Page 99 of The Discount Damsel

“Get ahold of your beastie,” Sir Roger admonished from the door. His nails were uniform nubbins now, and he was using the nail trimmers and his reflection in the hourglass to carefully trim back the white hair crowding his ears.

“Sorry about that, sir.” Jax abandoned the blackboard and collected his pet with a self-depreciating smile. Fink sat on the very edge of his shoulder, noticeably quiet and minding his manners. “Rambunctious fellow, you know? Gets bored easily when his life’s just stone walls, iron bars, and sand.”

Bradley thought the deckhand was laying on the guilt a little thick and communicated these thoughts with a flat look.

“Heh,” Jax chuckled nervously and swallowed. He gave the ferret a brisk pat on the head. “Sir.” Jax bobbed a quick nod and turned back to the blackboard.

“Wait.”

The deckhand froze.

“You may let Fink roam,” Bradley said.

He’d seen the effects of captivity on Dirk—the little luck dragon had turned to extortion to combat the doldrums, after all, then had kidnapped a princess. Mood swings and increased irritability had come next, his only delight coming in the form of battling the Heroes during the day and looting the rooms with them at night.

And Fink was important to morale. If Fink needed to explore to keep his spirits high, and in return, maintain peace amongst the tutors in the dungeons, then so be it. Perhaps he could visit with Dirk more often, since Duchess seemed more interested in spending her days with Sir Eustace.

“Uhhh,” the deckhand drawled, momentarily at a loss for words. He nodded again. “Thank you, sir.”

Bradley grunted and returned to his spells.

That evening, Fink joined them for dinner. The kitchen table had to be moved away from the window and a bench installed to accommodate them all. There weren’t enough plates to go around, so Duchess ate grouper sashimi out of Dirk’s bone china teacup, Fink off the teacup’s saucer, and Henri was given a spoon mounded with fish diced small enough to resemble flies.

Henri stayed in his gilded cage, of course, since he wasn’t really an animal but a Hero they couldn’t afford to have spreading the truth about Dirk’s identity. The chances of him escaping were almost zero, as that cage was enchanted, and even if he did, he had the desert to contend with, which he had barely survived before. Besides, he serenaded them as they ate, and that, coupled with candlelight and the star-studded sky, made for a pleasant evening indeed.

CHAPTER 43

HAG STONES AND A GRIFFIN IS VERY DISAPPOINTED SHE DOESN’T GET TO EVISCERATE A YOUNG MAN

When Miss Penelope Shrewsbury and her griffin landed on the northern balcony a month after her last visit, she only had one thing to say to Bradley. “Were there mice?!”

From the redness of her cheeks and the extra jaunty angle of her hat and the wisps of ash-blonde hair escaping from the jeweled hairnet, Bradley deduced the crossing had been rough. And probably not solely from the temperamental thermals.

The griffin panted from an open-mouth beak as her fearsome black claws dug into the stone ledge of the balcony. A quarter of her feathers were bent, her fur was ruffled, and her fluffy tail was extra fluffy. In short, the leopard jay was testier than a July bride in a wool dress.

Two sets of wicker basket saddle bags draped over her haunches and a third set over her shoulders. She was a proud creature, born of sky and snowy summit, a war hero like her rider, and this boy’s stomach had reduced her to a pack mule. She shivered her spotted coat, trying to forcibly remove her burden.

“Easy, sweetie,” Penelope soothed. “I can’t get them off if you keep fussing. Hold still.”

The griffin squawked.

Penelope smacked her on the shoulder. “Don’t take that tone of voice with me, young lady!”

The griffin rider unfastened the clips, and the baskets slumped heavily to the ground. With each set released, the griffin could stand a little taller. Finally freed, Zora jumped into the air, screamed at Bradley, and took to the skies.

“You can’t go far, remember?” Penelope hollered. She sloughed off the straps of the wicker basket she wore on her own back, set it gently on the ground, and flipped back the lid. “I have your babies!”

The griffin released a frustrated cry, circled a few more times to stretch out her wings and spine, then landed with a huff. She gently dipped her beak into the basket and regurgitated some field mice for them. With her young properly cared for, she swiveled her bright, murderous gaze back to the boy with the infuriating metabolism.

“So?” Miss Penelope asked as she moved the wicker basket of griffin kits into the shade. “Were there mice?”

Dirk, Millie, and Bradley had come up with a convincing lie last night, but Bradley still winced from the griffin rider’s incredulous tone. “Weevils,” he answered.

They were talking about the stores of dry goods that the Heroes were depleting at a voracious rate. Beans and rice meant for two mouths only stretched so far when they had seven mouths to feed, not including Duchess, Fink, and Henri. Bradley had to take care not to raise any alarms with the College kitchens, but apparently the amounts he’d requested were still beyond the expected.

“Weevils,” the griffin rider echoed as she dismounted. “I thought the kitchens were enchanted against such things, but a few of the more tenacious pests have been known to breach the wards now and then. I’ll have a word with Cook about it. Still. Zora, sweetie? Check our darling boy for tapeworms, would you?”

Bradley recoiled, hugging his midsection. “What?”