The first course was brought out, mini-fruit sculptures cemented with cream, but the server walked right past me. Another followed and spooned smooshed yellow vegetables onto my plate that smelled faintly of garbage.
“Simmy,” Nabila whispered across the table. “Don’t eat too much of that.”
I shoved a forkful of the foul veggies into my mouth and swallowed. It was the only way I could stop myself from screaming.
About fifteen minutes later, the sheikh gave a nod and the servants removed the food. As gross as the vegetable stuff was, it was all I’d eaten that day. I eyed the towering fruit centerpiece. If only.
The trend continued for the next seven courses. The more tantalizing everyone else’s food, the more inedible my course was. Dates. Grainy bread. Bitter broth. I was about to point at something and grab an apple pastry, when the sheikh stood and everyone stopped talking.
“I would like to thank you all for joining us this evening, particularly since our family has not congregated for a public event in some time. But our central reason for being here is to raise funds for the Daughters of Hope charity. Before we begin the auction, however, I’d like to make a toast to the guest of honor this evening, Queen Raelena.”
Sheikh Zafir listed some of the queen’s amazing credentials—her charities, her programs, and her trips around the world to promote peace and speak out against injustice toward women. “And, of course, the international media continues to include her on the top of all the beautiful-royals lists, which I myself am still hoping to make.” The crowd laughed. “I would offer more, but I fear we shall reach morning before her accomplishments are adequately expressed. Please join me in raising a glass to Queen Raelena.”
We raised our glasses and drank. Mine was a pungent punch. Hello! Isn’t water fat free?
I heard a little beep coming from my clutch. Ah, the rouge’s timer! Simmy was on her way back. Which meant I could beg Meredith for some food in about half an hour. I was almost done. No big mistakes made!
The queen stood and bowed to Sheikh Zafir. “Thank you, Your Majesty. And thank you for the opportunity to visit your home and meet your family. I’ve been greatly moved by your hospitality.”
Nabila beamed as if the compliment were directed at her.
“Earlier, I had the particular pleasure of getting to know Princess Simmy, who I find possesses the empathy we leaders need to develop if we really want to help women in need.”
Nabila’s mouth dropped open. I shrugged innocently.
“I have a feeling this unique young royal has a bright future ahead of her. And so, I’d like to start this auction off today with a bid for Princess Simmy. Five hundred thousand dirhams from my own foundation to the Daughters of Hope charity, if she will perform for us on her French horn.”
The crowd burst into applause. The sheikh glanced at the sheikha, who gave a confused shrug. They turned their gaze on me. “I’m sure my daughter would be honored to play for us all,” the sheikha said. “Nabila, go fetch your sister’s instrument. Everyone enjoy some pudding as we wait.”
The servers rushed in with trays of sorbet. Queen Raelena gave me a thumbs-up sign. I would have given her one back, but I was temporarily paralyzed.
An entire room of royals and rich people and rich royals were waiting for me to perform on an instrument I wasn’t sure I’d even seen before. Mom said bragging leads to trouble, and man, was she right. One blow on that horn and this would undoubtedly go down in Façade history as the most-witnessed Sub Spotting of all time. Maybe they’d even cut off my head and add it to their agency trophies.
“Father,” I said through a frozen smile.
He wiped some pudding off his mustache. “Is there a problem, Simahya?”
One little one. I’m not really Simahya, and I don’t know how to play the French horn. “I’m sick. I can’t perform.”
“What do you have?”
I watched Queen Raelena greet someone with a bow. Her brooch glinted in the light. “Elephantitis. Yeah. Really, really mild case. Just affecting the fingers. Comes and goes. Caused by stress.”
Sheikh Zafir laughed. “Funny. I can see why Queen Raelena was so charmed.”
“Right. Totally joking about the elephantitis.” Went a little big with that lie. How about…“What I meant to say is…I feel…faint. All this dieting has drained my energy.”
The sheikha leaned across the table. “Dieting? What dieting?”
Mrs. Farahani cut me off before I could answer. “Nabila was worried about Simmy’s health, Your Majesty, so we suggested she cut back a little on her food intake.”
Cut back a little? When your MAIN course is a date, that’s more than a little.
“That’s very thoughtful.” Sheikh Zafir scratched his chin. “Did a nutritionist set up this diet, then?”
“No,” I said, feeling very calm and strong. Was this the sixth sense Meredith was talking about? “It’s a total crash diet and I hate it. I’ve already started an exercise plan, and I want to choose my own diet, not just for one event, but to feel better. Period. Right now I’m starving and tired and don’t know how I’ll be able to play my horn.”
The sheikh and sheikha exchanged glances, obviously unaware of my inedible dinner, just as they were probably unaware of most everything Simmy did. A server materialized out of nowhere with all the missed dinner courses.
“I hope this restores your energy,” the sheikha said. “We’ll talk to Nabila later. Now eat up. We look forward to your performance.”
I started with the apple pastry and went into a three-minute fork frenzy. But by the time I’d eaten enough to tame my hunger-induced delirium, and remembered the whole reason I was faking the faint thing to begin with, Nabila was back. I swallowed the last bite. I was fresh out of ideas and still had a good ten minutes until Simmy returned.
“Here, Simmy.” Nabila held out my horn with a limp wrist. What a bizarre instrument. Why’d it have to be so big? How did you blow in it? What were all those swirly things? Why couldn’t Simmy have played the maracas?
My options were zilch. I reached out for it. “Thanks.”
I’m sure what happened next wasn’t an accident. French horns are heavy; they can’t be casually tossed. But that’s what Nabila did. I lunged to catch it, but it banged on the floor. The guests gasped.
I hoisted it up. The mouthpiece had been twisted into a sharp ninety degree angle. Evil Nabila. There was no way I could play this now that she’d…
Wait.
Bless you, petty, awful Nabila. I shall erect a shrine in your likeness at Façade. Nabila: the Demon Princess who tried to smash a dream and instead saved the day.
“The mouthpiece is bent. I can’t play.” To prove my point, I blew a note. Well, what was intended to be a note. The guests grabbed their ears. None of them seemed to notice the bubble that also blew out of the horn. It blossomed to full size right in the middle of our table. Meredith popped her head through the side and mouthed the words “Simmy’s room. Five minutes,” before disappearing again.
Saved by the bubble.
Queen Raelena rushed over. Nabila covered her mouth in mock dismay and said, “Oh, I am so sorry! This is horrible. I mean, I could sing instead, if that would help. I have had classical—”
“I’m sure Your Highness is a fine performer, but the bid was made for Princess Simmy.” Queen Raelena clasped her hands over her mouth as if she were praying, before lowering them to reveal a bemused smile. “Actually, perhaps we could hold an event in my country, and Princess Simmy may perform then?”
“Oh, we can come together! Simmy is so shy—”
“Actually, maybe I should go alone.” I flashed Nabila my greatest that’s-what-you-get-for-being-so-awful-and-haha-Simmy-gets-to-eat-whatever-she-wants-now smile. “You don’t see many opera singers touring with French horn players.”
Sheikh Zafir beamed down at me. “I’ll have Mrs. Farahani arrange a solo concert, then. Well done, Simmy.” He looked back at the crowd. “And now
that we’ve settled the matter, let us begin the auction.”
He turned his attention to the front of the room, where a small stage was set up. An auctioneer began the bidding for a well-known painting, and the incident was forgotten.
“I think my big sister would be good friends with yours,” Queen Raelena whispered to me. “Oh, I’ll have to show you my elephant collection! And I know just the place to find a duck brooch. Although, I see you more as a swan.”
If it hadn’t been against every social rule in every world culture, I would have jumped on her back and hugged her for infinity. “Thank you. I look forward to it greatly.”
She bowed and I dipped my head. Once she was gone, I stuck Simmy’s French horn under my arm. “I’d better go put this back in my room,” I said to a shocked Nabila. “Don’t want another”—I made quotation marks with my fingers—“‘accident’ to happen to it.”
I skipped my way through all twenty-eight hallways. The bubble pulsated on Simmy’s bed, most probably from Meredith’s impatience. I tore off a sheet of paper from Simmy’s duck stationery and wrote a quick sub report.
Dear Princess Simmy,
Stick with Queen Raelena. She’s totally genuine (unlike your sister—you weren’t kidding there) and dedicated to helping out ALL women. Plus, she’s QUEEN RAELENA! Sorry if you get nervous about performing, but it was a tricky situation, and now people will hear your awesome playing loud and clear. So just be yourself, duck-loving and all. And if Nabila acts really mean around you—well, meaner—it’s because I/you/we showed her up. You outshine her, Simmy. Stand tall. It was an honor to know you, er, be you.
Hugs, Desi
P.S. Sorry about your horn, but trust me, it was for the best.
Chapter
11
“What a rush.” I plopped down on the couch and waited for the rouge to change me back. “And I totally nailed it.”
“Nailed it?” Meredith sounded angry.
I rolled over to face her.
“Stuck a nail in your coffin, maybe. Desi. Offering to do concerts? Mouthing off to her sister? The poor introverted mouse is going to swoon when she gets home.”
“She’s more duck than mouse.”
Meredith didn’t smile.
“Meredith, I did great! Here.” I clicked through the manual and leaned on her desk to show her. “Look at Simmy’s ‘About Me’ thing. She wanted to give Nabila a piece of her mind. Check. She likes to play the French horn. Check. And I even found her a kindred spirit. I rocked it!”
Meredith sighed and folded her arms. “Believe me, I know how tempting it is to go in and fix things for these girls, but usually it creates more of a mess.”
“How?” I challenged.
Instead of answering, Meredith started typing. “Please get off my desk. It’s African teak, you know.”
I slid down and hopped over to her window. I’d never looked out before. Craziness. It was like being in a plane, except the clouds were zipping by at warp speed.
“You know what I still don’t get?” I asked.
“Everything?”
“How you can get from Paris to the Arabian Peninsula in thirty minutes.”
“You mix magic with science and”—she snapped—“possibility.” She made a final mouse click and turned to face me. “I have news.”
“Ow!” I dropped the manual on the couch. “It zapped me!”
“Just a friendly you’ve-got-mail alert,” she said. “Because lucky for you, an assignment just came in, and there’s no one else to fill it.”
“Don’t you need my Princess Progress Report first?” I asked. “I thought we’d review it and I could take a little break.”
“Well, you might say things are a little backed up in Hank’s department right now, poor guy. Those computers have taken on a life of their own. The PPR will wait, and this is your break. So sit. Read.”
Hand still buzzing, I clicked open my newest message. There wasn’t a headshot of the princess, just a picture of a leering tribal mask. I suspected this girl had never had a picture taken in her life.
PRINCESS AMA YAKINOMI
Age: 14
Hometown: Ticuna tribe/ Western Amazon
Favorite Color: Moss green
Favorite Food: Fried sloth arms. Three-toed are best.
Favorite Book: Book?
Family Background: My father is Chief Yakinomi. I have three brothers, but they live in the tent of the males. I have a caretaker—Kopenawa.
Cultural Traditions: I have remained in this jungle since birth. We have followed the fatherly traditions for a very long time.
Anything Else We Should Know: I became a woman a few months before, and thence began my isolation period to study our traditions. Except, I snuck out, which you must not tell unless you want me to come for you with a blow dart.
Before I left for the isolation I had great fight with my father because I fear this change and because I have to marry soon and I desire that I had a selection, but I do not. At the ceremony a husband will select me. So when I sneak away, I was on walk and utter wondering, what if I could leave for some time before I make all these big selections? Then I saw an auspicious bird—and confessed to the bird the desires of my heart. It was a good thing, because an orb appeared and disgorged a woman who told me I can enjoy a holiday because I have magic inside me. (This I knew already. The chief’s daughter encloses the village’s magic.) Thus I will have a turn of the world outside my own. Hope I packed in the best way. And good fortune to you during your employment.
Okay, that was an awful translation—maybe the very first English translation of the tribe’s language—but I got the basics. Ama was a Level One princess who probably wouldn’t even know about the agency if she didn’t have some MP herself. She wanted to get out of the jungle for a while and needed help with this ceremony, whatever it was. Not something Lilith would be impressed with, but so what? How often do you get to visit the Amazon? The most exotic place I’d been before subbing was the Hogle Zoo in Salt Lake. They didn’t even have a three-toed sloth there.
My rouge compact beeped, and the twenty-minute countdown began. While I waited, I searched the manual for “Ticuna tribe,” and nothing came up. I broadened my search to “Amazon” and found a couple of uh-oh tidbits: some tribes had been observed to communicate telepathically. Fantastic. The rouge couldn’t help me there. And worse, many tribes had never been observed AT ALL. So no one knew what kind of reactions they might have to, say, a fake princess.
To calm my nerves I put a search in on Prince Barrett and flipped through some of his latest pictures. I wondered if I could cut out Floressa Chase and Photoshop myself in her place. Wait, forget Photoshop. Try princess swap. I was so fixated on the idea that I didn’t notice we’d landed until Meredith clucked her tongue.
“Is this assignment totally normal?” I asked, focusing my attention back to the task at hand and shutting off the manual. “I mean, the agency doesn’t seem to have much info on this one. Have you met Ama?”
“No, that was Genevieve. Found her so charming, she took this assignment pro bono and delegated it to me. She’s experimental like that,” Meredith said distractedly, then grumbled something about cloning herself. “Oh drat! Look, I have to go. I can’t help you with everything. That info is plenty—one little ceremony and then I’ll be back to get you later today, tomorrow tops. After that you can take some time to rest. Now scoot.”
I stepped through the bubble onto the mossy jungle floor. A thin stream of sunlight seeped through the trees, but the forest was so dense it was hard to guess the time. The loud mix of birdcalls and insect hums was overwhelming, but the humidity was worse—I couldn’t tell where my sweat ended and the jungle mist began.
I waited under the cover of the jungle while I transformed. In the sweltering heat I hardly felt more than a twinge as I shrunk a good eight inches and my skin color darkened. I went to shove my hands into my pockets, but felt only skin. I was wearing nothing but a yellow beaded neck
lace, some paint, and, I guessed, a look of pure mortification.
Which meant I didn’t have a pocket or purse to hide the rouge and manual in. If I got caught with these, there’d be some questions to answer. I shot a few mean voodoo thoughts in Meredith’s direction, then hid my things under a red-flowered bush, and stepped back. Hm. There were tons of bushes with red flowers. I grabbed some stones and made a big arrow on the jungle floor, pointing to my treasures, and backed slowly into a clearing.
About a hundred feet ahead of me lay a vast circle of tree-leaf huts: Ama’s village. Drums pounded in the distance, accompanied by the occasional whoop or shout. Gradually the words began to make sense. Ceremony, fire, and spirit.
“Ama!” An old woman emerged from one of the huts and wagged her finger at me, making me grateful I’d already stashed my stuff. Her graying hair was cut long with blunt bangs across her forehead. The red in her simple wrap-style skirt matched the paint on her face and stomach. She wasn’t wearing a shirt. And by the looks of things, she’d never worn a bra either. “The sun is almost directly overhead. We must prepare you before the ceremony begins. Thoughtless girl.” She shuffled into a conical, thatched-roof hut, and I followed her inside. A few rope hammocks hung from load-bearing logs, and the dirt floor was hard and smooth.
“Sorry I wasn’t here,” I said, eyeing a pile of furry fabric spread across a dark wood table. “Are those my clothes, um…” Ama had mentioned a name. What was it? “Ma’am?”
“Ma’am? Why are you being so formal? I don’t understand.”
“Oh, instead of your name, I thought I’d call you that. Uh, for respect.”
She laughed. “I think your isolation may have jumbled your brain. You’ve called me Kopenawa your entire life. Now lie down and I’ll get the scissors.”
Princess for Hire Page 8
