Page 3 of Royally Benevolent

“Mocha!”

I went to grab my drink, remembering I should tip. The barista glared at me as I pulled out my wallet. Then, I remembered where I was. If I tipped him, he’d be more offended. That was just his regular face. This hipster area wastoo coolfor suits like me. I didn’t fit in here. Sadly, they had the best coffee for miles, and my day didn’t start unless I hit this place up first.

People passed on the sidewalk. Down here, it was mostly younger folks working at Neandian tech startups run by hedge funds. Known as a tax haven, the tiny country was a retirement village for elites wanting to store their cash. Despite that stodgy image, it became more desirable to younger folks as the art scene lit up. The new progressive government and a socially conscious monarch, Queen Alexandra, attracted young innovators with new business programmes. We located the firm here to tap into young and hungry talent along with healthy subsidies.

Stephen said, “Let’s run through your schedule…”

My attention faded from him to a girl on a bike riding towards us. She smiled broadly, dressed head-to-toe in what could only be described as a superfluous amount of pink. I missed riding around on a cargo bike. It looked like so much fun. As she passed, she left the bike highway and returned to a semi-protected lane. Then, I saw a cyclist’s nightmare.

With a green bike signal, a “no right turn” light warned drivers in the right turn lane to stop. A driver ignored its warning, turning into the cyclist. I braced. She tipped over, her belongings spilling. I saw her fall, but she didn’t look hurt. I rushed over instantly, ensuring the driver stayed.

“Oh my God! Are you okay?” I approached, hoping she spoke English.

“I’m okay,” she answered in a vaguely British accent. “Just shaken.”

The driver appeared. I righted the bike, moved it to the sidewalk, and engaged its impressive double kickstand. It was a nice bike. Thankfully, it looked rideable. I returned as the driver apologised to the young woman, who remained visibly shaken.

“You must obey the no right turns signal,” I said. “You could have killed her!”

The women appeared speechless. Maybe she didn’t speak English? I tried in angry French. “She was wearing high-vis, for fuck’s sake!”

“I am so sorry. I was in a hurry with a baby in the car trying to get to daycare,” the driver explained in French.

“It’s not an excuse,” I said. “You’re late now, and you put your baby in danger, too. I get it—I’ve been in your position—but we are driving death traps. It’s on us.”

“Understood,” the driver said. “I am so, so sorry, ma’am.”

The young woman—far too young to be “ma’am”—smiled at me as the driver left.

“Thanks,” she turned back to the sidewalk. “It was…”

Her voice trailed, and her face sank. “Oh, fuck!”

Confused, I looked around. Stephen was on his phone, guarding the bike.

“What?”

“My dog was right there. Now he’s gone!”

“You had a dog?”

“He was in the bike box,” the woman sobbed.

“Okay, okay. Let’s find him. Stephen, push my ten! We’re looking for a dog!”

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“He’s black, brown, and white,” I explained. “He’s a King Charles Spaniel, weighing about six kilos. He’s a little lap dog. He’s my baby!”

I panicked. Where was Grieg? He’d been waiting for me before disappearing. He never ran off. I was grateful he’d walked away okay and that a careless driver injured neither of us, but I didn’t know what I’d do without him. The kind stranger who laid into the driver—rightfully so—was keen to help. His friend helped, too.

“Let’s split up,” the stranger said. “Stephen, can you walk the block? Let’s go to this park over here and see if he’s hiding.”

“Good plan,” I said.

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