Page 91 of The Discount Damsel

“Uh, okay.”

Bradley tossed one jar over the balcony. Just as quick and precise as a chameleon’s striking tongue, which could catch prey as fast as 8,500 feet per second squared, the strange little man jumped up and caught the jar. He performed the same miraculous feat for the second jar.

Sir Eustace bowed again. “My sincerest thanks. A very good night to you all.”

Gripping the railing and craning over, the two humans watched the ministry official fish a necklace out from under his shirt, yank off the pendant, crush it in his fist, and dropped what looked like purple glitter into the jar of mongoose dung. He capped the jar, gave it a shake, and soon the contents glowed like pink smoldering embers. Humming to himself, Sir Eustace sprinkled the enchanted scat in a circle around his tent. Still humming, he disappeared inside, and a pinkish glow emanated from the seams in the canvas.

When he didn’t return, the apprentice and the princess straightened and discovered themselves shoulder to shoulder and their pinky fingers having overlapped when they’d gripped the railing. Repulsed, they flew apart and went about their individual businesses. Which brought them both to the kitchen, of course, since it was suppertime, but they didn’t let the small space interfere with their need to ignore each other. They had collaborated enough for one day, thank you very much.

CHAPTER 40

THREE AND A HALF HEROES, A PETITE PRINCE, SIR EUSTACE IS VERY JEALOUS INDEED

As soon as the roads were clear and the desert sands had stopped shifting, an onslaught of Heroes trekked across the Ashburnum waste. Word of Dirk the Dangerous’s ruby theft had spread and with it, one pivotal theory.

If the dragon was bored enough to rob rubies, that meant he was bored enough to leave the tower. And if he left the tower, the princess was undefended. Which meant a Hero could rescue the princess without ever facing the dragon. And who didn’t want to keep his limbs attached to his body or the hair unsinged from his head? Not only was a Hero’s physical health assured, but he would also be granted the epitome of bragging rights. It was one thing for the bards to sing of a Hero defeating a dragon in mortal combat. It was another thing entirely for a Hero to steal a princess out from under the dragon’s very nose.

It was a good, sound theory. But it didn’t take into account that the Great Red was actually a baby luck dragon in disguise under the watchful eyes of a sorcerer apprentice and a princess who’d put him under house arrest.

And so, the Heroes had to face a dragon after all.

It was a fraught time for all.

Obviously the Heroes had every right to be anxious—they had come to the tower expecting it to be empty but finding it very much occupied indeed.

Dirk fought with a handicap that went unappreciated or respected—while the Heroes fought to rob him of his head, Dirk fought in such a way that the Heroes could be defeated and walk away from the experience with a pulse. And did they thank him? Not once.

Bradley, grumbling, sacrificed critical research time to write replacement spells for all the wafers Dirk consumed during his fights. Not to mention he sweated through all the new clothes Miss Penelope had brought him from worry.

Millie, who had to leave her parasol behind for the sake of her uncouth, undesirable persona, developed a sunburn, far too many freckles, and a sore throat from vetting the Heroes. She brewed gallons of tea in the coffee maker to soothe her throat, using up most of the filters and vexing the apprentice to no end.

Sir Roger had all the nerves of an anxious papa watching his son at his first boxing match; he’d grown rather fond of the strange little dragon and wanted all the training he’d put Dirk through to pay off.

Sir Eustace could barely record the events fast enough, resulting in sloppy penmanship, which irked him beyond words and left him desperate for a margarita at the end of the day.

And Duchess, fully aware that the ministry official’s mood dictated whether she got caviar with a schmear of mascarpone cheese on toast points or sardines still in their tin for lunch, had to debase herself with hissing and scratching to get the Heroes to form a proper line and wait their damn turn to attack the dragon.

After two weeks of try-outs, as the princess referred to them, three and a half Heroes joined her talent stable.

Sir Beauregard Beauchamp, who had spent his summers sailing with his uncle on the Cobalt Coast, would teach her everything and anything nautical and marine as listed on her blackboard. The knight was as tall as Bradley and nearly as muscled as Ivar the Bane with a square jaw and straight white teeth and hair the color of flame. His smile was charming, his personality bold, and he had this infuriating way of winking at Millie and making a smile flicker across her lips. Bradley instantly hated him.

Mr. Duncan Boekhouwer of Southern Calumbria, a bookish third son who’d obviously been told by his father to make him proud or don’t come back, had heard rumor that the dragon’s princess was hiring. After giving his name and relevant information to Sir Eustace, the gnome had immediately tossed his short sword aside, fallen to his knees in the sand, and made a persuasive argument to keep him on to teach her accounting and negotiation tactics, since a pirate captain would certainly need these skills to know if she was being swindled or not when it was time to outfit her ship or fence her stolen goods. As well as any general studies subject that tickled the princess’s fancy such as physics or botany. He’d sweetened his offer with a bouquet of Calumbria’s famous Empress tulips, and since tulips were her favorite flower, Millie couldn’t resist.

And Mr. Jaxson “Jax” Sloop, a charismatic deckhand from Pierpont who knew everything about actually working a ship, not just looking pretty at the helm like a certain knight. He could also climb ropes like a monkey, which he demonstrated, with a smile, upon request from a grappling hook leftover from another Hero’s failed rescue attempt.

The half a Hero came in the form of Fink, Jax’s black-footed ferret companion. He wore a purple vest with black trim and a collar with a yellow opal, which was enchanted with an expensive communication spell that enabled the ferret to understand complicated verbal commands. Very handy for a deckhand’s assistant. Fink was so personable and dapper that it was impossible to deny him anything. Even Duchess wasn’t opposed to sharing her grouper sashimi with the little fellow.

“I daresay that’s the last one for the day.” Sir Eustace lowered his spyglass and sprinkled sawdust over his chronicle. He forced himself to wait the appropriate time for the ink to dry before closing it and shutting away this day’s penmanship atrocities. His beautiful calligraphy had degraded into crabbed cursive, and the effect it was having on him could only be mitigated by a very large margarita and copious purr therapy.

“Excuse me,” a voice called.

The little man whipped around, coattails lashing. His nostrils flared, and his eyes flashed with a burst of red light. The sand nearest the tower was mostly flat with a few gentle slopes, so nothing could escape his gaze but the burrowing creatures, and he saw nothing.

“Must’ve been a sprite,” he murmured, shuffling this and that into their appropriate desk drawers. He heard a mew from his tent. “Coming, my fluffy goddess.”

“Pardon me.”

Sir Eustace whipped around once more. “Who is there? I say, show yourself!” If it truly were an air sprite having a go at him, he would march back into his tent and return with a black-flame candle and then they would see who would be having the last laugh.