Jim Baen's Universe-Vol 2 Num 1

by Eric Flint

  The princess' carriage pulled up and the footmen hurried to help the princess out. Alighting from the carriage was a vision of beauty, wealth, and quality. Her golden hair shone like the sun. Her pale skin, thin build, priceless garments, and fine, elegant features proclaimed her a princess to all who looked. The crowd stood hushed in silent awe. She appeared to float instead of walk over the rough, unpaved road. Winthorp held his hands out, surprised at his uncommon good luck in this turn of events.

  A commotion at the edge of the crowd nearest the steps to the palace drew her attention. A young girl—obviously a naked, filthy beggar—kicked, bit, and fought her way out of the crowd and into the space left in the road. The girl hissed and growled at the fists and boots swung in her direction, showing no sign of fear or meekness.

  "Poor thing." Approaching the beggar-girl, Princess Violetta removed her lace-trimmed silk shawl and wrapped it around the child to cover her nakedness. Her long tapered fingers pushed back the tangle of black hair from the child's face. "Poor thing. Come with me." She took the child's hand and led the child to the palace steps.

  Too good to be true, Winthorp thought. Beautiful, and graceful, and kind, and she would be his wife? Something was wrong here. And he wasn't all that thrilled with the idea of his bride-to-be taking in stray beggars. It seemed an encouragement to vice. Still he smiled and embraced Princess Violetta as he'd planned, then gave the speech he'd rehearsed. Afterward he, the princess, the beggar-girl, his advisors, and all the courtiers retired back into the palace to their now cold lunch.

  * * *

  Theora looked with disgust around her. The room was larger than her cavern room, but the walls were all smooth and set perpendicular to each other, creating wasted space in the corners. And they were all made of wood. Even the furniture was made of wood covered in various textiles. Humans were just plain foolish. One wrong exhalation and the place would be nothing but blackened embers. And how could you rub loose scales off on wood?

  The pale woman flitted about, moving various fabrics from one piece of wood to another, shoving trunks about and generally acting like a brooding wren. They were alone in this room. Theora had tried leaving to find Prince Winthorp again, but the woman had stopped her.

  "Oh, no you don't," the pale woman said, pulling Theora away from the door. "You're here to help me, and don't you forget it. You can be wealthy beyond your wildest dreams, or it's the streets again, m'girl." The pale woman pulled Theora to a chair and pushed her into it. "We'll go searching for the secret passages and all the rest when I'm finished." The pale woman then went back to moving things around.

  It was probably just as well. Prince Winthorp hadn't paid the least attention to Theora all through the meal, even though she'd sat between him and that silly, pale woman. He hadn't told a single story, though he and several others had spoken at length. Theora had been unable to detect a single plot or even any interesting characters in the narratives, though the gist of the speeches had been something to do with Winthorp marrying the pale woman. So, from what Theora knew of humans, that meant the pale woman had to be a princess. Theora was disappointed. She'd always expected princesses to look a good deal tastier and much better fleshed. Good thing she was filled from the small meal and wasn't really interested in eating.

  Still, she was here and, with as often as Winthorp kissed the pale woman, it shouldn't be too difficult to get him to give her a kiss too. Perhaps after dinner's stories. Theora could wait.

  "Now, little brat," the pale woman said turning her attention on Theora. "Let's find you something suitable to wear, then we can go exploring. Sound good?"

  Theora tried to tell the woman that she'd never been on any adventures, but she'd heard about many. However, this body didn't seem to have any gullet and Theora couldn't seem to make noises correctly. She said, "Ahh grrwl. Ahh hrrh."

  The pale woman threw something itchy and confining over Theora. "There you are." She pulled Theora's arms through some holes and cinched in the waist. "Isn't that more comfortable?"

  It was miserable and nearly unbearable, but Theora couldn't say so. None of the stories ever said how weak and frivolous human bodies were.

  "Come with me. We'll spy out the palace." The woman placed a jeweled tiara in her hair at the top of her head. "You can show me all you know about it."

  Theora shook her head in disbelief. The pale woman possessed enough jewelry and metal knickknacks to start a small hoard. Almost enough to sleep on, and she wasted it on her head.

  Squatting down, the pale woman put her face in Theora's. "Now, now. I think you and I can deal with each other well in this situation. You help me discover the secret places, like the underground passages, and unguarded doors, and other useful information about the palace—the secret things a beggar would need to know—and I'll reward you well when this is all over." She smiled thinly. "Let's go get lost."

  As they left the room, Theora looked about her, hoping to find Winthorp and get him to tell some more stories.

  The pale woman pushed Theora gently. "Okay, you lead me somewhere interesting. Quickly, before we run into someone."

  * * *

  Rueberry gratefully settled into the crook of a tree. He'd never before considered trees as comfortable places of slumber, but here he was falling asleep as easily as if in his own bed. His face snuggled against twigs and leaves, making a cushiony pillow. Funny, bark had always seemed so rough before. Just goes to show, he thought, you should never judge a book by its cover. Or a tree by its bark. There seemed to be something more to that thought, but it escaped him as he drifted off to sleep.

  From the other side of the large tree trunk Zenpfennig woke him by saying, "We leave at first light tomorrow. Hopefully we'll make it by noon."

  Rueberry woke again later with the sound of marching beneath him. He turned on the branch, certain it was a dream.

  You really would sleep through an army marching past, Zenpfennig thought at him. Wake up!

  Startled, Rueberry nearly fell out of the tree. "Huh?" He looked below him. An army was indeed marching beneath them. He gripped the branches tightly.

  Silence! Be very, very still, Zenpfennig ordered. Use a telepathy spell, search their minds, see if you can find out what's going on.

  Rueberry glanced at Zenpfennig, but couldn't see around the tree trunk. He concentrated on the complex telepathy spell, then began searching the minds beneath him.

  Most knew nothing. Other than they were marching to war against Dzungary, they were from Fragaria, they were tired and thought their commander a . . . Rueberry just barely stopped himself from magicking soap into their mouths. Habits drilled into him by his mother were hard to break.

  Finally they both latched onto a mind that knew something. He rode a horse toward the rear of the army, Prince Erskine of Fragaria. From his mind they gleaned that the army intended to attack Gilden in three days, during the wedding, slay Prince Winthorp, and take Dzungary. As a bit of caution, against finding themselves in a hostage situation, the woman sent as a bride to Prince Winthorp wasn't Princess Violetta, but a common whore and cutpurse. Though from the image in Erskine's mind Rueberry judged that she wasn't all that common.

  After they'd learned what they could from Erskine, Zenpfennig thought to Rueberry, After they pass, we leave. We'll have to take a roundabout route. And still get to Gilden before the dragon changes. Winthorp has more problems than he can handle without our help.

  The last image Rueberry received from Zenpfennig was Winthorp heaping treasures on them as he begged them to become his palace wizards.

  * * *

  Winthorp frowned as he left breakfast. Violetta had again seated the beggar girl between them at breakfast. He felt the signed and much negotiated treaty made clear that his intentions were honorable, but Violetta continued through her actions to insist on this very strange chaperone. At least the child had been washed and properly dressed. Winthorp assumed Violetta merely felt confused and unsure in enemy territory, and perhaps needed someone
near who was even more vulnerable.

  Violetta smiled at him with a vapid, adoring look as she bowed on his leaving. Her hand descending the front of her dress, accenting the low neckline. She reminded Winthorp of courtesans who had courted him.

  John Kennard, Duke of Sedum and Winthorp's maternal uncle, followed Winthorp out into the back hallway. They walked briskly past the blank walls. "Your Majesty leads a charmed life. Your wife-to-be is one of the most beautiful women in the kingdom."

  "We believe something is wrong, Uncle," Winthorp muttered. "Find it."

  "You didn't use to be so pessimistic," Kennard began. He sighed at the look on Winthorp's face. "Yes, Your Majesty."

  Kennard peeled off down a side hallway as Winthorp continued to his outer courtyard. Winthorp considered his uncle's words. A charmed—and charming—life, yes, his had been that, but now . . . Violetta was beautiful, expensive and charitable, everything a perfect queen should be. So why didn't he like her?

  Truth be told, he loathed her. He trusted her less than she trusted him. She was more than beautiful enough to keep his interest, but . . .

  * * *

  The pale woman pushed Theora past another staircase. Theora watched the woman running her hands along the walls and surreptitiously kicking the stairs as they went. Theora too admired the stonework in this portion of the palace. Much more sensible than the wooden rooms. They were alone, having narrowly escaped a gaggle of cackling women in the wooden section. Quite a few of those plump, florid women had looked more princessly than this pale, bony wench.

  "Where is it?" the pale woman whispered. "Where are you taking me?"

  At a turn past the stairs the pale woman breathed, "Aha," and opened a door hidden in the stone work. They walked through the dark, dusty, be-webbed passage by feel. Theora felt the loss of her heat vision keenly. One good roar and she could have seen everything in this dark.

  The more she'd thought on it the less she liked the idea of remaining a human. Their bodies were weak. Their homes uncomfortable. And they spent much less time on stories than she'd believed. She hadn't heard one in the two days she'd been one. Oh sure, humans talked, and talked, and talked, until she was tired of their voices, but no stories. Maybe they needed campfires. She'd stopped trying to get kisses from Winthorp while she thought this over.

  The pale woman opened a door and a shaft of light burned Theora's human eyes. She blinked as she entered the large room. Shelves ran from floor to ceiling on all four walls, broken only by windows and a door. Theora shut the shelves that hid the doorway behind them.

  "A library," the pale woman said disgustedly. She pulled a book from a shelf and opened it. "Once upon a time." She snapped the book shut, growling her frustration. "You took me to a library?"

  Theora took the book from the pale woman. Did these contain the stories while the humans weren't telling them? Theora searched the shelves. Thousands and thousands. It would explain much. Theora opened the book as she'd seen the pale woman do, but no story came out. Instead the door opened.

  Winthorp halted just inside the doorway eyes wide, three other men behind him. That was the way Theora was accustomed to having humans look at her. Surprised.

  The pale woman curtseyed. "Your Majesty."

  Holding the book open, Theora ran to Winthorp. He would know how to get the story out. She held it out to him and tried to speak. "Ah."

  He took the book from her hands, glanced at it and closed it. He raised an eyebrow at the pale woman.

  The woman looked mildly scalded, and she flustered about. "I thought perhaps I could improve her mind here. Though I hoped to steer her to something more suitable." Her eyes searched the floor.

  Winthorp passed the book back to one of the men behind him, then he took Theora's hand. "This way." He led Theora while he motioned to the woman. He crouched down and pulled a book off the low shelves under a window seat. "Perhaps this one," he said as he handed the book to Theora.

  Theora pushed it back at him, and pulled on his sleeve to indicate he should sit on the window seat. He and the pale woman sat on the window seat while Theora sat on the floor. Theora stared at Winthorp with rapt fascination. He opened the book. "Once upon a time . . ."

  He released three stories from the book before the pale woman said, "We mustn't take up all your time." She motioned to the three men standing around.

  Winthorp smiled down at Theora. "Perhaps we can read more later."

  Read, thought Theora, that's the name of the spell they use to release the stories. She felt charged with magic and as strong as a dragon in her human form.

  Unfortunately the pale woman disproved this by grabbing Theora's arm and lifting her to her feet. The pale woman curtseyed to Winthorp again. "Thank you, Your Majesty. We'll let you get back to your work."

  She dragged the struggling Theora out. The last thing Theora saw was one of the men handing the first book back to Winthorp as he said, " A Philosophy of Concupiscence?"

  The pale woman held tight, her fingernails digging deeply into Theora's arm as she hissed in Theora's ear, "Stupid, little, brat thief. Don't you know any secret passages? Or anything useful? By the time I was your age I'd learned all the secrets of Fragaria's palace and helped myself to a few of its goodies. Don't try to tell me you haven't."

  Theora growled and spat at her. The pale woman shook Theora hard. "You'd better help me, you wretched brat. Or I'll see to it you discover there are worse things than begging on the streets."

  "Grarararar," Theora tried. Disappointingly, the pale woman was not a charred cinder. She wasn't even singed.

  "Fine, we'll go down every stairway we find until we reach the bottom." The pale woman glared as she towed Theora down the hall. "Then if you don't show me a secret entrance into this castle, I swear you'll live to regret it. Fragaria will be here in a few days, they need a way in, and I don't intend to disappoint them."

  It took several minutes of struggling, but Theora finally broke away and ran back to the library. Disappointment at finding it empty of humans warred with the charged excitement of being surrounded by so many stories. She approached the window seat and removed the book Winthorp had released stories from.

  A careful examination showed it to be a combination of several kinds of hard cloth and leathers. Each separate page held what appeared to be dark blotches and colorful pictures. She looked at the pictures and concentrated hard, chanting, "Read. Read," in her thoughts. But she couldn't find the key to releasing the stories.

  Perhaps it is a spoken spell, she thought. She looked at the pages determined to continue trying until she'd discovered the secret. She took a deep breath and tried to speak. "Ah."

  * * *

  Rueberry wasn't at all placated by Zenpfennig's assurance that the horse was a gentle mare. The mare part Rueberry could ascertain on his own, even in the dark. He knew that much about horses, more than Zenpfennig. But when stealing horses in the dark of the night in order to outrun a hostile army and thwart a dragon's romantic designs on a king, one just had to take whatever was available, gentleness couldn't be guaranteed. He looked at the malevolent passion in the horse's brown eyes and patted the soft nose. "Nice horsey."

  "Come on," Zenpfennig growled. "Get on the horse, before someone hears us." He cupped his hands to help launch Rueberry onto the horse's back.

  Rueberry managed to hold onto the reins and land in the general vicinity of the horse's back.

  Taking the second saddle, left handily in the window of the barn, Zenpfennig stalked into another stall. "Go on. I'll be right behind you, after I put this saddle on her sister."

  The horse docilely left the barn and headed down the road in the direction Rueberry wanted. Once they were well away from the barn and house, Rueberry urged her to a fast trot. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all.

  Behind him, horse and human noises mingled in the night. He turned to see Zenpfennig clutch the saddle as the other horse reared up. In the moonlight Rueberry could see that the horses definitely weren't
sisters. In moments Zenpfennig galloped past shouting, "Nice horsey! Hurry, you idiot!"

  Spurning his swaybacked nag to a gallop, Rueberry wondered if any of Zenpfennig's shout had been intended for him. He also wondered if perhaps King Winthorp, on the edge of unstoppable disaster, might prefer to kill the messenger.

  * * *

  One day left until the wedding and Winthorp found himself gritting his teeth and forcefully reminding himself that he was doing this for the good of Dzungary. He had to marry her, for the good of Dzungary. No matter what. No matter how much he loathed and hated her.

  Every one of his advisors couldn't understand it. He couldn't understand it. She was beautiful, kind, and beautiful. And quiet. And beautiful. He didn't believe it. Not for one heartbeat did he believe this wedding and treaty could go off so smoothly, with a beautiful bride, charming prince, and happily ever after ending. Something had to be wrong. Winthorp just couldn't put his finger on it.