Dragon Business, The (13 page)

F
OR THE FIRST
time in her life, Princess Affonyl was free to do whatever she liked. A princess might be a princess, as her father always said, but now she was also a
person
. It seemed to be the best of both worlds.

She wanted to pursue her dreams, a career path of her own choosing—natural investigations, exploration, experiments—all the fun stuff. She was a young woman with imagination, and she had her wits about her. Affonyl knew she was destined for more than marrying some brute who considered her part of an inventory sheet.

Now, the opportunities seemed limitless. The world was her oyster, except she didn’t care for oysters. Better yet, the world was her
raspberry
. She liked raspberries.

The plan she had developed with old Mother Singra had exceeded her wildest expectations. Sir Dalbry and Sir Tremayne couldn’t have come at a better time with their stories about dragons.

The whole evening had played out perfectly. At the banquet, Duke Kerrl had given her ample reason to storm off and lock herself in her chamber, as she had known he would. The man was a chauvinistic churl, unfit for any woman with more brains than air between her ears. (Alas, she knew that many of her ladies-in-waiting would have been delighted to have the duke for a husband.)

After barring her door, she had made dragon claw marks on her wall with a chisel, hammering deep parallel lines into the stone blocks, while Mother Singra finished fashioning three impressive-looking “dragon scales” from river-turtle shells that Wizard Edgar had kept in his storage unit. It was certainly enough to provide the illusion.

As Affonyl prepared the explosion for the simulated dragon attack, Mother Singra had herded all the cats to the shelter of a sturdy wardrobe. After the princess lit the fuse, she crawled under her heavy bed and waited for the cask of alchemical powder to detonate. The explosion was remarkable, more energetic than her previous experiments had suggested. The deafening roar caused great damage to her chamber, blowing a hole right through the balcony, and creating much confusion among her cats.

After the interminable songs and tales about dragon attacks, her father and the duke would have few doubts.

Suffocating smoke filled the room, and Affonyl waved the stinging fumes from her eyes. When Mother Singra emerged from the wardrobe, the cats sought comfort and reassurance, and the princess quickly petted each one, but she didn’t have much time. She would miss them, too, but cats tended to be good at caring for themselves.

“Someone will soon be pounding on the door, dearling,” the old woman had said. “You have to hurry. I know what to say to them, but you must be away from the castle.” The old woman seemed to revel in helping the princess with her scheme. She grinned, and Affonyl realized how unusual it was for a woman her age to have such a large percentage of her teeth intact. “Time for you to start your new life. Ah, I wish I’d had the nerve to do that, many decades ago.”

Affonyl felt a pang in her heart; despite all the advantages of her new circumstances, she was going to miss the old woman who had cared for her (and for so many previous generations).

She grabbed her sack of necessary items, everything she and Mother Singra had thrown together while planning her escape. Affonyl had already changed into comfortable breeches and a loose-fitting peasant jerkin that gave her arms room to move. What a relief to be unencumbered by a corset!

Hurrying beside her, Mother Singra helped her pound a small iron eyelet between blocks in the blasted windowsill, and Affonyl threaded a rope through the hole, tested the strength of the cord, and gave the old woman a last longing look. “Goodbye, Mother Singra, I’ll miss you.” She kissed her cheek and saw a bright tear trickling down the obstacle course of her friend’s facial wrinkles.

“You were a bright spot in the castle, dearling. But off you go, now. I understand that a young girl needs her adventures.”

“Thank you for everything.”

The old woman shooed her off. “I’ll cover for you—but you’d best get going.”

Affonyl had swung herself over the crumbling edge, walked down the castle wall to the ground, and retrieved the rope. Her pack of necessary items was already cumbersome, but a girl never knew when she might need a rope; she slung it over her shoulder and hurried away as the fires died down and the shouts rose louder.

She felt sorry to be leaving her father, but what choice had he left her? “Don’t start thinking of yourself as a person.” Indeed!

Affonyl felt perfectly ready to take care of herself. She used a rag to wipe away the last smudges of makeup the ladies had dabbed on her face before the feast. To complete her disguise and to throw off the last chains of her princess life, Affonyl used a dagger to cut off her long braid, leaving her hair a shaggy mop.

She glanced behind her at the castle tower in the moonlight and the gaping hole that had once been her window. Yes, that dragon had done plenty of damage.

The small silhouette of Mother Singra waved, then ducked back inside to set the scene.

Affonyl headed down the main road, making her way to the port city of Rivermouth. She could barely contain her excitement. Prince Indico’s ship was due to dock within a few days. He would take her off to the life she really wanted.

Incognito, Princess Affonyl arrived in Rivermouth the next day. Mother Singra had packed snacks for her, along with coins and a few changes of clothing. While she trudged through the night, Affonyl concocted an entire new life story: from now on, she would claim to be a specialist in exotic herbs, potions, and spells, although she had to be careful not to be confused with a witch, for which she was not licensed.

Since Affonyl had grown up listening to constant gossip about anything and everyone at court, she was surprised that no one in Rivermouth seemed to care about who she was or what she did, so long as she had the coin to pay for whatever she purchased. It was refreshing.

Walking through the streets of Rivermouth, she enjoyed all the “normal” sights. Down at the docks, she listened to the fishmongers yelling out special sales, seaweed seamstresses hawking waterproof though odoriferous garments, and tourist boats offering full harbor tours of Rivermouth and the subdistricts of Guttermouth and Sewermouth.

Affonyl listened to the townspeople talk about how a dragon had broken into the tower, devoured the princess whole, and torn half the castle into rubble. The story grew more exaggerated each time she heard it, which was silly, since anyone could go up the main road and have a look for himself or herself to see that the castle was still mostly intact.

In her father’s kingdom, stories were often more important than facts.

She wished the intrepid dragon slayers good luck, meanwhile. Maybe they would find a monster after all. Maybe Duke Kerrl would be accidentally devoured. It didn’t matter to her—soon, she would be sailing away with her dashing merchant prince to begin a new and much happier life, doing exactly what she wanted. . .  .

She ate food that was inferior to the worst leftovers at her father’s court and enjoyed it. She stayed at an inn with pallets of straw and prickly sheets, but she slept soundly the next night, without a care. She had much to learn about being a
person
instead of a princess and decided it was worth the sacrifice. Once she met up with Prince Indico, they would sail together to his private island principality where he would build her an observatory and a well-equipped laboratory so she could conduct her alchemical experiments. He would make just the right sort of husband.

Indico had promised her the moon and any constellations she could name if she eloped with him. At first, it had seemed only a distant dream; now, it was going to become a reality. Indico would be completely surprised when she arrived to take him up on the offer.

His ship pulled into port the next morning, with its colorful silken sails and gold trim, a well-dressed crew, and a cargo of exotic supplies. Merchants hurried to the docks to be the first to bid on the merchant prince’s wares.

Affonyl decided to wait until the rush was over, although she was anxious to see her handsome explorer who would sail with her beyond the horizon, dodging sea serpents and mysterious storms to reach his magical island. There was going to be so much to see. She realized she needed to buy a notebook.

She spotted Indico on the gangplank of his ship. He wore a clean black shirt unlaced halfway down to show off his bronzed and muscular chest. A blue bandana wrapped his head, and his thin mustache was neatly trimmed and waxed; it looked so much more civilized than Duke Kerrl’s villainous mustache.

The merchant prince directed workers to offload barrels of imported wine, bolts of fabric, and salted lye-cured fish that Indico insisted was a rare delicacy in his kingdom; he sold it at a premium to Rivermouth merchants, though they had difficulty selling it to anyone who tasted it.

Unable to hide her grin, Affonyl walked toward the gangplank. When Indico glanced up, his gaze skated right over her. With her hair shorn, wearing a drab jerkin and peasant’s trousers, no wonder he didn’t recognize Princess Affonyl. He was going to be in for a shock!

She bounded up the gangplank and called out, “Indico—it’s me!” She threw herself into his arms, but a startled Indico pushed her away and held her at arm’s length.

His crew paused while hauling the heavy rope and cargo. They snickered. “Another one?”

Affonyl ignored them. “Prince Indico, it’s me.
Affonyl
.”

“Prince?” said one of the sailors and let out a guffaw.

Indico seemed to be trying to recall her name. “Affonyl?”

“
Princess
Affonyl. The daughter of King Norrimun.”

He blinked. “Ah, of course! But what happened to you? Your hair, your clothes, your makeup.” He sniffed. “Your perfume.”

“I don’t need to worry about any of that now. You and I can be together without courtly obligations or politics.” In a rush she spilled out the story of how she had faked her death by blaming it on a dragon attack. “I gave it all up, my clothes, my kingdom, my treasure, my jewels.” She hefted her sack of necessary items. “I’ve got all I need right here. My books, chemical samples, a few changes of clothes, some walking-about-the-harbor money, but that’s all. We can elope, just like you wanted. We’ll sail away to your merchant island and set up my alchemy lab, observatory, maybe even a library.”

Indico’s crew were quite amused. The merchant prince kept her at a cool distance. “But if you’re no longer a princess . . . Why, dear silly girl, I can have any penniless peasant wench I like.”

“And he often does,” muttered one sailor.

Affonyl’s dreams and plans crumbled.

Indico shook his head. “If you were heir to Norrimun’s kingdom, it would be a different story, but . . . Here, I’ll give you my card. If circumstances change again, you can look me up when I’m back in town.”

On deck, the captain’s cabin door swung open, and a beautiful raven-haired woman sashayed out, swinging her hips to swirl the scarlet skirt she wore. Her corset was cinched so tightly that her bodice practically erupted with breastly bounty. She looked as if she had graduated with full honors from the nearest Saucy Wench Academy. Her eyes flashed upon seeing the ragamuffin Affonyl. “Indico, honey, is she bothering you? Would you like me to scratch her eyes out?”

Fuming, Affonyl yanked herself out of Indico’s grasp. “That won’t be necessary. I’m obviously on the wrong ship.” She spoke out of the corner of her mouth to the raven-haired beauty. “There may come a time when you want my help to scratch this bastard’s eyes out.” She stalked back down the gangplank and away from the ship.

It was a change of plans, but Affonyl remained undaunted. She would just have to come up with a different set of dreams.

She had no regrets. If her merchant prince—who likely wasn’t even a prince—didn’t want her, then Affonyl certainly didn’t need him. She could take care of herself. She would forget princes and dukes and nunneries. From now on this princess would be a person—her
own
person.