlight gleaming off his oiled, styled hair and the pitted but sharp edges of his weapon, she knew he was a man who prided appearance as well as skill.
Though which he prided more, Millie couldn’t tell. Time to find out.
As she’d seen the lusty tavern wenches of the lower city do when she’d snuck out of the castle a time or two in her youth, Millie leaned out over the balcony in such a way that popped her breasts nearly clear overtop her corset and called down in her best lowborn accent, “Oye, you ma ’Ero come ta rescue me, eh? Where’s yous come from, then?”
“Uhhh,” Lord Gregory sputtered. He cleared his throat and adjusted his cravat. “Forge Valley in Merle, Y-Your— Pardon me, are you Princess Mildred Angelique Tisane of Amberly, yes?”
Millie took an imaginary swig from the corked amber bottle. “You see anutha towah ’round ’ere, luv? O’ course I am.”
Lord Frederick rubbed the heel of his hand over his shellacked hair, confirming his coiffure hadn’t been mussed by the desert crossing as he contemplated the truth of that statement. “I just, um . . .”
Millie dug a wedgie out of her crack and took another swig.
“Pardon me, but are you sure?”
“The Tisanes all got a birfmark on their left butt cheek.” She waggled her backside suggestively. “You askin’ ta see mine? Naughty.”
“And is that ale you’re drinking? It’s nine o’clock in the morning.”
“Ya know of sumfin better ta do in the desert than stayin’ ’ydrated? Let’s ’ear it, then.”
Lord Frederick glanced first at his desert guide, who shrugged, then around him at Sir Eustace behind his desk with his chronicle opened to a fresh page. A fluffy white cat lounged in his lap, blue eyes slitted.
“Don’t look at me.” The ministry official pointed his quill at the tower. “Your business is that way.”
The dandy lord from Merle cleared his throat a second time and blinked against the sun. “Erm, well, if you are Princess Mildred Angelique Tisane of Amberly, then I suppose I should get on with the rescue.” He didn’t seem thrilled by the prospect.
“Before ya go doin’ that”—Millie pulled a piece of paper from her reticule and unfolded it—“might if I ask ya a question or two?”
He shifted uncomfortably in the sand. “Go on.”
“Tha’s a luv.” She paused, hearing footsteps behind her, then read off her list, “Are ya experienced at all in sailin’, navigation, knots, nautical terminology, swimmin’, or pickpocketin’?”
“Pickpocketing? Certainly not!”
“An’ tha others?”
“Forge Valley is landlocked, Y-Your—” The man certainly struggled to use the proper honorific, unable to correlate the woman he saw before him and the one described on the Discount Damsel Protocol flyer. “No, my lady, for there is no need to be.”
“Well, that’s very unfortunate indeed,” Millie said, refolding her list and replacing it in her reticule.
“Hey! Where did your accent go?”
Millie ignored him and tightened the laces of her corset.
Untucked the hem of her skirt, too. The desert wind had done a marvelous job drying her hair, so she twirled it up into a bun and secured it with the ribbon, a few stray locks whispering about her cheeks.
“I’ll give you one last chance, Lord Frederick B.
Smith of Forge Valley. Are you sure you’re not familiar with any of those skills? ”
“No! And who are you?”
Mutineer Millie grinned down at him, “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” She straightened and flicked a dismissive hand. “Alright, boys. He’s all yours.”
A menacing red dragon with a proper set of large dragon wings leapt over the balcony railing with a roar and a fireball.