“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-cuttingandwaiting 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…howanimaculeit 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 astart 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 youstolefrom 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 thepiratewhohas already stolen from meinto my apartment to have tea? Why haven’t I thrown him out or called the constable, since he just admitted he plans to stealmore?
“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. “Apirate, inmy presence? In the abode ofthe 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.”
