Chapter 11 Thessia #2
enhance the speaker’s meaning, never to lend unearned substance to lines lacking imperative!”
“Yeah!” the first man concurred.
“I appreciate the constructive criticism!” the poet promised.
He endured his condemnation impressively, Thessia could concede. Unfortunately, it was the only compliment she could offer
the spymaster prince of Vestriya, who was presently making a fool of himself on the street corner of his own capital city.
She could not quite believe her eyes. “Prince Ario?” she murmured. What in the realms was the royal spymaster doing playing
street-corner poet? Weren’t spies supposed to be more . . . secretive?
“Perhaps this is like a shadow play storyline and he has a secret twin,” Galwell speculated. “I’ve heard of those.”
“He doesn’t,” Celine confirmed.
“This is the man whose reputation has scared the guild out of Vestriya? I don’t understand,” River said.
“Perhaps the guild hates poetry?” Hugh offered.
They watched hopelessly as the prince continued to happily rhyme iridescent fire with my tumescent desire. How could a man this ridiculous help them face down grave evil?
“Compatriots, cheer up,” Hugh ordered them. “Every quest has its setbacks. When I was captured by the Fraternal Order, I feared
for my life, but here I am. We must persevere. No one would think we would make a formidable team, and yet we do.”
Thessia looked up.
No one would think we would make a formidable team.
“Hugh,” she said, realizing. “You’re right. On a first impression, any of us might seem to be someone we are not. What if
our spymaster’s no different? It would make sense, wouldn’t it? Concealment of his cunning under this . . . this . . .” She
gestured toward the poet.
On the corner, the prince compared the constancy of his heart to the endurance of fossilized insects found in Vestriyan caves.
“Thessia is right,” Galwell declared despite the discouraging display. “Can we speak with him?”
Hugh nodded. “I’ll approach. Why don’t you all return to the tavern and find a private corner?”
They went inside while Hugh spoke with the prince. Summarily, Hugh led their silver-haired objective to their table.
Prince Ario dropped into an open seat. He wasted no time. “I hear you’re admirers of my work,” he announced, gazing loftily
over them.
“Yes,” Thessia eagerly confirmed. “We are in desperate need of valuable intelligence. We hear you’re the most cunning spymaster
your realm has ever had.”
With the compliment, however, Ario visibly slouched. Disappointment flattened his expression.
“Oh,” he replied. “That work.”
Thessia exchanged a glance with Hugh. Hadn’t Prince Ezio promised a menacing master of espionage? Ario was performing foolish
foppery perfectly. Wasn’t he? Or perhaps his frivolity was part of the menace, Thessia reasoned, like a fearsome clown. She hated clowns.
“And your poetry, of course,” Celine courageously chimed in. “You have . . . such a way with words,” she managed.
“We couldn’t look away,” River concurred with clear honesty.
It was Thessia’s turn now. “How ever did you learn such a large vocabulary?”
When Galwell shifted uncomfortably, Thessia realized their persuasive fibbing sat poorly with the honest hero. “I don’t know
much about poetry,” he finally said.
Hugh frowned. Ario seemed pleased. “I’ve had to practice in secret, you know,” he shared exuberantly.
“Entirely self-taught, because my family doesn’t approve.
” He caught himself, clearing his throat like he regretted the reference to his prominent parentage.
“That is, they don’t approve, because they’d rather I spend my time on something practical like the family trade of torture and intimidation. ”
Thessia winced, realizing her hopes of torture and intimidation were as slim as this man’s grasp of effective alliteration.
“You’re wondrous,” she promised him hastily. “Now,” she went on, “we are given to understand you serve as royal spymaster.
We seek your covert intelligence in determining what villains—”
“Oh! Villains!” Ario interjected. He shivered. “I hate villains.”
Thessia paused. “Right,” she patiently concurred. “Yes, so do we. Villainous forces have infiltrated the Deathrose Guild,
and now our—”
“The Deathrose Guild,” Ario repeated in wonderment. “What’s that? Oh, what a marvelous name. Death-rose.”
Thessia faltered. She was starting to find Prince Ario’s persona unnervingly . . . convincing.
“I’m sorry,” she restarted with the height of regal politesse. “You are the spymaster, are you not? Vestriya’s royal spymaster?” When Ario nodded pleasantly, she went on. “It’s just . . . the crown
prince promised us you were very intimidating. Very dangerous. He warned us not to—”
“Oh, Ezio’s always exaggerating my dangerousness,” he replied fondly. “It’s his way of keeping me safe. My parents wanted
me to become a spymaster because . . . they think me suited to it and thought it would toughen me up, but Ezio knows me better.
Why would I ever seek to be toughened up? Ezio keeps me safe by building up my reputation so that people leave me undisturbed
to pursue my passions. Truly, he is a wonderful brother.”
It was Thessia’s turn to slump in her seat. “Yes. Yes, he is.”
Shame consumed her now. Of course she, inexperienced and guileless and vainly hopeful, had led her group into this humiliating waste of time.
“I’m sorry,” she said dizzily. “We must be going. Thank you for your time.” She stood. Starting for the door, she decided
she would leave courage to Galwell, and intrigues to Mona, and—
“Wait. Don’t.”
Hope sprung in Thessia at Ario’s exhortation. Perhaps now he would reveal his flawless pretense!
Except when she rounded with more damnable hope, she found no smug spymaster. Only the pleading poet.
“You . . .” Ario managed. “You’re the only people who’ve ever complimented my poetry. I . . . I wish to . . . Please, perhaps
you’d hear more of it?” he pleaded. “I can help you, too! While I’m not a spy of evil, I’m still a spy. A spy of humanity!
Nature! The magic of this existence! I spy loads of excellent things every day. I’ve spied starjays nesting in the eaves of
ancient cathedrals, and the serene turquoise water of the Grotto where the harpies enhance magical gifts, and—and the twin
brothers downtown who’ve invented this delightful snack where flattened dough is slathered in sumptuous sauces—”
“What?”
Thessia looked inquisitively at River, who’d just interrupted the prince.
“What did you just say?” River demanded.
“Sauces,” Ario repeated. “Oh, you simply must sample a slice—”
“No. Not the—sauces,” River interjected. “The Grotto thing.”
Excitedly, Ario nodded. “Yes, yes. The Grotto outside the city where harpies dwell. Rare, wondrous spirits capable of enhancing
one’s magical gifts if they deem one worthy in soul. Testy little creatures. Hearts in the right place, though. Pray, do they
have hearts?” he mused to himself now. “Oh, how I wish to know.”
“Take us there,” River commanded the prince. She faced the questing party, each of whom wore uncomprehending looks—Thessia included. “If my magic is amplified, perhaps I can teleport us to anyone. Even someone whose identity I don’t know,” she said.
Thessia chewed her lip. Could it truly work? Could River simply think about who wanted Galwell dead and then use her amplified
magic to bring her to them? It was worth trying, in any case.
“Delightful!” Ario concluded. “We’ll go at dawn tomorrow. I’d dearly welcome the chance to share some rhymes with you, if
you wouldn’t mind.”
“Yes,” Thessia agreed uncertainly. She looked to River, who nodded. “Yes, of course. Just take us to these—harpies.”
“Grand.” Ario grinned. “Let me just get Benjamin . . .”
Benjamin.
Thessia went still, remembering the name. His enforcer. Was this the other shoe? Had the prince set them up, sussed out their intentions, only now to sic his enforcer on them? Oh, he was good. Desperation clutched her nervous heart—
Until onto Ario’s shoulder inched a horseball-sized, deep chartreuse snail.
Everyone startled except Ario himself. Grinning radiantly, he gestured with flourish to the gastropod. The snail extended
globular eyes on supple stalks, examining the group with calm intelligence.
“My new friends,” Ario went on, “meet Benjamin.”
“Benjamin!” Celine repeated exuberantly. “Oh, hello!”
Thessia blinked.
“This,” she replied, “is Benjamin?”
“Yes.” Ario beamed. “Isn’t he darling?”