The Disposable Page 23

  “Oh hello there!” he greeted the unseen figure in the corridor in his usual jovial manner. “Menial, isn’t it? Tell me, have you been able to pass my message to the princess at all?”

  “Yes, Your Highness.” The voice that drifted up in response was soft and timid. “Princess Pleasance sent me to say she’ll be along to see you once she’s dressed.”

  “Excellent! And please, there’s no need to curtsey to me!” Dullard’s hand waved dismissively. “And there’s no need to call me Your Highness either! But thank you. Do you have any idea how long the princess is likely to devote to getting dressed?”

  “She usually takes about a quarter of an hour, Your Hi…sir.”

  Fodder was fairly certain that Dullard was stifling a sigh, but he did not correct the unseen girl again. “Very well. Please tell her I will be waiting in avid anticipation. I take it she liked the prospect of my grovelling?”

  “She did seem quite keen, sir.”

  There was a slightly weary edge to this statement; Dullard smiled at this first hint of personality. “Well, thank you for pleading my case. I’m sure you did an admirable job.”

  “I repeated everything you said, sir. It’s just a shame…” Fodder heard the girl—Menial—stifle herself sharply, but too much of the sentence had already escaped.

  Dullard’s smile was kind and encouraging. “No, please do go on. I won’t say anything to the princess, if that’s what you’re worried about. It’s not as though she’d listen to me anyway.”

  Fodder could hear a light pair of feet shifting nervously back and forth but, with the sentence half spoken, Menial obviously felt it was probably too late to avoid taking the plunge.

  “It’s just it’s a shame that you have to grovel, sir.” The sentence tumbled out headlong. “If you’ll forgive the impertinence, we all like you, sir, down in the Servants’ quarters. You don’t shout and you don’t boss us about and you chat and treat us nicely, sir, and we’re happy to do things when you ask us because you do ask instead of yelling.” There was a gusty sigh. “But they boss you around just like they do us, sir. We’re Servants, sir; we have to expect it. But it doesn’t seem fair to do it to you.”

  “Not to anyone, I would say.” Fodder caught a glimpse of a thoughtful flash crossing Dullard’s face as he shrugged slightly. “Such is the way of the world, I suppose,” he declared rather dramatically. “But still…” His face took on a conspiratorial cast. “Given everything that’s been happening lately, I’m not sure the way of the world is quite what it was. What with the instructions…changing…” He pursed his lips. “The whole Palace is talking about what happened to poor Pleasance. And you were there, weren’t you? When it all started?”

  Fodder risked a quick glance at Flirt and saw the same brief flash of alarm on her features that he could feel rising across his. Oh blimey. He’s supposed to be getting rid of her! What is he doing?

  “Oh yes, sir!” The timid shyness of the voice was slipping away into still deferent but rather more animated engagement. “I was supposed to be killed, sir; it said so right there in the instructions but that Disposable…he didn’t do it, sir! I was relieved, sir, because I hadn’t much liked the idea of being killed—but it was supposed to happen, and it didn’t. And he took the princess away, sir! He wasn’t supposed to do that either!”

  “I know!” Dullard’s voice rose in incredulous agreement. “Against the Taskmaster’s instructions too! Who’d have thought such a thing could even be done? And yet you saw it happen! I mean, it does make you think, doesn’t it? If a simple Disposable can shrug off The Narrative like that, well… It’s almost as though the old rules needn’t apply anymore. Why, it might just be that anyone could do it!” He chewed on his lip for a moment. “I mean, can you imagine if a Servant tried it? Or even all the Servants? Can you picture the looks on the faces of my relatives if they woke up one morning and found they had to get their own breakfast? And how foolish they would look swooping around In Narrative trying to look austere and powerful if nobody was doing what they said?”

  The oddly distant and vaguely wistful sigh that drifted from the corridor suggested to Fodder that Menial clearly could. Fodder found himself battling to fight suddenly rising laughter as his brain finally caught up with what his new ally was up to. Oh, Dullard, I think I’m going to like you.…

  “But, anyway…” Dullard smacked his hands together cheerfully, rubbing his palms against each other vigorously. “I mustn’t keep you from your mistress with this chatter! I’m sure you and the other Servants will have plenty of time for such talk whilst your masters and mistresses are making the most of all that Narrative time they get! Lovely talking to you, Menial.”

  “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” There was a distinctly thoughtful note to this final send-off. With a gentle patter of footsteps, the Maid retreated down the corridor.

  Gently but firmly, Dullard closed the door. “It’s safe,” he called cheerfully. “You can come out.”

  “Yeah, after listening to you blathering on with someone you were supposed to get rid of.” Shoulders, it seemed, had not quite caught the point. “What was all that mateyness about?”

  Dullard smiled with distinct satisfaction as he ambled back over to finish cramming his numerous notebooks into his pack. “Oh, just planting an idea,” he said airily. “Just because we agreed it wouldn’t be safe for us to stay in the Palace once you’ve recaptured the princess doesn’t mean we can’t do a little groundwork here before we go.”

  “Oh, gawd.” Shoulders rolled his eyes towards the ceiling. “Don’t tell me you’re a gardener too.”

  “Well, as it happens, I have dabbled in the study of naturally occurring flora, though I’ve yet to cultivate—”

  “I thought it was very clever.” Fodder intervened before the conversation could veer off at a wild tangent. “You were trying to get her thinking about it, weren’t you? And maybe talking about it with her friends? You were trying to make her realise what was in it for them.”

  Dullard beamed at this observation. “Precisely! I thought it astute to seize upon the natural dissatisfaction she expressed and show her the possible benefits your way of thinking might have for her and her compatriots. I do think that a lot of the Servants here would be quite receptive to your ideas, so I thought perhaps if I left the idea behind for them to discuss amongst themselves, let them draw their own conclusions…?” He waved one hand in a wild but thoughtful gesture. “I have observed in the past that people don’t like to be lectured. They do seem to respond better when they think something is their own idea—a strange fact in our society, but nonetheless a true one! And, of course, the more they then hear about a group of brave souls out there, disrupting The Narrative, the more they’ll start to see it’s not just an idea anymore—it’s something that could work for them. And word will spread out from them and keep spreading until it’s unstoppable. Or that’s the theory, anyway.” He gave a hopeful smile. “It’s worth a try, don’t you think?”

  “Definitely.” Fodder couldn’t help but smile back. “And quick thinking there, too. It’s good to have you on board, Dullard.”

  Dullard’s face lit up like a true Narrative sunset. “Oh, it was nothing, really,” he muttered awkwardly, sliding the words around the edges of the smile he was trying to restrain. “I just want to help! And speaking of which…I’ve been thinking about what you said about getting Pleasance killed In Narrative.”

  “Me too.” Shoulders offered dreamily. “Fun, isn’t it?”

  The look Dullard gave Shoulders held the most diffident hint of reproach that Fodder had ever come across. “I wouldn’t say fun,” he said, uncomfortably. “Though Pleasance and I have never been bosom companions, I do feel rather bad about tricking her. But I can see the practicality of it as a way to disrupt the story, and I did think—have you considered approaching Poniard?”

  Fodder racked his memory for a moment until it finally provided an answer. “The Assassin?”

  Dullard nodded
as he placed the last of his never-ending supply of notebooks into his pack and folded it carefully shut. “That’s right. Do you know him?”

  Fodder shook his head. “Assassins don’t tend to work out at Humble Village. I’ve heard his name mentioned once or twice, though.”

  “He’s very fine at his Narrative role,” Dullard asserted with a nod. “If he took Pleasance—or rather Islaine—into Narrative, she certainly wouldn’t come out in any fit state to continue the Quest, and it would be nice and quick for her too. And Smelter, the chief weaponsmith down in the Artisans Quarter, did mention to me that he has recently started to express a certain…dissatisfaction with his position.” He pursed his lips awkwardly. “I’m not sure if it’s quite the kind of dissatisfaction we’re looking for, but it might mean he’s open to suggestion. We might have to tread carefully, though. He’s an odd sort of stick.”

  Flirt, after a few practice attempts, finally sheathed her new sword in one fluid motion. “Odd? Odd how?” she asked.

  Dullard’s mouth underwent a series of bizarre contortions. “I’ll explain later,” he hedged. “Pleasance will be here in fifteen minutes or so. We need to be ready to go as soon as she’s caught.”

  Fodder caught Flirt’s eye. He could see she didn’t like the sound of odd sort of stick any more than he did, but Dullard was right about the time. Shrugging off his misgivings for the time being, Fodder turned back to the task in hand.

  “Right,” he said firmly. “Who wants to do the sack?”

  * * *

  Ah, velvet. I do love velvet.

  Velvet had substance. Velvet had class. Velvet was heavy enough that it gave the motion of her walk a sweeping elegance without bouncing all over the place and swishing madly about in the wind the way a lighter material might. Velvet didn’t swish. Velvet undulated.

  Wriggling herself in satisfaction, Pleasance swirled first one way and then the other as she admired the sky blue velvet dress that Menial had helped her don. The intricate silver and gold embroidery of the bodice gathered the material in a flattering way; the hanging sleeves trailed behind her in a suitably ethereal manner; and the skirt, of course, undulated nicely as she turned. Oh, yes. This was more like it. This was what being a princess was all about.

  Sweeping her hair with delicate care to one side, Menial carefully placed the sapphire-studded golden necklace around her neck. The look was complete.

  Pleasance permitted herself a smug little smile. Just because she was going to have to settle for Bumpkin didn’t mean that she wasn’t going to make it abundantly clear how much she outclassed him. If he didn’t have to scrape his jaw off the floor the first time he laid eyes on her, she simply hadn’t done her job properly.

  “Menial, go on ahead to my mother’s solar and prepare my clothes,” she ordered the Maid as she turned, slipping her feet into a dainty pair of embroidered heeled shoes. “I’ll be along shortly.”

  “After you’ve seen Prince Dullard, ma’am?”

  “Dullard?” Pleasance frowned for a moment. In her haze of velvet pleasure, her decision to stop off and watch that irritating buffoon grovel had entirely slipped her mind. But making him crawl on his hands and knees and kiss the hem of her skirt whilst begging her forgiveness remained an appealing image. “Oh, yes. After I’ve seen him, I’ll be right there. Now run along!”

  “Yes, Your Highness.” With a bobbed curtsey, Menial scurried quickly out of the door.

  Pleasance permitted herself a final, lingering look at the vision of Royal perfection arranged in the mirror before her. She sighed happily.

  The princess to end all princesses. That was what she was going to be.

  And then, with a precisely orchestrated sweep of her skirts, Pleasance turned and glided out into the corridor.

  Abused but still dignified. Tormented but elegant. That was Islaine. A vision of beauty made nearly unobtainable by her emotional distress. Perfection with a troubled soul.

  She almost squealed to herself. Even with Bumpkin, it was going to be wonderful! Who would ever forget a princess like this?

  Dullard’s door loomed ahead. Beaming to herself, Pleasance reached out and delicately rapped on the wood.

  “Coming!”

  Pleasance fought a brief surge of irritation. Coming? Why wasn’t he waiting at the door for her arrival with bated breath, anxious apologies on his lips? Why wasn’t he poised at the handle awaiting her arrival with a bunch of flowers or a necklace and perhaps some tasty sweetmeats to present to her with a contrite flourish?

  Honestly, didn’t the man know anything? He was so useless!

  The door half opened. Dullard, with his overgrown chin and stupid nose, peered round it and flashed her an uneven smile as his eyes, unbelievably, focussed not on the vision of perfection arranged before him but almost furtively along the corridor behind her.

  “Hello!” he greeted her with frankly uncouth levels of cheeriness. “So glad you could make it! Why don’t you come on in?”

  Pleasance felt her eyes narrow. He was holding no jewellery. She could smell neither flowers nor sweetmeats, and he was most emphatically not on his knees. He hadn’t even fully opened the door for her! What kind of grovelling did he call this?

  Couldn’t he do anything right?

  “I understand you have something to say to me,” she declared, her tone clipped and terse. “An apology for your abominable behaviour earlier?”

  “Yes. Indeed.” Dullard’s smile dropped away into a more serious nod. “If you’ll just let me show you inside…”

  Suddenly Pleasance was infuriated. Infuriated that she was wasting her time with a man who didn’t even know how to apologise to a princess properly, infuriated by his stupid face and that gabbling voice. He’d deflected so much of her sympathy down in the throne room, stolen her moment, her thunder, just like those blasted Disposables, and now he wouldn’t even grovel for her properly. Why should she go into his stupid chambers? He should be apologising in front of everyone! She should make him do it in public.

  “I don’t think so.” She did take a distinct satisfaction from the look of alarm that flashed across Dullard’s features. “Because I don’t think a simple, private apology is going to be enough! I don’t want a summons from you for a quick I’m sorry behind closed doors! I suffered a terrible ordeal, and all you could do was make light of it! So I want you to come with me. We’ll gather the whole family together in the throne room and you can apologise to me in front of everyone. I expect you on your knees, begging my forgiveness! I expect you to kiss my shoes and the hem of my dress! I expect flowers and sweetmeats and compliments, and I expect you to renounce every foolish word you said about my suffering being unimportant! And that, you see, is a proper apology to a princess! That is the apology I deserve!”

  The look of profound alarm on Dullard’s face really was immensely gratifying. “What you deserve…” he stammered awkwardly. “Yes, of course. You must get what you deserve.” He swallowed carefully, his eyes thoughtful. “But…well,” he said suddenly. “I must admit, I’m a bit of an amateur at this whole apology business and since I have wronged you so very much, I want to make sure I do the thing absolutely right. So perhaps, before we go downstairs, we could hold a little…rehearsal? If you want to just step inside for a few minutes, you can talk me through exactly how much dress kissing you’ll need, what kind of flowers you want. You can even pick my outfit, to make sure that we don’t clash!” He smiled tentatively. “I want to do everything in my power to make sure you’re happy with the apology you get. So…”

  He gestured over his shoulder into the room. Galling as it was to concede anything to him, Pleasance had to admit that she liked the sound of what he proposed. Spontaneity was one thing, but a beautifully prepared and choreographed apology did hold a definite appeal.

  “Oh…very well,” she conceded with feigned reluctance. “But you must memorise the instructions I give you to the letter, is that understood?”

  “Of course!” Dullard nodded
as he stepped back, pulling the door open wide at last and gesturing into the strangely dim room beyond with a sweep of one arm. “Please, after you!”

  “Hmph!” Pleasance glided regally past him, making sure to undulate her skirts in just the right manner. “But I insist you light some candles! I can hardly see a thing in—”

  The sharp slam of the door behind her killed her sentence dead. Even as she wheeled, a shadow hurled itself out of nowhere and then sackcloth, coarse and rough, was yanked over her head, crushing her precisely ringletted hair with savage inconsiderateness. She managed a single squeak of horror before something heavy walloped against the top of her head and sent her tumbling into darkness.

  * * *

  “Did you have to be so…abrupt about it?”

  Fodder glanced up from where he was securing the bonds of the unconscious princess. Dullard was still standing by the door, one hand pressed against his lips, his mouth twisted and his expression one of the utmost discomfort.

  “Well, yeah,” he responded frankly. “We said we were going to down her quickly. The girl’s got a scream on her that could melt stone, and the last thing we want is attention.”

  “But just hitting her over the head like that…” Dullard rubbed his hands together awkwardly, his eyes drifting over to where Shoulders was replacing the fireplace poker with a thoroughly satisfied grin. “You couldn’t have reasoned with her first? Attempted a little gentle persuasion?”

  Shoulders gave a hefty snort. “Persuasion? With her? As if that would work!”

  “But have you…well…tried?” Dullard’s eyes remained fixed on the trussed-up bundle of sackcloth and velvet slumped on the floor before them. “I mean…I’ll admit she can be difficult and fairly unpleasant at times.” Shoulders’s second snort was even louder than the first. “But I like to think there’s some reasonableness in everyone, and my mother always said that kindness breeds kindness. Bashing Pleasance over the head, tying her up, and gagging her is never going to make anyone amenable to your point of view, let alone someone as proud as a princess. But perhaps if you sat her down and explained to her why you’re doing this…”