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He excelled at communication. Except here in New York where the tongue twisting accents, the double negatives, and the flipped meanings of words often threw him. And vice versa, so it would seem.
“No,” said Leo. “I mean the traffic is not your fault.”
The driver nodded. “Sorry, man. The way you speak English is all fancy. I have enough trouble understanding people from Jersey.”
Leo laughed at that. Despite the miscommunication, he enjoyed the driver’s chatting since picking them up from the airport. They would’ve had their own Cordovian driver, but the embassy said it would be better to have a native New Yorker navigating the streets this week when diplomats from all over the world would be clogging the throughways.
Leo looked out at those streets. What he wouldn’t give just for a moment of freedom. A moment to disappear into the crowd.
“Why don’t we just get out and walk?” said Leo.
Giles huffed as though something harsh and distasteful clawed its way from the back of his throat. “You’re a king. A king does not walk. Especially in a foreign city.”
“No one knows who I am here. I could be any regular Joe on the street.”
Now Giles scrunched up his nose as though he smelled something truly foul. “You are from a line of great warriors and leaders the likes of which would’ve crushed these rebels when they dared disagree with their king centuries ago. You are far from regular.”
Leo chanced a glance into the rearview mirror. “No offense,” he said to the driver.
“None taken,” said the driver. “I’m not exactly sure what he said.”
Leo chuckled again, and then his stomach got in on the action. “What I am is famished.”
“You had breakfast at the hotel suite.” Giles didn’t even look up. He shuffled the papers of his dossier.
“I’m hungry again,” Leo complained, sounding very much like his five-year-old at bedtime.
“Of course, you are,” Giles said under his breath but loud enough for Leo to hear. “We’re nearly there. I’m certain there will be plenty for you to eat.”
Though Leo wore the crown and sat on a throne, he felt his life had never been his own. Before it was Giles keeping him on a schedule, it was his parents dictating his every move. Sometimes he wondered if the castle in the sky where he resided was actually a gilded cage.
He turned again to the New York scenery. As they turned a corner, a castle came into view. Or the approximation of a castle. Instead of turrets, the awning resembled the crust of a plump pie. The sign above read Peppers’ Pies.
Displayed outside the pie shop was a placard welcoming the many countries present for the UN General Assembly just a few blocks away. The car moved slow enough for Leo to read the day’s specials. On the menu were Australian meat pies, Serbian bundevara pies, and … could it be?
“Pull over,” said Leo.
“Your majesty, we do not have time.”
Leo looked at the dash. They still had a full hour before his speech. Giles simply liked to be extremely early for all events to head off any chance of catastrophe. Which there never was a single one.
“You can spare your king a moment to satisfy his most basic of needs.”
Giles huffed again but relented.
The driver pulled over and parked directly in front of the pie shop. It wasn’t exactly a legal parking spot, but their diplomatic tags afforded them leeway.
Leo reached for the door handle, but Giles beat him too it. The man hopped out of the car and was on the other side before Leo’s feet had even touched the ground.
“No need for you to come in and cause a fuss,” said Giles. "I can gather from the sign what you want. I’ll place your order, and we can be on our way.”
Leo’s presence on the street may have caused a bit of a fuss back in Cordoba where people knew who and what he was. But here, on the streets of New York, no one gave him a half a glance. Still, Giles glared when Leo alighted from the car.
“I’m sure I’ll be fine,” said Leo.
“Allow me a modicum of humor,” said Giles. “Will you wait near the car?”
“Fine,” Leo said with a huff of his own. He could stand to be outside breathing the fresh stench-filled air for a few moments.
