'And a talking bird could chatter us both into trouble. Let's just see which way the New Ottosland wind is blowing before we start amazing the locals, shall we?'
'Pishwash,' said Reg, and subsided into disgruntled silence.
There was quite a queue at the confirmation booth. By the time he'd shuffled his way to the attendant, picked up his travelling chit and fought his way back to where Reg was waiting like a martyr with the luggage it was perilously close to their allotted departure time. Naturally, the portal he'd been assigned was on the very far side of the concourse. He was forced to run with Reg and the luggage trolley, shouting 'look out' and 'so sorry' as he barrelled through the milling throng.
'Mister Dunwoody!' the supervisor was shouting as he arrived in a panting stagger at Portal 32, where a long line of other travellers waited. 'Third and final call for Mister Dunwoody!' 'Here! Here! I'm here!'
The portal supervisor looked him up and down. 'Cutting it fine, there, Mister Dunwoody.' He held out a white-gloved hand.'Chit, please.'
The next person in line was looking disappointed that he'd turned up in the nick of time. He spared her an apologetic grimace and handed his travel coupon to the disapproving supervisor. 'Here it is. Sorry. There's such a crowd.'
With a grunt that might've meant anything, the supervisor punched the coupon into a small box on a table beside him, examined the result, nodded, and dropped it into a waiting tray. 'Wait a minute, wait a minute, not so fast,' he snapped as Gerald turned to decant Reg and his luggage from the trolley.'Contraband inspection first.'
Oh. Of course. Ignoring Reg's snicker he stood still as the supervisor ran a slender bronze truncheon over him, Reg and his suitcases. Attached to each collar point of the supervisor's plain blue uniform was a small green button. So. The portal supervisor was a fellow Third Grader. Doomed to a life of coupon-punching, truncheon-waving and petty bureaucratic pettifogging.
Poor bastard. And there but for the grace of Monk Markham go I.
'Right you are, sir,' said the supervisor, clipping the truncheon back to his belt. 'AH clear.' He snapped his fingers at a hovering porter, who leapt forward and began transferring Gerald's battered suitcases from the trolley into the waiting portal. Then he took a bottle of pills from the table and held it out. 'Need a suppressative, sir? Only Portal travel does take some folk poorly.' 'No, no. We'll — I'll — be fine.'
'Very good sir,' said the supervisor. 'In that case, you're all clear to depart. If you'd kindly step into the Portal…'
With Reg perched firmly on his shoulder, Gerald stepped.
'Excellent. Have a pleasant journey, sir, mind now, I'm closing the door…'
… and he was spinning through time and space in a kaleidoscope of colour and sound. Then came the feeling that he was falling very slowly — or was it very quickly, he could never quite decide — down a long dark tunnel towards a bright light…
… which turned into a door, which opened onto an enormous, well-lit, unfurnished chamber decorated in various shades of gold. Head whirling, he stepped over his various bits of luggage and out of the portal.
'Hell's bells,' said Reg, hauling herself back into place on his shoulder.'I hate that bloody contraption.'
'My sentiments exactly,' said a coolly familiar voice. 'Good morning, Mister Dunwoody. Or should that be Professor? I confess the niceties of your profession leave me somewhat perplexed.'
Still giddy and somewhat disoriented — he'd never portalled so far in his life — he staggered in a circle until he found the woman attached to the voice.
She was young. Well, youngish. His own age or thereabouts. Vertically challenged, horizontally overcompensated, clad in baggy brown tweed trousers and a plain blue cotton shirt and crowned with a thick braid of rust-red hair that sagged on top of her head like an uncooked doughnut. Her face was round and splattered with freckles, her chin determined, her eyes green and calculating behind wire-rimmed glasses. At her feet languished a long black exclamation mark of a cat, whose eyes were equally green and calculating. 'Bugger,' said Reg. The cat smiled and licked its lips. 'Now, now, Boris,' said the woman.'Manners.'
'Ah,' Gerald said, standing straighter. 'Princess Melissande?' She smiled, revealing a hint of teeth.'Correct.'
Really? This was a princess? Granted he'd never been this close to one before, but all the same… 'I'm sorry,' he said.'I wasn't expecting you to meet me yourself, Your Highness. I thought you'd send a — a — minion.'
'They were all busy,' said the princess. 'Minioning.'Then she sighed. 'Don't tell me, let me guess. You were expecting someone taller, blonder and thinner, yes? Well, it breaks my heart to disappoint you, Mister Professor Dunwoody, but we ran out of that model around here about four generations ago. When it comes to New Ottosland royal princesses, what you see is what you get.' She smiled again, sweetly. 'Deal with it.'
Appalled, he stumbled forward and bowed. 'No — Your Highness — you misunderstand — '
'I expect I don't, you know. But it doesn't matter. I'm more than used to it.' She tipped her head to one side and considered Reg with narrowed eyes. 'That's a most unusual bird you have there, Professor. I don't think I've ever seen one quite like it before. And it talks?'
He spat a silent curse in Reg's direction. 'Ah — yes. She's — she's — a parrot. Very rare. One of a kind, actually. And you know what parrots are for meaningless chatter, Your Highness. 1 strongly suggest you don't take any notice of her. At all. Ever.'
'A parrot?' said the princess thoughtfully. 'Interesting. I was under the impression that parrots are generally noted for the curviness of their beaks and the brightness of their plumage… but there you are. If you say it's a parrot then by all means. It's a parrot. Does Polly want a cracker, by any chance?'
'Thank you, no,' he said, fingers clamping tight about Reg's uncurved beak. 'And her name's Reg, actually. Not Polly. I'm afraid she's a bit sensitive about — '
'How quaint,' said Princess Melissande. She turned on her heel and headed at a determined rate towards a closed door at the far end of the golden chamber. The long black cat yawned and followed. He stared after her. 'Ah,Your Highness — my luggage — ' 'Don't worry, Mister Professor Dunwoody,' said the princess over her shoulder. 'A spare minion will be along presently to see to it. I'd bring my personal effects, though, if I were you. Qualifications and what not. His Majesty might well ask to see them. And if he doesn't I certainly will.'
He turned back, snatched his carpet-bag and hurried to catch up with her.'Actually, just Mister will do, Your Highness. Or Gerald. I'm not really one to stand on ceremony'
'Really?' she said, and spared him another glance.'I am.'
They reached the golden chamber's vast double doors. The princess halted in front of them and waited, an impatient look on her face.
'Ouch,' he said, as Reg nipped him on the ear. 'What was that for?' Reg sighed. 'Open the doors. Blockhead.' He bit his tongue and opened the doors.
'What an interesting vocabulary you've taught your… parrot,' said the princess as she marched past him, the cat smirking at her heels.'I can hardly wait to hear what it comes out with next. Incidentally, I hope it doesn't have lice. Birds do, you know.' Reg squawked. The cat bared its sharp teeth in a grin.
'Oh yes, and by the way, Professor…' the princess added, already halfway down the corridor. 'Welcome to New Ottosland.'
CHAPTER SIX
'Well don't just stand here like a ninny,' said Reg. 'Go after her!'
Since the princess showed no sign of slowing, he had to run. For a short person she moved along at quite a clip.
'Ah, there you are,' she said as he and Reg joined her. 'You must learn to keep up, Mister Dunwoody. His Majesty is impatient of laggards, as you'll soon see.' 'I will?'