Page 59 of Charmless
Beneath the writing was a sketch of a small orb positioned atop a circular disk that looked like a sundial. I refolded the parchment with a mixture of frustration and unease. It had provided me with no answers, but I was convinced of one thing. There was more to that orb than Mal or I had ever suspected. We had no idea what its true power or purpose might be, but I wagered it had nothing to do with finding some great lost treasure. Mal was experimenting with the thing, oblivious to what power he might unleash. He had not been able to activate it thus far, but I had to warn him about what I had discovered as soon as possible. I wanted to rush to his shop at once, but it was still four hours before we had agreed to meet. In the meantime, I still had to deal with the royal herald and find a good hiding place for the parchment.
I decided the safest course was to keep it on my person. I wrapped the parchment carefully up in my handkerchief and tucked it inside my bodice. I dusted off my hands and composed myself as I prepared to greet the royal herald, doing my best to look innocent. Not at all like the daughter of a man who might have plotted against the king.
I hoped the herald might have given up waiting for me and gone away, but no such luck.
Rhufawn Smythe awaited me on the doorstep, prancing from foot to foot, his round face apprehensive beneath his mop of red curls. I had acquired an unfortunate reputation for my surly treatment of royal heralds, ‘accidentally’ dropping buckets of water on them or slamming doors on their feet. In my defense,they seldom brought good news, usually some announcement of the king’s newest petty law or tax.
Rhufawn was braver than our former herald who had retired to join the Loyal Order of Hermits. But he was still wary enough to hold the bouquet of red roses he carried out in front of him like a shield.
“Flowers, Your Highness.” He bowed. “A small token of Prince Florian’s love and adoration.”
“I am not ‘Your Highness,’” I replied. Seizing the flowers from him, I tried to close the door, but Rhufawn managed to wedge one foot in the opening.
“Please, Miss Upton. There is a message as well. Prince Florian wishes to convey his regrets that he will be unable to wait upon you today, but he is obliged to tend to his official duties. Otherwise, nothing else would keep him from your side.”
I doubted that Florian had any official duties. Perhaps he was spending time at his father’s bedside as I suggested or more likely, he had felt an urge to go hunting or was recovering from another pixie dust binge. I did not care where he was or what he was doing if he was not stalking me. It would make slipping away for my rendezvous with Mal so much easier.
I was so relieved and delighted at the prospect of a Florian-free day, that I laughed.
Rhufawn eyed me dubiously. “Er - the prince hopes you will not be too disappointed.”
“Oh, I am. Completely devastated.” I said with a broad grin.
“By way of consolation for his absence, the prince has written you another love poem.”
My grin faded as Rhufawn rummaged in his pouch and produced a small scroll. I eyed it with distaste and held out my hand. “Fine. Give it here.”
“Oh, no. I am obliged to read it to you.”
“Rhufawn… ” I growled as I tried to seize the scroll, but the herald was too quick for me.
Rhufawn danced out of my reach, whipping the scroll behind his back. “Please, Miss Upton. The prince’s instructions were most explicit. I am to recite the poem for you and with great feeling.” He fluttered his lashes and added coaxingly. “There are only seventeen verses.”
“Seventeen!” I squawked.
“Perhaps closer to twenty, but they are short ones.”
I scowled at him but before I could argue further, I was distracted by a commotion in the lane. Rhufawn and I both turned to stare as a troop of mounted Scutcheons surged past my gate. Clad all in black and wearing unadorned helmets, these grim-faced men presented a fearsome aspect.
“Border guards,” I murmured. “But they never leave their assigned post unless…”
“Unless the king has ordered an eviction.” Rhufawn filled in the thought that I was reluctant to complete.
A chill swept through me as I watched the troop rein to a halt before the Hanson residence and dismount. Leaving one man to tend to the horses, the others marched upon the house, led by a burly Scutcheon, who bore the single epaulette of a sergeant on his shoulder.
I shoved past Rhufawn and hurried to my fence, craning my neck to get a better view. The sergeant hammered on the Hanson’s front door and bellowed, “Open in the name of the king.”
When there was no response, the impatient sergeant appeared ready to give his men the order to break the door down. But it opened a crack and Myrtle Hanson peered timidly out. The Border Sergeant forced the door open further and brandished some sort of notice. I saw Myrtle shake her head and try to close the door. But the sergeant dragged her outside. Heflung her to one of his men to guard and motioned the rest of his troop to follow him. As they surged inside, I was already heading out my gate.
Rhufawn rushed after me protesting, “Miss Upton, do you really think you should… ”
The rest of his words were lost as I raced across the lane, but I had no difficulty completing the rest of his thought. Did I really think I should attempt to interfere with a royal order of eviction? No, definitely not. But I could not stand aside and do nothing as the rest of the neighborhood was doing.
Usually, any sort of commotion in the lane brought people spilling from their houses, but as I hurried toward the Hansons, I was the only one foolhardy enough to try to help, even though I did not have the least idea what I could do.
Myrtle struggled in the grip of her captor. When she spotted me, she broke free. Rushing across her front lawn, the girl hurled herself into my arms, sobbing.
“Myrtle, what is this? What is going on?”
