Page 23 of The Discount Damsel

“It is the west one,” Dirk hollered. Then he balked in the archway. “Egad! I can’t be seen like this.”

It was imperative he keep his true identity a secret—not everyone would prove themselves an outlier like his wonderful princess. The little dragon fled to the shelves of potion ingredients for a disguise, as there were no more rice paper spells to be had.

The jar of dried cochineal shells was exactly what he was looking for. He dumped out a mound of shells into his paw, crushed them to powder, and rubbed it all over his face, mane, neck, and forearms. So long as he didn’t venture past the wrought-iron railing, no one would know his back half was blue. It would be better yet to stay out of sight, but he was only a baby dragon and absolutely brimming with a curiosity that bordered on foolhardiness.

Bradley dashed into workroom, did a double take at the half red, half blue luck dragon, spied the carmine dust on the floor, and jabbed a finger at it in a clear reprimand: Clean this up before someone tracks it all over the floor. Then you can come outside.

The luck dragon scoffed like the scolded youth he was and raised a little tornado to funnel the red dust into the jar of cochineal shells. After replacing the lid, Dirk shoved the jar back onto the shelf with a snide, “Happy, now?” before flying outside.

He made sure to keep his mane fully fluffed so he looked large and imposing. So long as no one looked too closely, his red feathers could be mistaken for impressive neck spikes, just like those of Morgrim the Menacing.

Bradley paused, hearing the princess panting behind him. He spun around and crouched by the trapdoor opening just as Millie emerged from the stairwell gloom. Instead of helping her into the workroom as good manners expected, he told her, “N-n-no t-t-touch,” then hurried out onto the balcony.

“Not an ounce of common decency in that man’s body,” Millie grumbled, hauling herself into the workroom. She joined the menfolk against the wrought-iron railing just as the crier blasted his bugle a third and final time.

The crier was a tiny man, and that had nothing to do with the perception of him two hundred feet below. Perhaps he was a gnome or a dwarf? He had no beard, so he couldn’t be a dwarf, but he couldn’t be a gnome either, for no gnome was strong enough to bear a rucksack that large, never mind walk across the desert under its weight.

“What a strange little man,” Millie marveled, her irritation forgotten. “All dressed up like he’s about to go to a party and yet here he is with an explorer’s pack.”

“I say, man,” Dirk called down in his deepest voice. “Who are you and what are you doing all the way out here? And how did you not die in the crossing?”

The crier dropped his horn and allowed it to swing from his belt by a red satin cord. Without shucking his rucksack, he adjusted the lapels of his three-piece suit then produced a red handkerchief to dab across his brow. Thus settled, he answered in a surprisingly resonant voice, “I am Sir Eustace Zonure of the Ministry of Folklore, Damsel Division.”

“Zonure,” Millie murmured to herself. “Sounds exotic. Maybe it’s French?”

“Neo-Latin is my guess,” Dirk whispered back.

Bradley shushed them both.

“I have come to verify that Princess Mildred Angelique Tisane of Amberly was kidnapped by Dragon Dirk the Dangerous at 6:22 p.m. yester-evening,” Sir Eustace said.

“How does he know that?” Bradley signed.

“Who cares?” Dirk tapped the railing with his claws. “He got my name right!”

Millie waved down to the little man. “I’m Millie and I can confirm that!” To Bradley and Dirk, she confided, “Cook’s leek and potato soup has been the first-course staple in the court for years. It takes an hour to make and Cook always serves dinner promptly at seven-thirty. I’d just started to smell the leeks sautéing in butter when you arrived, Master Dirk.”

“I want breakfast so bad,” the little dragon moaned.

“Thank you, Your Highness,” Sir Eustace said. “Dragon? I need your confirmation to your name and the date of abduction, too, if you please.”

“I’m Dirk and I confirm,” the baby dragon said, preening and looking supremely pleased with himself. Belatedly, he remembered to reinflate his mane to mimic Morgrim’s neck spikes.

“Wonderful, thank you.”

Bradley elbowed Dirk, and the little luck dragon called down again, “Excuse me, Sir Eustace? How did you even know I kidnapped the princess?”

“We have representatives everywhere, Dragon. Now a moment of quiet, if you please.”

The little man replaced his handkerchief and withdrew a scrap of paper from his suit pocket. After scribbling something upon it with a little quill, he rolled it up tight, extracted a lighter, and set the blunt ablaze.

The scroll shot into the air, green sparks crackling in its wake.

“Ooo!” Dirk clapped.

When the scroll had arced over the tower, it exploded.

The dragon squealed with delight. Millie ducked and Bradley flung up a hand as a cascade of multicolored light ballooned across the sky. It was only when the sparkles were fading did the two realize Bradley had grabbed Millie’s arm and yanked her behind the shield of his body and she’d brandished the carving knife in defense of them both. The expecto spell he’d prepared (old habits, you know) died on his lips.