“A prince of a prince.”
“And you’re a princess, don’t forget. A princess of the Realms Perilous.”
Sheila sat up and pulled her husband close. She kissed him. “Thanks for making my life a fairy tale.”
“My pleasure. You know, when I first met you, I —”
Trent suddenly turned his head shoreward.
“We have company,” he said.
Sheila got to her knees and looked. “The speedboat. Snowy’s probably waterskiing again.”
“Look again. It’s the speedboat all right, but no skiers. Heading right for us.”
“Something must have happened at the hotel,” Sheila said with concern, reaching for the two scraps of cloth that were her bikini. “That must be Julio piloting.”
“It’s not Julio,” Trent said, shielding his eyes. “This is interesting.”
“Who is it?”
“Looks like Tyrene, a couple of Guardsmen with him.”
“What? They never come here!”
“No.” Trent’s brow lowered.
“Trent, what do you think is up?”
“We’ll soon find out.” Trent got to his feet.
The speedboat cut its engines and turned, its starboard aligning with the sailboat’s port. One of the Guardsmen stood and threw a line.
Tyrene, Captain of the Castle Guard, waved and shouted, “Ahoy!”
Trent caught the line, tied the end off. The Guardsman hauled the two craft close enough to bump gently against each other.
“Your Royal Highness,” Tyrene said, “if you’ll pardon the intrusion …”
“What’s up, Tyrene?”
“Permission to come aboard, sir?”
“Permission granted.”
It took some doing. Tyrene was the lubbiest of landlubbers. Trent helped him onto the deck of the sloop, where he eventually spilled.
Trent had immediately taken ominous readings from Tyrene’s grave expression, but said casually, “Something’s up at the castle, I take it.”
Tyrene came to unsteady attention. “Your Royal Highness, a disaster of unprecedented magnitude has befallen us. I regret to inform you that your brother, the king, is dead.”
A gasp escaped Sheila’s lips before both hands shot up to cover her mouth.
Trent turned his head and stared out to sea. A long interlude followed, the only sound that of wavelets lapping at Fiberglas hulls.
At last Trent looked back. “How?”
“He was found dead this morning, at his desk, locked within his quarters at the Elector’s palace.”
“In …?”
“Malnovia. That is the aspect, sir. He was Court Magician there.”
“Malnovia, Malnovia.” Trent scratched his bare chest. “I recall the name but can’t put any images with it.”
“The milieu is not unlike Earth, western Europe, eighteenth century, sir. Highly developed science, but largely agrarian …”
“Yeah, I remember. Fine music, just like Earth’s in that period, only slightly different harmonic conventions and freer musical forms …” Trent exhaled. “Now, why do I remember trivialities like that?”
“Sir, His Majesty was fond of the aspect chiefly for its music.”
Trent nodded. “Inky’s a classicist through and through.” He looked out to sea again. “
“Sir, I regret to say that the cause is not yet known. However, the court physician was summoned and he pronounced the king dead. Later, our Dr. Mirabilis confirmed. Your Royal Highness, I am afraid there is no doubt about it. The king is dead.”
“Long live the king,” Trent intoned. “But I regret to say I have forgotten his name.”
“The king’s only son and heir is Brandon.”
“Ah, Brandon. Yes, of course. Fine lad. How old?”
“Twelve, sir.”
“Seems he was born last Tuesday.” Trent inhaled salt air deeply, let it out. “So.”
“There is the matter of appointing his regent, sir.”
“The ministers have met?”
“Not yet, sir. They will do so within the hour. I was instructed to beg the honor of your presence as they discuss this gravest of issues.”
Trent nodded. “Please inform the ministers of the Privy Council that I will be in Council Chambers within the hour.” Trent wet a finger and held it up. “That is to say, if we get half a breeze out here.”
“Sir, if I might make a suggestion —”
Trent glanced at the speedboat. “No, we’ll stay with the
Tyrene straightened up. “But, Your Royal Highness —”
“I need time to clear my wits, Tyrene. I may be a little late, but I’ll be there. Tell them not to start without me.”
Tyrene slumped. “Yes, sir.”
“Buck up, old man. These things are inevitable, even with the long life-spans the likes of us are blessed with.”
“I suppose. Nevertheless …” Tyrene groped for words.
“Yes, a death’s a shock to the system. All the more so for the false sense of security we’re lulled into because of its long postponement.”
“Aye.” Tyrene sighed and looked off forlornly. “He was a great man.”
Trent hesitated the barest second. “One of the greatest. Now, off with you. This is a vulnerable time, a critical juncture if there ever was one. You’re needed back at Perilous.”
“Aye.” Tyrene came to attention once again. “Your Royal Highness.” He turned slightly and bowed. “My lady.”
“Oh, Tyrene.” Sheila went to him and hugged him.
Tyrene looked uncomfortable hugging back.
“I must go, my lady.”
“Be careful.”
And he tried to be. But in the attempt to reboard the launch, his rubbery land-legs failed him. He got caught with one foot in each perversely drifting boat, and for some reason neither his men nor Trent could prevent him from falling into the drink with a mighty splash. He got a full ducking, head to toe.
No one laughed. They hauled him out.
Miserable beyond human endurance, Tyrene nevertheless bore up with dignity. “It hasn’t been a good day,” he said.
Trent cast them off. The motor came to life, and the launch sped away, heading back to the marina. The small sloop bobbed in its wake.
Sheila looked stricken. “I can’t believe it. I just can’t believe he’s dead.”
After a moment Trent said, “Neither can I.”
They hugged each other a good while before making preparations for getting the vessel underway.
Trent went below and fiddled with the emergency engine until it coughed and began chugging merrily.
As soon as it did, a sailor’s mistress of a sea breeze came across the water to luff the sails.
