Wizard's Castle: Omnibus - Jones Diana Wynne - Страница 92

“That,” said the elderly Princess of High Norland, “is because he’s not found you yet, my good man. Do you wish to wait and see what happens when he does?”

“I’ll risk it,” said the soldier. “On the other hand, I might help— and I reckon you won’t get too far if I don’t—provided one of you can make it worth my while.”

Flower-in-the-Night, poised on her knees ready to stand, said with beautiful haughtiness, “Worth your while in what way, menial mercenary? All of us have fathers who are very rich. Rewards will shower on you once they have us back. Do you wish to be assured of a certain sum from each? That can be arranged.”

“And I wouldn’t say no,” said the soldier. “But that’s not what I meant, my pretty. When I started on this caper, I was promised I’d get a princess of my own out of it. That’s what I want—a princess to marry. One of you ought to be able to accommodate me. And if you can’t or won’t, then you can count me out and I’ll be off to make my peace with Dalzel. He can hire me to guard you.”

This caused a silence, if possible more frozen, outraged, and royal than before, until Flower-in-the-Night pulled herself together and rose to her feet again. “My friends,” she said, “we all need the help of this man—if only for his ruthless, low cunning. What we do not want is to have a beast like him set over us to guard us. Therefore, I vote that he be allowed to choose a wife from among us. Who disagrees?”

It was clear that every other princess disagreed mightily. Further freezing looks were turned on the soldier, who grinned and said, “If I go to Dalzel and offer myself to guard you, rest assured you’ll never get away. I’m up to every trick. Isn’t that true?” he asked Abdullah.

“It is true, most cunning corporal,” Abdullah said.

There was a small murmuring from the tiny princess. “She says she’s married already—those fourteen children, you know,” said the elderly princess, who seemed to understand the murmur.

“Then let all who are as yet unmarried please raise their hands,” said Flower-in-the-Night, and most determinedly, raised her own.

Waveringly, reluctantly, two-thirds of the other princesses put their hands up, also. The soldier’s head turned slowly as he looked around them, and the look on his face reminded Abdullah of Sophie when, as Midnight, she was about to feast on salmon and cream. Abdullah’s heart stood still as the man’s blue eyes traveled from princess to princess. It was obvious he would choose Flower-in-the-Night. Her beauty stood out like a lily in the moonlight.

“You,” said the soldier at last, and pointed. To Abdullah’s astonished relief, he was pointing at Princess Beatrice.

Princess Beatrice was equally astonished. “Me?” she said.

“Yes, you,” said the soldier. “I’ve always fancied a nice bossy, downright princess like you. Fact that you’re a Strangian, too, makes it ideal.”

Princess Beatrice’s face had become a bright beety red. It did not improve her looks. “But—but—” she said, and then pulled herself together. “My good soldier, I’ll have you know I’m supposed to be marrying Prince Justin of Ingary.”

“Then you’ll just have to tell him you’re spoken for,” said the soldier. “Politics, wasn’t it? It seems to me you’ll be glad to get out of it.”

“Well, I—” began Princess Beatrice. To Abdullah’s surprise, there were tears in her eyes, and she had to start again. “You don’t mean it!” she said. “I’m not good-looking or any of those things.”

“That suits me,” said the soldier, “down to the ground. What would I do with a flimsy, pretty little princess? I can see you’d back me up whatever scam I got up to—and I bet you can darn socks, too.”

“Believe it or not, I can darn,” said Princess Beatrice. “And mend boots. You really mean it?”

“Yes,” said the soldier.

The two of them had swung around to face each other, and it was clear that both were entirely in earnest. And the rest of the princesses had somehow forgotten to be frozen and royal. Every one of them was leaning forward to watch with a tender, approving smile. There was the same smile on Flower-in-the-Night’s face as she said, “Now may we continue our discussion, if no one else objects?”

“Me. I do,” said Jamal. “I object.”

All the princesses groaned. Jamal’s face was almost as red as Princess Beatrice’s, and his one eye was screwed up; but the soldier’s example had made him bold.

“Lovely ladies,” he said, “we are frightened, me and my dog. Until we got snatched away up here to do your cooking for you, we were on the run in the desert with the Sultan’s camels at our heels. We don’t want to be sent back to that. But if all you perfect princesses get away from here, what do we do? Djinns don’t eat the kind of food I can cook. Meaning no disrespect to anyone, if I help you to get away, my dog and I are out of a job. It’s as simple as that.”

“Oh, dear,” said Flower-in-the-Night, and seemed not to know what else to say.

“Such a shame. He’s a very good cook,” remarked a plump princess in a loose red gown, who was probably the Paragon of Inhico.

“He certainly is!” said the elderly Princess of High Norland. “I shudder to remember the food those djinns kept stealing for us until he came.” She turned to Jamal. “My grandfather once had a cook from Rashpuht,” she said, “and until you got here, I’d never tasted anything like that man’s fried squid! And yours is even better. You help us to escape, my man, and I’ll employ you like a shot, dog and all. But,” she added as a grin brightened on Jamal’s leathery face, “please remember that my old father only rules a very small principality. You’ll get board and lodging, but I can’t afford a big wage.”

The grin remained broadly fixed on Jamal’s features, “My great, great lady,” he said, “it is not wages I want, only safety. For this I will cook you food fit for angels.”

“Hmm,” said the elderly princess. “I’m not at all sure what those angels eat, but that’s settled then. Does either of you other two want anything before you’ll help?”

Everyone looked at Sophie.

“Not really,” Sophie said rather sadly. “I’ve got Morgan, and since Howl doesn’t seem to be here, there’s nothing else I need. I’ll help you, anyway.”

Everyone looked at Abdullah then.

He rose to his feet and bowed. “O moons of many monarchs’ eyes,” he said, “far be it from one as unworthy as me to impose any kind of condition for my help on such as you. Help freely given is best, as the books tell us.” He had got this far in his magnificent and generous speech when he realized it was all nonsense. There was something he did want—very much indeed. He hastily changed his tack. “And freely given my help will be,” he said, “as free as air blows or rain bedews the flowers. I will work myself to extinction for your noble sakes and crave only in return one small boon, most simply granted—”

“Get on with it, young man!” said the Princess of High Norland. “What do you want?”

“Five minutes’ talk in private with Flower-in-the-Night,” Abdullah admitted.

Everyone looked at Flower-in-the-Night. Her head went up, rather dangerously.

“Come off it, Flower!” said Princess Beatrice. “Five minutes won’t kill you!”

Flower-in-the-Night seemed fairly clear that it might kill her. She said, like a princess going to her execution, “Very well,” and, with a more than usually freezing look in the direction of Abdullah, she asked, “Now?”

“Or sooner, dove of my desire,” he said, bowing firmly.

Flower-in-the-Night nodded frigidly and stalked away to the side of the room, looking positively martyred. “Here,” she said as Abdullah followed her.

He bowed again, even more firmly. “I said, in private, O starry subject of my sighs,” he pointed out.

Flower-in-the-Night irritably twitched aside one of the curtains hanging beside her. “They can probably still hear,” she said coldly, beckoning him after her.