“And Sheila World.”
““Club Sheila,” please. Trent?”
“Yes, my dear?”
“Have you enjoyed our living here?”
“Of course.”
“You’re not bored, helping me run this little resort?”
“As a career, resort-hotel management offers many chances for advancement and personal fulfillment.”
She whacked him on the shoulder. “Seriously. Have you minded awfully much?”
“Not at all, my dear. It’s a wonderful place. Sun, sand, sea, and great banana daiquiris.”
“You don’t get bored sometimes?”
“Oh, maybe a little. And a bit annoyed, when we get a particularly fussy guest.”
“You mean like Lord Peter.”
“Ever since Incarnadine made the error of elevating him to the peerage, he’s been insufferable.”
“Wasn’t he an aristocrat or something before? I mean, back in England? He always acted like it.”
“I doubt it. But I’m sure he always thought that was an oversight that should be corrected. And now, thanks to Inky …”
““His Majesty,” please.”
“Oh, to hell with him.”
“Trent! He’s the king!”
“He’s my brother, and I love him. Like a brother. Would you like some champagne, my dear?”
“Do I ever refuse?”
Trent got up and fetched the cooler. Soon, a cork popped and flew on an arching trajectory into the sea.
Sheila yelled, “Pollution!”
“It’s our world; we can pollute it a little, as we’re its only inhabitants.”
“What an attitude!” Sheila said reprovingly. “All the more reason to keep it pure.”
“A bit of cork is not pollution. Be quiet and drink this.”
“Yes, my lord. Thank you. Nice champagne glasses. Where’d you … not from the bar, I hope?”
“Where else?”
“We’re running short of glassware.”
“You’ll conjure more.”
“It’s hard work! Really, I can’t keep up with the maintenance of this place. Light bulbs, dishes, towels —”
“Why the hell do people steal towels from hotels?” Trent mused. “I’ve always been mystified by that.”
“And ashtrays! And soap, and sugar bowls, and anything else that’s not nailed down.”
“Comes with the territory. What I want to know is who these “people’ are who are hotel guests and who aren’t from the castle.”
“They came with the hotel when I conjured it,” Sheila said.
“Phantasms.”
“Window dressing.”
“Props,” he said. “Lifeless props.”
“I’ve talked to a few. They’re nice people.”
Trent sipped his champagne. “One of these days you’ll have no other choice than to consign them all to the oblivion whence they came. When you finally get tired of this little island paradise you created.”
“Think I’ll get tired of it?”
“Do
Sheila mulled it over. “I like it here much better than the castle. The castle’s dark and gloomy.”
“Castles tend to be that way.”
“Especially Perilous.”
“Well, yes. But it has one hundred forty-three thousand nine hundred ninety-nine more game rooms besides this one.”
“Some of them are downright creepy.”
“Oh, sure, but some are quite delightful. I wouldn’t mind a change of scenery.”
“Really? Trent, do you want to move?”
“No, dear. I want to be where you are happiest. And I think that, for the moment, you are happiest here.” Trent crossed his legs and sipped thoughtfully. “But paradise can be ultimately boring. I do miss the castle every once in a great while.”
Sheila set down her glass and stretched out again, this time on her back. “I thought you said you can’t ever live at Perilous. Because of the curse?”
“Well, it’s a mild curse.”
“Your father put it on you, right?”
“Yep. Old Dad. The king.”
“You’ve never really explained why.”
“Well, simply put, Dad banished me from the castle because I was a rotten kid.”
“Were you a rotten kid?”
“I was young. And hot-headed. And ambitious. I wanted to be king.”
“But your dad favored Incarnadine over you.”
“For the succession, yes.”
“Incarnadine is older than you, isn’t he?”
“No,” Trent answered. “I am. By four minutes.”
Sheila’s head popped up. “What?”
“We’re twins. Fraternal twins.”
“You never told me that.”
Trent considered it. “No, I don’t believe I ever did. It’s true, though.”
“This four-minute difference — is that why you thought you should be king? Some legal thing?”
“Dad didn’t care a fig about legalities. Dad liked Inky a lot. He hated me. There was no question in his mind who should wear the crown after he died.”
“And Inky … I mean, Incarnadine, was crowned when that happened.”
“Yes, but not until after I gave him a run for his money.”
“I’ve heard stories about how you challenged him.”
“Mostly blown out of proportion. But I’ll have to admit I got rather insistent about it.” Trent stretched out his legs and leaned back against the bulkhead. He chuckled. “Do you know how long ago that was?”
“I know you two are getting along in years,” Sheila said, “for all that you both still don’t look a day over thirty-five.”
“Magic, my dear. Magic.”
“Great stuff, magic. So, about this curse. You can’t set foot in the castle?”
“Oh, I can set foot in it, all right. But I can’t stay for long. Eventually I get an overpowering urge to leave.”
“Too bad.”
“It used to be worse. Used to be I’d get anxiety attacks. The shakes. I’ve done some work against the spell over the years to reduce its effectiveness.”
Sheila asked, “Are you saying you could live in the castle now?”
“I’m really not sure. The spell may have lost potency on its own. Spells do that, with time.”
A gull screeched somewhere off in the lazy silence.
Trent looked up at the canopy of fuzzy, blue-dyed cotton that was the sky. “I honestly don’t know if I could stay in the castle for any length of time. But I’m fairly sure I’m not interested in trying.”
“Then we’ll stay here for the time being?”
“As I said, Sheila, dear — where you’re happiest is where I want to be.”
“You’re so gallant. So damned gallant.”
“I’m a prince, hey.”
