The Official Guide to Rescuing and Maintaining Damsels in Distress Read online

  "Lahtay."

  The name shuffling had been going on for the entire evening. If the girls had stayed seated in the same places it would have been a simple task, but as it was they moved around constantly, shifting seats without a thought. They did not seem fidgety so much as purely fluid, and the two guests had long ago given up any pretence of knowing who it was they were speaking to at any given time.

  "Erm, my apologies, Lahtay, it is not so much a question of certified bravery as it is of blind stupidity."

  One of the other women, who had been perching round-eyed on a low stuffed bench, shook her head in admiration. "Oh, surely not. You must not think that. I can see, we all can see, that you are quite unique individuals."

  Eric, who had been sporadically adding to Crispin's accounts from deep inside his comfortable chair, decided to interrupt at this point. "You must excuse Crispin, Biday…"

  "Souflay."

  "My apologies. Souflay. You must excuse Crispin, she is much too modest for her own good."

  Blushing faintly the dark knight waved the comment away with one hand. "But please - it feels as though Eric and I have been talking the entire night, and as much as Eric always enjoys that, we'd like to hear your story as well."

  The three sisters turned a coy glance on each other before the one in the middle - Lahtay? - started. "We were born in the northern coastal village of Cathcairn, which is mostly a fishing hamlet."

  "That is in Marganstern County," one of the other sisters helpfully supplied.

  "Our father was a fisherman, and our mother a net mender. When we were old enough to work, we became … ship callers." She shot a brief look at her sisters, who both smiled at the guests in a manner that Crispin found mildly weird, but couldn't identify.

  "Ship callers?" Eric was so deeply sunk into his snug seat that he'd missed the silent exchange between the young women.

  "Yes." This time it was another sister who spoke. "We led ships into their moorings with signals from our positions on large rocks close to the shore."

  "Don't they have light houses to do that?" Something was bothering Crispin, but the precise fact was eluding her at the moment.

  The middle sister nodded. "Yes, there are light houses for that reason. But most small villages cannot yet afford them."

  "It is most likely that the villagers will have built one by now," the sister on the left interposed. The sister on the right nodded.

  "Though it will be sad to lose the sea to modern life."

  "Lose the sea?" Eric smiled. "That sounds as if you see it as your possession."

  "Oh, no, that's not the case." The middle sister shook her head. "It possesses us. That is… we love it with all of our hearts. We were born by the sea, grown at it, nourished through it… The sound of the waves always dwells in your head, and the smell of salt in your hair. The sea is so filled with… "

  "Clams?" Eric, ever helpful.

  The three sisters frowned faintly in harmony, honestly considering his comment. The young woman to the left nodded. "Yes. Clams. But also pleasure."

  "Ah." From the expression on his face it was clear that Eric considered clams a much better suggestion.

  "Excuse me, Lahtay…" Crispin had to change her point of focus very rapidly from the sister in the middle to the sister on the left who politely said, "Yes, Crispin?"

  "If you love the sea so much, then why did you leave the village? And why live here, in the middle of nowhere?"

  Another indefinable glance shared between the sisters before Lahtay spoke. "There was an incident between myself and some of the older fishermen. We were not welcomed there after that."

  The dark knight shifted a little in her seat, suddenly alert. "What sort of incident?

  "The personal sort." For the first time the excessively well-mannered sisters were grim and unforthcoming. "We do not speak of it."

  A quick look passed between Eric and Crispin. Clearing her throat the knight tried to soothe the suddenly brooding siblings. "I apologise. It's of course none of my business, and obviously upsetting for you to talk about. I was thoughtless."

  That seemed to do it. Immediately all three pretty faces were smiling again. A moment of benign friendliness passed before Eric straightened in his chair, exuding manly chivalry and interest. "So what is it that you do on this land?"

  "We farm." The middle sister. "… Mostly apples," Lahtay, sitting on the left. "… and a few vegetables," from the sister on the right.

  "That's nice." Crispin smiled encouragingly.

  The sister to the right patted her middle sibling's knee. "Souflay, shall we finish with our embroidery?"

  "Definitely." Souflay nodded graciously at her guests. "That is if you do not mind?"

  "Of course not." Eric was as gracious as ever.

  Lahtay floated up and disappeared to the back room, returning with three frames and a satchel full of threads. The pieces they were working on were beautiful already, three oddly identical images of intensely blue waves crashing around a large rock on which a solitary redheaded figure stood with her arms raised as a ship approached her - and a jagged coastline. Arranging the material over their knees demurely the three sisters lifted their needles at once, working in perfect accord. With a slight frown Eric studied the upside-down images, wondering what it was about them that had caught his attention in the first place. He was still examining them uncomprehendingly when Biday cleared her throat. "Would you mind if we sing as we work? It is our custom."

  Eric's eyebrows suddenly shot into his hairline. "I don't … "

  "Please do. We would be most pleased," Crispin interrupted unintentionally.

  As three voices began to sing in a melancholic and haunting harmony the prince sighed, "… think that would be wise."

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  HELENA HAD HAD just about enough of Philip's erratic behaviour. He had popped his head into the wagon once or twice to ask about her general well being, but all traces of the mannerly and eloquent young man who had attracted her attention was gone. Now, instead, he was self-absorbed and terse. Honest enough to admit that self-absorption was one of her own poorer qualities, the princess did not actually particularly admire it in anybody else.

  To think that this is what I left my adventure and my knight for.

  My knight?

  Pfft. Well, she rescued me, so she's more my knight than anybody else's.

  Harmony had abandoned her noisy facial exercises after a rather graphic threat from Helena concerning her bodily orifices and a wooden cutout of a cow. Now, instead, she was repeating the phrase "He's just a jester from Queen Quack's court" incessantly. It was still annoying, but on a comparative level it scored much higher than sudden blaring emissions.

  Knitting her fingers together over her drawn-up knees Helena sighed. Her decision had been a stupid one. This she was prepared to admit to herself - though not to anybody else unless under threat of torture. Perhaps she could ask Philip to take her back to the town. But who was to say that Crispin would still be there? She had deserted the knight without as much as a word. But that's what she wanted me to do, the sneaky part of her mind immediately reminded her. Yes, that's all fine and well, but now I've gone and gotten myself into a situation I want to get out of, and she's the only one I know who would be able to do that. That was the more rational part, even surprising itself with its sudden utilization. With another sigh Helena leaned her head back and rested it against the wooden frame behind her.

  "He's just a jester from Queen Quack's court. He's just a jester from Queen Quack's court. He's chester … bother… He's just a jester from Queen Quack's qua… He just… bugger…"

  The princess was about to make a very unladylike comment when her character was saved by the appearance of the director of the troupe. Master Gaites was a peculiar-looking little man with a black moustache that stuck out past his ruddy cheeks in two convoluted twirls. His black eyebrows arched profusely over small slanted eyes of an indeterminable colour. Festooned in his usual gaud
y top hat, which seemed to be taller than the norm and more ludicrous for the fact that he was so short, he popped his head through the sail into the wagon with a rigid toothy smile on his face.

  "My deah."

  Displaying a hand adorned with large ornamental rings he mopped his forehead with a fancy handkerchief before he tucked it back into his sleeve. "I juzt vanted to tell yu zat I am so happy to be havink yu here wiz us." His accent was unidentifiable to Helena and seemed to be mostly invented (and fluctuating, at that). "Ven ve get to Flagstavv yu must vatch de … stop bowncing, yu goddamned hurse… shauw and begin to lern Harmony's parts, yu understand? After zat ve stop for a vhile before Lucarte, zen ve begin to practize. Yu understand?"

  Sorely tempted to say no just for the sake of it, Helena nodded earnestly. The little man fished the handkerchief out of his sleeve again and mopped his forehead. "Gut. Grand. In ze meantime lern what does … ay despize yu, yu stinky beast! … lern what does Harmony, yu must vatch de practize of the elements of ze craft, yu understand?"

  Having actually lost him this time, Helena plastered her best beaming smile on her face, hoping it would do the trick. It did. With a self-satisfied nod he pulled his head back, almost dislodging his hat before he held it on his head with a few more choice remarks to his steed. "Gut. Gut. Gutbye for now, Elinor."

  Whether it was miscomprehension or his accent she did not know, but it seemed a better choice to let him go away than it did to correct him.

  "He's just a jester from Queen Quack's court. He's jester jester … bloody mary… He's just a jester from Queen Quack's court. Horse lorry donkey cart. Horse lorry donkey cart. Horse lolly lonky… buggerit… Horse lorry donkey cart."

  Helena heaved a sigh and turned to the terrifyingly concentrating young blonde. "Harmony? Can I teach you a very good song?"

  After a good few repetitions of the song "The Duchess and her powder puff", especially the particularly inventive fifth verse, the feeling of the wagon jerking to a halt was a welcome one. Popping her head through the sail Helena peeked around the wagon to where most of the men had dismounted and were now unfurling and setting up small tents. Philip was engaged in making a large fire, assisted by one of the extremely short men who were usually cast in the roles of children or otherworldly creatures. This specific one was hauling a log almost equalling his own length towards the crouching young man with the scowl furrowing his brow. Sniffing disdainfully towards him even though he was too far away, and too busy, to notice, Helena climbed from the back of the wagon as gracefully as she could, considering her massive dress, and stood waiting for the still-singing Harmony to join her.

  Apparently ranking as mere women amongst these characters had its advantages, as they were expected to do very little apart from the dishing up of stew, ladling it into wooden bowls and passing it to the men who waited in line with apathetic boredom. When everybody had been served they took their seats on low cushions around the large bonfire that had been lit, and tucked into a meal that was passable, if not exactly bordering on brilliance. During the meal one of the players, a swarthy villainous-looking man with a booming voice, told a true story so raucous and impossibly rude that the princess considered covering her ears - and she would have, had it not also been uproariously funny. She was still giggling silently when Harmony pumped her in the ribs with an elbow enthusiastically, causing her to slap herself in the face smartly with the sturdy wooden spoon. Impervious to the muffled laughter that this produced, the pretty blonde player clapped her hands enthusiastically. "Oh! Helena knows the best songs! Will you teach them the one that we sang?"

  Blushing a little at the sudden attention the princess laid her bowl to one side and stood. "All right."

  It began fairly obedient and harmonious, wandered into pure merriment and enthusiasm, and then rapidly degenerated into improvised lines and those unexpected solo performances that sounded better when you'd been drinking. After the last round of singing, during which one of the participants tried to slap Harmony on the shoulder good-naturedly and ended up sprawling face-first into a tree (his aim was off by several yards) general consensus was reached that the night had been a tremendous success, but that it would be much too dangerous to continue, and that therefore everybody just needed to go to sleep right away.

  Somewhere during the festivities Helena had woken up the sneaky rationalising part of her brain to reassure her. See, this isn't bad. It's quite pleasant, actually.

  Only because you keep thinking it's only until Crispin comes back for you.

  But Crispin's not coming. Crispin thinks I wanted to go, and now Crispin will let me go.

  "How is that supposed to reassure me?" Catching sight of Harmony's wide eyes on the other side of the extremely small snug tent Helena waved a hand apologetically. "Oh, I'm sorry. I was talking to myself."

  "That's all right." The willowy blonde sank down onto her low stuffed mattress. "I do that too at times. Hello, Harmony, are you having a pleasant day? Why, yes, thank you for asking. Like that, you see?"

  "Um." Turning her back on the player Helena raised one eyebrow. "Oooookay. Have you set eyes on Philip this evening? I don't recall seeing him at all."

  "No, I didn't either. He sleeps in the green wagon at night."

  "Oh. Thank you. I'm just going to chat to him for a moment." Ignoring the meaningful little grin she stepped out and tiptoed quietly over to the green wagon that stood at the outskirts of the low-pitched tents. In lieu of a door to knock on for civility's sake she took hold of the heavy material and gave it a good shake. Immediately Philip's tousled head appeared.

  "Yes? Oh, hullo, Helena." He seemed dazed, as though he had already been asleep.

  "Oh, I am sorry if I've woken you, Philip. I just wanted to ask you something."

  "Yes?"

  "If I wanted to go back to town, and to Crispin, would you take me back tomorrow?"

  The scowl that shot across his forehead was instant and ominous. "What? Don't be stupid, girl." Feeling the air around him cool considerably he tried to fix his very wrong response. "I apologise, Helena; what I meant to say was that we have an important show in Flagstaff and I can't bow out now - that would be extremely insensitive to Master Gaites." He scratched his scruffy head thoughtfully, though it seemed to the princess to be a rather calculated gesture. "When we have finished that show, and if you still feel inclined to return to … Crispin," his voice gained a noticeable edge, "then I will escort you myself. I do only have your best interests at heart, you realise?"

  "But of course." Smiling sweetly Helena nodded. "That's only fair. Thank you, Philip, and sleep well."

  "And you, Helena." He pulled his head back into the wagon and the princess could have sworn that she heard the sound of a woman's soft laughter. Shaking her blonde head she walked back to her tent. If he had been paying attention at all he would have known that a complacent Helena was a dangerous one, she mused. Her sickly-sweet smile and mental curtseying would definitely not have fooled Crispin.

  When she returned to her tent Harmony was already snoring lightly, her slightly upturned nose hoisting her curving top lip into the air with each inhalation. With a soft chuckle to herself Helena slid into the low pallet and pulled the blanket over her body.

  "Hey."

  "Snghhhh."

  "Hey."

  "Sngghhhh-gh."

  "HEY."

  "Snggh-hha? Whassa?" Finally more or less awake, Harmony pried her eyes open to the lovely sight of an appallingly handsome blonde man sticking his head around the entrance of her tent. From the light of the lantern that was, oddly, still burning, she could clearly see the strained frown that sat prominently above his perfectly arched eyebrows.

  "Hello?"

  Scrambling up quickly Harmony drew her body into a small bundle and pulled the blanket up to her chin. "Please. Please, I beg of you, I'll do whatever you want, but don't hurt me!"

  He took a very short moment to process this before he shook his head impatiently. "I'm not going to do anything
to you, woman!"

  "Nothing at all?" It came out sounding disappointingly… well, disappointing.

  "Nothing at all." He withdrew his head for a moment to glance left and right before he poked it back into the tent. "Look, I apologise for my unwelcome entrance," noting a risqué rising comment that he would have been bound to make himself he forged on, "but I'm looking for a friend of mine. Yea high, blonde, green eyes…"

  "You're looking for Helena?" There was definite bewilderment in Harmony's tone.

  The blonde man shook his head enthusiastically, causing a blonde lock to fall artfully over one eye. "Yes, yes, Helena. Have you seen her?"

  "Why, she's right…" but as the blonde player pointed towards the mattress she suddenly realised that it was empty, "there. Oh."

  "Drat." The blonde man eyed the mattress tetchily. "Are those her bags?"

  "Yes." Harmony nodded. "Although… it looks like she's taken one of them with her."

  "A HA." Striding in he seized the bags unceremoniously and tramped right out again. Harmony was just about to lower the demurely clasped blanket when his head appeared again. "Oh, and by the way, thank you very much. Enjoy your night." And then, finally, he was gone.

  "Some girls have all the good fortune," she muttered as she slid down into bed and pulled the blanket over her shoulders again.

  "Pssst."

  "Sngh."

  "PsssssssssT."

  "Sngh?"

  "Harmony." Some whispers were so loud that you couldn't possibly ignore them. It felt as though Harmony had just fallen asleep again, and with a confused grimace she wrenched open her eyes. It was still dark, with the lantern she had forgotten to snuff (again) throwing impressive shadows against the sides of the tent. Amongst those shadows Philip's handsome face, thrust into the tent, seemed dramatically appropriate. Impatiently he rustled the material clutched in his white-knuckled fingers. "Harmony."

  "Yes, Philip?" There was a slightly irritated edge to her voice but he didn't notice, choosing to glare at her brodingly instead.