Page 78 of The Discount Damsel

Bradley joined her on the cool sand at the bottom of the tower and cast a furtive glance towards the dungeons. Silent as tombs, they were, as was the hedge knight, who was nowhere to be seen.

Miss Penelope’s smile grew as she gazed down at all the white motes circling ever so slowly towards the surface. Then she sobered, straightening. “The grouper haven’t been giving Lung Shang any difficulty, have they?”

Bradley shook his head, not bothering to explain that they actually used the baby luck dragon as a lure to catch the grouper and eat them.

“Oh! I missed inspecting his suite. Still sleeping in the bathtub, is he?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll never understand that habit of his. Though, I suppose clouds are scarce in the desert. You’d think he’d opt for the feather bed then, but who am I to say? My business is with griffins.” She gestured that they should begin their climb back to the top.

The griffin rider had no trouble managing the stairs, her legs lean and strong from decades of aerial riding. The silence between them was pensive and a mite strained, as if Miss Penelope was teetering upon a precipitous ledge of asking him something but never quite mustering the will to throw herself over the side and commit to her query.

“Ah, here we are,” she murmured when they reached the landing whose door was marked with a slashed D. She knocked out of habit, though the dragon was still outside with his tornado, and stepped inside.

Bradley stayed on the landing, as it was very rude indeed to enter another’s private sanctuary without permission. Something the princess needed reminded of after that fiasco in the tub. His fingers worried the tassels of his rope belt so they’d stop thinking how soft her skin had been.

Miss Penelope reappeared and shut the door behind her. “According to Lung Shang’s definition of the word, I suppose I find his suite in an acceptable state.”

She hadn’t remarked on the coins and jewels Bradley knew to be in Dirk’s bathtub, or the enchanted warhammer, so where had the little dragon hidden his budding treasure hoard? He kept the confusion off his face and hurried after Miss Penelope.

“Zora, sweetie,” she called when they reentered the workroom, “were you able to enjoy a sprinkle bath? Oh, I see Lung Shang is still at it. Marvelous stamina.” Miss Penelope spun around to snatch Bradley up for a farewell kiss on each cheek. “Well, we’re off, darling. Lovely to see you again. Keep up the good work.”

He followed her out onto the southern balcony, or rather to the archway, as Zora took up most of the balcony herself. “A-a-and M-M-Master?” he asked.

Miss Penelope paused, her hands on either side of the saddle, and turned a small, kind smile towards him. “He’s always delighted to know you’re working hard and that you haven’t given up, Bradley.”

That wasn’t exactly what he’d been asking, but he knew this answer was the only one he would be given. His master never sent a message, verbal or written. It was hard not to think he’d been abandoned, but Miss Penelope’s monthly visits proved otherwise.

“Now wish us luck that Zora doesn’t go into labor midflight.” The griffin rider swung up into the saddle, and the griffin launched into the sky. “Ta-ta, darling!”

CHAPTER 35

A BOOZED-UP PRINCESS, BIRTHMARKS IN NAUGHTY PLACES, AND OH, LOOK. A FIREBALL!

When the griffin was the size of a dung beetle against the horizon, Dirk abandoned his dervish and fled for the nearest porthole window. He disappeared inside just as Sir Eustace stumbled out of his tent, hair askew and eyes wild.

“Did anyone see that?” the ministry official bellowed.

“See what?” Dirk answered from his window.

“That tornado, of course! It sprang up out of nowhere and camped out literally on my camp!”

“Well, the desert is known for its freakish weather. Glad you weren’t ripped apart. Also, have you seen a white cat anywhere?”

“You mean this divine gift to the feline species?” Sir Eustace extracted the cat in question from his tent and cradled her in his arms.

“Duchess!”

“A fitting name. Tell that princess I’m not of a mind to return her if this is how she treats her.”

At the insinuation that the little man, or anyone else, for that matter, had any command over her whatsoever, Duchess wiggled free of his embrace with a yowl and began a stately trot back to the tower.

“Sweetums! Please, come back,” he implored, chasing after her.

“Good luck,” Dirk called. Then he swirled up the tower to recount his marvelous feat with his friends and bask in their praise. “Bradley! Millie! Where are you? I found Duchess! Did you see my tornado? Wasn’t it the most amazing thing you’ve ever seen? Hello?”

Noise guided him to his best friend’s suite. When he snaked his head inside, he discovered the pirate aspirant in nothing but her knickers and chemise, hurling shoes, hairbrushes, hangers—frankly whatever she could get her hands on—at the apprentice.