by K. M. Shea
The coast, Dylan wrote, deciding it was a safe answer.
“Where on the coast?” Prince Callan persisted.
By the ocean, was her generic answer.
“Naturally,” Prince Callan said, his tone flat.
Dylan gave the prince a quirk of a smile and ate some more oatmeal. The paintings here are magnificent.
“You think so? I find them boring. It’s mostly men and women who have been dead for ages. The portrait gallery in the palace at Glenglassera is far superior. We have pieces from master artists there,” Prince Callan said.
Dylan shook her head. Even if some of the paintings are funny, these artists were very skilled.
“Funny? What do you mean by funny?” Prince Callan asked.
Dylan pointed to the lady with the questionable pet. Is that a dog or a rat?
“It’s a cat.”
No.
“It is. That is my great aunt. She was crazy about her cats.”
So she took pity on the poor thing?
“No, that’s a certain breed of cat.”
You mean they TRIED to make something like that? Dylan wrote, horrified.
Prince Callan laughed at Dylan’s shock. He had to turn away to compose himself before answering her. “Yes. Although I do agree with you; it’s rather ugly. Do they have painters where you are from?”
No. We lack artists of any kind—except for, perhaps, cloth weavers and the like.
“If you are an indication of your culture’s dancing ability, I should think it a fair trade,” Prince Callan said.
Dylan shrugged. My sisters are better than me.
“So you mentioned before. Tell me about your sisters.”
There’s Maureen, Mairead, Maili, Muriel, and Murphy.
“All M names.”
In honor of my father, Murron.
“But your name is Dylan,” Prince Callan said.
It is a boy’s name. Ma told Da he could name any boys she gave birth to, you see. But I have no brothers.
“Poor man,” Prince Callan commiserated. “It is an unusual name—a strong name—if you will excuse me for saying so.”
He wanted a Dylan—“son of the sea”—so he gave it to me even though I’m a girl.
“I see. It suits you. It is light and playful,” Prince Callan said.
She grinned. So my family says. Ma still gives Da the eye and blames him whenever I get in trouble. Her smile dimmed as she realized how badly she missed her parents.
“Your family is alive and well?”
She hesitated before she nodded slowly. They were well—for now. If she failed…
“Then why are you Jarlath’s ward?” Prince Callan asked, neatly closing the trap on her like an expert huntsman.
Dylan set her empty oatmeal bucket aside and thought. Should she tell the prince she had been taking unwillingly? But Jarlath had her pelt. If the prince moved against him, he would shred it.
She wrote, Unfortunate circumstances.
“I see,” Prince Callan said, his voice once again pitched in that knowing tone.
Dylan stretched her arms in front of her and stared at the painting of Glenglassera. Now that she knew what she was looking at, she could see the tall, quill-like towers marking out the royal palace.
“You are a puzzle, Miss Dylan,” the prince said. His too-easy smile was back in place.
What’s a puzzle?
“It’s a…a mind teaser,” Prince Callan said.
She stared at him.
“A mystery,” Prince Callan tried.
Oh. I am not. I just don’t chatter like a sea gull. Or rather, I can’t. It would take too long to write that much, she wrote, her confusion clearing.
“Is that an observation on female society?”
No. Cagney doesn’t squawk.
“She doesn’t; Dooley does it for her,” Prince Callan agreed, getting a silent chuckle from Dylan. “You enjoy their company?”
Cagney is very kind.
“And Dooley?”
Dooley is very funny, although I am under strict instructions to keep this information from him.
Prince Callan chuckled. “Cagney told you that, did she? Still, I must admire your resilience. Most women are mortified by the way Dooley acts. And dresses.”
Why?
“It is embarrassing. He can be quite the spectacle,” Prince Callan said.
Dylan sniffed disdainfully. You landers worry too much about what others are thinking.
Prince Callan’s mirth left his face as he tapped her slate. “You landers?”
She hesitated for a split second at her careless mistake. It is an expression, she wrote.
Prince Callan nodded.
She opened her mouth in a silent yawn. If you will excuse me, I think I am finally tired enough to sleep, now that my belly is full.
“Of course,” Prince Callan said, bowing. “Good evening, Miss Dylan.”
Dylan curtsied to the prince and picked up her oatmeal bucket, intending to return it to the kitchens before going to her room.
She thumped halfway down the portrait gallery when Prince Callan called after her, “Miss Dylan?”
Dylan turned around to face the prince as his long strides brought him closer to her.
“If the idea pleases you, would you like to accompany Lord Dooley, Cagney, and myself tomorrow? We will be going down to the village—Easky.”
Dylan thought the idea over. She had no idea how much longer Jarlath would be willing to stay in the Summer Palace—away from most of his armed guards and utterly distracted. Shouldn’t she be using this time to sneak around and observe the stocky lord?
But the village! So far she had enjoyed herself the most at Easky. Maybe there would be more dancing!
Perhaps I could ask Cagney about Jarlath. She might know what kind of business he’s involved in. She seems to know information on all the lords and ladies of Ringsted.
Won over by this thought, Dylan smiled and nodded at Prince Callan.
I would love to come with you. Thank you, she wrote.
“Excellent. We were going to head out first thing after breakfast. I’ll alert the kitchens so they will send your breakfast tray to your room. Unless you were planning to consume another bucket of oatmeal for your morning meal,” Prince Callan smiled, his eyes twinkling with the same light Dylan noticed at the ball.
It’s good oatmeal! And thank you. Until tomorrow?
“Until tomorrow. Sleep well, Miss Dylan,” Prince Callan said.
Dylan curtsied to the prince before she left the portrait gallery, idly wondering what had brought him to the portrait gallery at such an hour that he would stumble upon her.
Chapter 8
Eating in Easky
When Dylan’s breakfast tray arrived, she was already awake and dressed in her red gown. The maid who delivered the tray—a tiny slip of a thing—yelped when she opened the door to find Dylan half-hanging out of her window, sniffing in the salty air.
The maid eyed her as if she were a wild animal before she set the tray down on a small end table and scurried out of the room, closing the door behind her.
Dylan shrugged and dug in to her food, leaving the window open. She was gratified to see the kitchen had given her a suitable portion instead of the sickly small plates most humans seemed to take. Every bit of it—from the poached eggs to the large bowl of oatmeal—was delicious. So it was with good humor that she barged into Jarlath’s room, passing Bump and Lump on her way in.
Jarlath snored as loud as a male seal’s warning bark. It was a miracle he hadn’t sucked up the curtains of his bed with his great, snorting inhales. Dylan peered over the sleeping lord, disappointed. He was drooling and looked quite healthy, which meant he probably had not drunken himself into a stupor the previous night.
A pity. I should like to exploit that vice of his. I was rather hoping he hadn’t learned his lesson. Testing to see how deeply Jarlath slept, Dylan opened the lid of the chest placed at the foot of his bed and slamme
d it shut.
Jarlath murmured in his sleep, turned over, and snored on.
I can’t decide if he is stupid or brave. Why would he lock his door when he’s out, but not when he’s sleeping? Dylan dug through the chest, searching for her pelt. It was filled with nothing but clothes. She poked her head under his bed-frame and found dust and mice droppings.
She checked his desk for papers, which was littered with doodles and a half-written letter to a lady, declaring his love. Based on the smeared letters and the open inkwell, Jarlath had probably started it before falling into his bed.
She was considering where to search next when Bump opened the door and stuck his bald head inside. He grunted once and stared at her.
Dylan shrugged and joined her guards in the hall, pleased she had been able to search for even a few moments.
“Ocean?” Lump asked in his deep voice.
Dylan shook her head and wrote on her slate, I’m visiting the village with friends. She led the way down the hallway, out of the beachside palace, and up to the main wing.
There Cagney, Lord Dooley, and Prince Callan were waiting for her.
“Good morning, Miss Dylan,” Prince Callan said.
“Good morning, gem of the wondrous ocean.” Lord Dooley bowed deeply. Today he wore surprisingly plain clothes, for him—he sported a black cotton shirt, black trousers, and black boots. His brown curls were tousled on his head, giving him a boyish look. “The mere sight of you is uplifting and soothing to the soul.”
“I apologize, Miss Dylan,” Cagney said. “During the night, all of my lord’s stupidity rushes to his head.”
Good morning, Dylan wrote.
“Is Jarlath that worried we’re going to do something unseemly to you, ocean flower?” Lord Dooley asked, nodding his head at Bump and Lump, who trailed after them.
No, it’s me he doesn’t trust.
“I see,” he said, exchanging looks with Prince Callan.
“May we depart?” Cagney asked. She wore a dress similar to Dylan’s today, although hers was a no-nonsense brown, and the sleeves were more fitted and practical. “I should like to get the bulk of my errands finished before lunch.”
“As you wish, pearl of beauty,” Dooley said. He extended his arm, and Cagney pushed him away.
Prince Callan held out his hand. Dylan took out a piece of chalk, hung her pouch from his wrist, and hurried after Cagney.
“Oh, I see how it is,” Dooley said, his voice loud and booming. “We men are just unwanted extras in this communion between flowers.”
“You were the one who insisted on coming with us,” Cagney called over her shoulder as she and Dylan started down the wide, stone road that veered down the steep hill and led the way towards the palace wall and—beyond it—the village.
Dooley pouted, but Prince Callan grinned, that inexplicable hope lighting up his eyes again.
“Where to first, my dove?” Dooley asked when they passed through the wall that separated the palace from Easky.
“I need to speak with a barrel-maker,” Cagney said, eyeing her list. “This way.”
Dylan, Dooley, and Prince Callan trailed behind Cagney like puppies until she stopped outside a store. While she talked to a cooper, Dylan and Dooley stared at a stand that displayed pearls.
“Do you fancy pearls, Miss Dylan?” Prince Callan asked as he joined Dylan and Dooley.
Dylan shook her head. She had been wondering why the humans were selling pearls—whenever she found one in a mollusk, she tossed it or brought it home for selkie children to play with. But now she grudgingly admitted they made pretty adornments as Dooley bought a dozen pearl-topped hair pins.
“What gems do you prefer, then?” he asked, making polite conversation as he shook his head at Dooley.
Sea glass, Dylan wrote before wandering back to Cagney.
“Sea glass?” Prince Callan asked. “The stuff you can find on beaches?”
It’s pretty.
“But it’s not pricey or rare.”
So?
Prince Callan stared at Dylan until they were interrupted by Dooley.
“I bought the earrings, too. What are the chances Cagney will wear these, do you think?” Dooley asked, holding up a pretty cloth pouch.
“Not good,” Prince Callan said.
“Barrel prices are dropping, as expected, with the loss of trade,” Cagney reported as she rejoined the group. “White Sands Trading Company should consider stocking up soon—although we might be able to get an even better price if we wait a little longer...what?” Cagney frowned when Dooley held the bag out to her.
“For you, pearl of my heart.”
Cagney gave him a withering look and moved on.
Dooley resembled a kicked seal pup as he watched Cagney walk away.
Prince Callan coughed to cover up a chuckle.
“Tread carefully, Prince. You can’t afford to throw stones,” Dooley said, tying the bag to his belt.
“It’s not what you think,” Prince Callan said.
“Uh-huh,” Dooley said. He smiled at Dylan when he noticed her wrinkled forehead. “Don’t worry your head, ocean flower. It’s nothing to be upset over.”
“Miss Dylan, I suggest you leave the fool and his friend to rot with their empty-headed notions,” Cagney called.
Dylan trotted to catch up with the huffy young lady. When she drew shoulder to shoulder, she could see the pink blush on Cagney’s cheeks and hear the assistant’s mutters. “I will never understand what he is thinking. He’s the biggest fool in all of Ringsted. Wasting hard-earned money—on pearls!”
What is wrong with pearls? Dylan asked, her handwriting shaky as they hadn’t stopped walking.
“Nothing—they’re beautiful. But—oh, never mind,” Cagney said, the pink of her cheeks glowing brighter.
As you say, Dylan wrote. Privately she thought, I don’t think I have ever seen a couple so obviously in love and so daft at expressing it.
Next, Cagney visited a rope merchant.
Dooley and Dylan spent the time sniffing the wares of a perfume merchant just down the street. Dooley waved jars of pine, redwood, lavender, and hypercium oils under Dylan’s nose.
By the time she selected a jar scented with what he called pineapple—something Dylan had never heard of before—Dylan staggered out of the store feeling sick to her stomach.
“The scents didn’t agree with you?” Prince Callan asked as he leaned against the store.
No, Dylan wrote. How can anyone stand that? The scents are so powerful you can almost SEE them.
The tilt of his head looked curious. “What do you mean?”
Dylan rubbed her tender nose. What did she mean? How could he miss it! Perhaps landers have a bad sense of smell, Dylan thought before sneezing twice.
“Come on, I know what will clear your nose,” Prince Callan said, leading Dylan away from Cagney and Dooley, who were meeting in the middle of the street.
“Are you implying I smell?” Cagney said, her voice thunderous as Dooley offered up his newest gift, drawing Dylan’s attention.
“It’s fine; Cagney was coming to the fish market next anyway,” Prince Callan said, tempting her forward.
Fish? she wrote, feeling hopeful.
Prince Callan grinned and beckoned for her to follow.
Dylan chased after the prince, a hop in her steps. A smile burst on her face when they turned a corner, and the heavenly scent of fresh fish hit her.
Lunch, she wrote, misty-eyed.
“Breakfast is barely over, Miss Dylan,” Prince Callan chuckled.
She ignored him and waltzed forward, feeling like she was in a dream. Everywhere she looked, there were fish! Smelt, lampreys, salmon, hake, whiting, anchovies, herring, and rockfish! There were even squid, clams, lobster, prawns, and more.
“I think you found Miss Dylan’s version of pearls,” Dooley teased as he and Cagney rejoined them.
Cagney smacked Dooley. “Hold your tongue,” she ordered before she turned to Dylan and
said—in a considerably kinder and softer voice, “There is a vendor selling grilled squid. Would you like some?”
She clasped her slate to her chest and raised her nose in the air, sniffing. Cagney smiled and looped her arm through Dylan’s, pulling her to the vendor. She bought a grilled squid on a stick for Dylan, patted her arm, and moved to talk with a fish merchant.
“You like squid?” Prince Callan asked.
Dylan stopped chomping on her snack long enough to nod enthusiastically.
“I also enjoy a good grilled squid. It’s a shame those of nobility don’t eat it; too snobby, I suppose,” Dooley said.
“Cagney defeated me. I thought you might like this area just because of all the food, Miss Dylan,” Prince Callan admitted.
YES, Dylan wrote, drawing a grin from the prince that touched his eyes.
“Good news, nothing has changed marketwise for fish vendors. Fish was never a resource that could be shipped overseas, though, so I did expect that,” Cagney said. “Next I need to see—”
“A cloth merchant,” Dooley said.
Cagney frowned. “No, I don’t.”
“Yes, you do,” Dooley said.
“No. I don’t,” Cagney said, narrowing her eyes at Dooley.
“Yes, you do,” Dooley said, tipping his head in Dylan’s direction as Dylan ate the last of her squid.
“Oh. I do,” Cagney said, her voice wooden.
The group followed Cagney to a cloth merchant, although Dylan stopped to draw water from a fountain to clean her hands and face. She was sitting on the lip of the fountain, waiting for Cagney to finish, when Prince Callan approached her.
“Still hungry?” he asked.
Dylan squinted up at the prince. I’m sure it would be bad manners to say yes, she thought, and managed to hold her silence.
Prince Callan chuckled. “I’ll take that as a yes. Come on, I’ll buy you a snack.”
Dylan hopped off the fountain and trailed after Prince Callan like a sea lion pup. The prince led her to a man selling grilled sweet potatoes. He bought three and gave her the smallest.
