Melissande, adroitly managing to evade Crown Prince Hartwig’s suggestive hand hovering near her waist, paid the eye-searingly over-decorated chamber one last fulsome compliment, then halted.
“Now you know, dear Twiggy,” she said, fingertips brushing his braided forearm, in a voice amazingly close to a simper, “that while it’s a lovely morning here, back in New Ottosland it’s still practically midnight and I’m afraid any moment now I’m simply going to wilt. Would you be a dear and excuse me until afternoon tea? I’m sure I’m keeping you from any number of important matters and I feel quite overcome with guilt.”
Clearly not one to be easily dissuaded, the Crown Prince snatched Melissande’s hand and pressed a damp kiss to it.
“Of course, Melly. What a brute I am, keeping you on your delicate feet so I can boast of my lovely new portal chamber, when you should be reclining in the palace’s most sumptuous guest suite.”
Another kiss, this time accompanied by an ardent look from beneath his wildly untrimmed greying eyebrows. Gerald had to bite his cheek at the way Melissande’s face fixed itself in an expression of coy delight.
“Not at all, Hartwig,” she said, her voice shifted from simpering to strangled. “But if you could send for someone to show me upstairs, and see that my luggage goes up too, I’d be very grateful.”
The Crown Prince’s eyes gleamed. “How grateful?”
Melissande slid her hand free and turned. “Oh, yes, and Hartwig, dear, I should make my staff known to you. I hope you don’t mind that I brought a staff with me. It’s Rupert, you know. Such a stickler for the proprieties. And d’you know, I did rather promise the New Ottosland Times that I’d record a few memories of this momentous occasion, for their readers to peruse and enjoy. So to keep Rupert happy there’s Slack- step forward, Slack, and curtsey to the Crown Prince-and to fulfill my obligations to the Times, there’s my secretary, Rowbotham. Yes, my good man, bow. So that’s who they are, should you see them flitting about the place.”
The Crown Prince of Splotze barely spared them a glance. Not even Gladys Slack’s lithe curtsey and trim figure seemed to disturb him.
“Yes, yes, of course it’s all right you’ve brought a staff, Melissande,” Hartwig said, still fatuously smiling. “Good God, only two? You should see how many hangers-on have accompanied the Marquis of Harenstein! I’ve bloody near had to build a whole new wing to the palace, excuse my Babishkian. And as for Dowager Queen Erminium-” He swallowed, hard. “But there you have it, it’s her daughter who’s marrying Ludwig so I expect that can’t be helped. A piddling two servants? You, my dear, are the very model of restraint. And as for sending you upstairs with a lackey, shame on you for asking. I’ll take you up myself. So, shall we?”
Capturing Melissande’s arm, Crown Prince Hartwig led the way out of the portal chamber. Gerald tipped his head at Bibbie, who tilted her chin, and they fell into step behind.
“So, Twiggy, aside from the bride-to-be and her party, and the Marquis of Harenstein, who else is here?” said Melissande, as they climbed the palace’s spectacularly swooping central staircase. The walls were hugely frescoed with scenes from classical myth: Devonia and the Bull, the Blind Twins of Teresco, the Ascension of the Lark. Very little had been left to the imagination, but instead of modestly averting her gaze Bibbie was avidly staring. Well. Avidly staring in the manner of a demure lady’s maid. Gerald, watching sideways, had to grudgingly admit she was doing a good job with her disguise.
“Who else?” said the Crown Prince, supremely indifferent to the bows and curtseys coming at him from all directions, as dozens of harried-looking servants rushed about in a pre-wedding frenzy. “Let’s see. So far we’ve got the guests from Harenstein, Blonkken, Graff and Aframbigi cluttering up the place. Can’t take a step without falling over one of them. Still waiting for Ottosland’s foreign minister. He’s cutting it fine, since we’re leaving on the grand wedding tour day after tomorrow, but that’s Ottosland for you. Always expecting the world to wait on its pleasure.” He cleared his throat. “No offense meant, of course. I mean, you’ve only arrived just now but that’s different. Old friends, you and I, Melly. Not about to stand upon ceremony with you.”
“Oh, there’s no offense taken, Twiggy,” said Melissande airily. “Feel free to insult Ottosland all you like. New Ottosland is quite definitely its own country. And what’s more, I know exactly what you mean about the government types of Ott. Quite unbearably autocratic, most of them.”
“Yes, aren’t they,” said the Crown Prince, with feeling. “But how do you know?”
Melissande shrugged. “Oh, I spend rather a lot of my time in Ott, these days, on Rupert’s behalf, and what with one thing and another I’ve come to know its government denizens quite well.”
“My dear,” said the Crown Prince, pressing Melissande’s hand. “You have all my sympathy.”
As the staircase continued to unwind above them, they left the frescoes behind and entered a world of old, cracked paintings and more moth-eaten stuffed animal heads. Keeping a blank face with some difficulty, Gerald couldn’t help remembering his arrival at Lional’s palace, and a similarly endless tramp to his apartments with Melissande as his guide.
Bloody hell. This mission better not turn out to be New Ottosland all over again.
If for no other reason than this time he didn’t have Reg around to save his hide.
Wheezing as they tackled the next flight of stairs, Splotze’s Crown Prince spared Melissande a curious look. “So you’re swanning about Ott at old Rupert’s behest, eh? Funny. I could’ve sworn Brunelda showed me a newspaper photo a while ago, of you with some young jackanapes, talking about you starting up a witching agency or something. Not even calling yourself by your proper title. Extraordinary. Brunelda read that and needed her smelling salts brought.”
“Oh,” said Melissande, after the merest hesitation. “Really? Well, can you ever believe what you read in the newspaper? I mean, really?”
“So it’s poppycock? Oh, good. Brunelda will be pleased.”
“Not exactly poppycock,” Melissande said, cautious. “It is true I’m dabbling in a little thaumaturgic venture, but that’s for Rupert too. He has plans for New Ottosland, you see, and it’s easier for me to look into certain opportunities than it is for him, being the king. You know what that’s like.”
The Crown Prince laughed, wheezily, then guided them off the staircase and onto a landing which led to a long narrow corridor. “I certainly do. If only the common man knew what we suffered, bearing the burden of a crown.”
As Bibbie gurgled a little in her throat, Gerald managed, but only just, not to swallow his tongue.
“So, Twiggy,” said Melissande, apparently unmoved by the Crown Prince’s ludicrous lament. “Is anyone else joining us on the wedding tour?”
“Oh, did I forget to mention them?” said the Crown Prince, sounding gloomy. “There is one more guest, yes. Lanruvia.”
“Really?” said Melissande, surprised. “Lanruvia?”
She wasn’t the only one who’d not expected that. Gerald felt his pulse race. Lanruvia? Sir Alec was going to go spare.
“But why Lanruvia?” Melissande persisted. “Splotze doesn’t have much to do with them, does it?”
The Crown Prince shuddered. “No. Of course not. But someone-don’t recall who-insisted on an invitation for them. A last minute thing. Can’t say I’m thrilled about it, but no one’s interested in my opinion. I’m here to foot the bill and keep out of the way.”
“Oh, Twiggy,” said Melissande, and sounded genuinely sorry. “It can’t be that bad.”
Crown Prince Hartwig halted in front of a wide set of double doors. “You wait. You’ll see. Now, here we are, my dear. Your secretary’s at the end of the corridor, the green door, and you’re in here. Don’t fret about your things, they’ll be brought up in a trice.” He cleared his throat. “These were my mother’s rooms, y’know. Wouldn’t give them to anyone else.”