by Ben White
"What is this?" he whispered down to Miya, as he struggled not to cough.
"Cigars, it's like dried leaves rolled up and smoked," she whispered back, feeling herself begin to sweat a little as people around them turned to look. "Try to breathe shallowly."
"Ah, the princess of the clover, isn't it?"
Miya squeezed her eyes shut a moment, pain showing on her face just for the tiniest of instances before she turned, smiling brightly at the man and woman who had approached her.
"Miya Black," she said, politely. "Of Clover Island."
"Goodness, what an unusual hair style," said the woman. "Is that the fashion on your little island now? To cut hair with fire?"
"I'm amazed that they have fire at all, it is, after all, rather a recent invention," said the man, laughing. Sola looked at Miya, noting with some admiration the way she controlled her expression.
"Ahahaha," she said. "And where do you come from?"
"Oh, you know, just a little place you've probably never heard of," said the man. "Preston, capital of Feldspar."
"Ah, the Highland," said Miya. "Why, just today we met several Highlanders. Well, they were flying the yellow flag of your country, in any case."
"Gold, I think you'll find," said the man, his tone hardening a little.
"Oh yes, gold, of course," said Miya. "It's so hard to make out these trifling details when people are trying to kill you, don't you find? Or perhaps the fashion in the Highland at this time is to cut hair with fireshot. It all seems rather dangerous to me. Anyway, I must mingle."
Miya took Sola by the arm and guided him away from the man and his wife, moving to one of the tables and pretending to look at the food.
"That wasn't so bad," she whispered, before picking up a random biscuit and eating it daintily. "They were just looking for some cheap entertainment with the backwards princess, there are people here who—"
"Moya, isn't it? Moya Bleck?"
Miya rolled her eyes, then turned. Two young men had approached, probably a few years older than her, the redness in their cheeks perhaps speaking to the contents of the glasses they both held.
"Miya, actually," she said. "Miya Black."
"Ah. Miya. Princess Miya Black. Of course. And who's this? Did you finally catch yourself a boyfriend? Had to go to the islands to do it, I see."
"My brother, actually," said Miya. "Sola, of—"
"Brother?" The two boys started laughing, hard and loud. "Oh, that's brilliant, that's fantastic. So it was your father that dillied the dally, eh? Where is the old dog?"
The corner of Miya's mouth twitched just slightly.
"Presently engaged elsewhere," she said.
"I'll bet he is! Arranging a bastard sister for you, perhaps!"
Miya forced herself to remain quiet, and for her hands to remain at her sides. Don't do it, she told herself. Just don't.
"Anyway, Jimmy my boy and I were watching you as you came in, we both decided there was something unusual about you tonight, something different. Jimmy especially, couldn't keep his eyes off you."
"Guilty!" said Jimmy. "Couldn't quite put our fingers on what it was, though. What did you say before, Francis? You used just the most perfect turn of phrase—"
"An intriguingly antic vision of what-may-be," said Francis, in an offhand, casual manner that almost made Miya slap him there and then.
"What-may-be, that was it, very droll," said Jimmy. He smiled at Miya. "You are fascinating, you know that?"
"I'm sure I must thank you for the compliment," said Miya, as politely as she could manage.
"I'm sure you must! So, I was thinking, I have my little boat here, rather humble but one makes do, the cabin is outfitted rather nicely though, I thought perhaps you'd like to come and see it?"
Miya narrowed her eyes just for a moment.
"And then," Jimmy continued, moving towards Miya, almost looming over her, reaching out to lay his hand on her shoulder, "perhaps you could 'thank'—"
Sola wasn't quite sure what happened next. Miya moved very slightly, and Jimmy appeared to trip somehow, stumbling forward into the food table that Miya was standing in front of.
"Oh, your friend's hit his head!" cried Miya, apparently dismayed and shocked, as Jimmy slumped to the floor. "What an unexpected and unfortunate accident!"
"Jimmy, Jimmy old bean, are you all right?"
"I think he may be badly stunned," said Miya. "The way he caught the edge of that table was rather precise."
Francis looked up at Miya, who smiled prettily back at him.
"Well ... I suppose I should rouse a servant, get him seen to," he said, perhaps seeing something in Miya's eyes that he would rather not have.
"I think that would be best," said Miya, nodding. "I do hope he's all right."
"I ... yes, that's—"
"In any case, this seems something better taken care of by a sensible young man such as yourself rather than a silly little princess like me," said Miya. She smiled at Francis again. "You are sensible, aren't you?"
"I ..."
"Take care of yourself," said Miya, and of course her words couldn't be taken as anything but a friendly parting remark, could they?
Miya walked away, Sola beside her, behind another food table and out of Francis's sight, where she allowed herself a brief but earnest shudder.
"Did you—"
"I couldn't help it," whispered Miya. "When I knew he was going to touch me, I just ... look, let's just keep moving, before—"
"The Black Princess, what a surprise to see you here. And with a Black Escort, too!"
Miya turned, smiling. This time it was a group of older men, all wearing white powdered wigs, all holding large cigars. They seemed like they'd spent most of the evening at one of the drinks tables.
"This is my brother, actually," she said.
"Brother! Goodness," said one of the men. "They really will make do with anything down your way, eh? Can it speak?"
Miya's expression did not change, but her right fist clenched tightly for a moment.
"Of course he can," she managed, although what she would have liked to say was, "Better than you'll be able to after I knock out half your teeth". "Sola, introduce yourself to the nice gentlemen."
Sola bowed awkwardly. "I am Sola of Tonfa-Tonfa," he said. "A pleasure to meet you."
"My heavens, he's trained well," said one of the men. "Can barely get mine to say 'good morning', haha."
The other men joined him in laughing. Sola looked at Miya. Her eyes were dark and he saw a flicker of danger in them, but otherwise her expression was that of a perfect princess.
"Haha," she said, nudging Sola subtly.
"Haha," he said.
"Perhaps you could settle a wager for us," one of the men said. "I bet my man here that island boys such as your 'brother' here lacked the basic intelligence to learn simple numbers. He in turn argued that with time and patience, they could be taught to count quite reliably."
Miya looked at the man a moment, then smiled.
"Well," she said. "What fun. A wager, you say. What was the amount wagered, if I may be so forward?"
"A trifling sum, what was it again?"
"Ten gold, Walter."
"Trifling indeed," said Miya, flatly. Ten gold was more than anyone on Clover Island earned in a year. She felt a sudden impulse, fought it for a moment, and lost. "But I feel wagers of money to be so, what's the word, plebeian. I find wagers of forfeit to be far more entertaining."
"Indeed? Had you something in mind?" Walter asked, his tone a little suspicious.
"Mm. I propose my own wager, a game of sorts," said Miya, trying to stop herself but failing.
"A game? That sounds promising," slurred one of the drunker men.
"Go on then," said Walter. "Tell us about this 'game' of yours."
"Very well. You," said Miya, nodding at one of the men, "will present a mathematical question. You may make it as simple or as complex as you please. If you," she said, nodding towards Walter,
"answer it correctly first, then ... then I will stand on that table and declare Highland to be the greatest nation in the world. However, if my brother is the first to answer correctly, then you must stand upon that same table and declare Tonfa-Tonfa to be the Highland's superior in the field of mathematics."
"Hardly sporting, is it?" said Walter. "I should tell you, I attended Preston University, which is considered to have produced some of the finest minds in all of the Highland."
Miya smiled. "Well, if you are scared, then—"
"Call no Prestonian a coward, girl! Cromley, have you a suitable mathematical question prepared?"
"I believe so," said Cromley, slowly.
"I must say, I find it fairly cruel of you to subject your own brother to such humiliation," said Walter to Miya.
"But remember that it would be me performing the forfeit," said Miya. "Should Sola lose."
Walter considered this a moment and then shrugged.
"I accept," he said. "Cromley?"
"Miya," said Sola. She looked up at him and smiled, bright and genuine, then looked back at Cromley.
"My question is this," he said, his voice full of pomp and self-importance. "Were I to multiply the square root of eighty-one by itself, and then again by itself, what would be the result?"
"I say, Cromley, that's a bit cruel," said Walter. "Give the lad a chance, would you? I daresay he's not even heard the term 'square root' before. Well, I suppose it was the girl that set the terms. Now let me see, the square-root of eighty-one, as any schoolboy would instantly know—any Highland schoolboy that is, ahem—would be nine, so—"
"Seven hundred and twenty nine," said Sola, softly. Miya held her breath while the men frowned and muttered to themselves. She watched Cromley's face especially, reading the surprise and horror in his eyes.
"I only come from a very backwards little island with no university at all," she said, after a moment, "so that manner of difficult mathematical problem is slightly beyond me. Was his answer correct?"
The men glared at her a moment, then almost as one walked away, Walter pointing his finger in Miya's face before he left.
"I don't know how you just pulled that miserable, cowardly trick, but it's exactly what I should have expected from the falsely-titled 'princess' of a nothing little island," he hissed, before glaring up at Sola and following the group back to a drinks table. After a moment Miya heard their laughter, no doubt already rearranging the events of the last few minutes more to their satisfaction. Rather than victorious, Miya felt like she'd lost a larger battle; that by playing their game she'd been defeated before she'd even begun.
"Come on," she said to Sola, who frowned.
"Did they not lose the wager?"
"I'll explain later," she said, as they walked quickly to another food table. Miya fiddled with a piece of celery filled with cottage cheese. "I'm sorry Sola, I shouldn't have even ... their idea of 'honour' is way different to yours or mine. It's not far to the back now, let's—"
"Little Miya Black, my goodness how you've grown."
The celery dropped from Miya's fingers and fell to the table.
It suddenly occurred to Sola that he had never seen Miya frightened before. When she was facing down six men and one woman on the pier at Biscuit Cove, holding them off with only her words, when she was duelling with Captain Badtooth on the deck of his ship, his strength obviously much greater than hers, when she was outsailing two heavily armed ships, at great risk of being hit and sunk, not for one instant had he seen in her anything but unbreakable determination. But now, in the Embassy Island ballroom, with no one around armed with anything more than a salad fork, he saw in Miya's eyes a haunted look that could only be described as fear. Turning, he saw the cause of her fear approaching.
It was a pair of teenage girls.
"Oh my, you certainly are living up to your title this evening," said one, tall and slim, with long brown hair. "Pancake, the weed princess! Oh, but I'm just joking, Miya, you must know that."
"It's a term of endearment," said the second girl, who was slightly shorter than the first, but no less skinny. She was very, very blonde.
"I just adore your dress," said the first. "Isn't it a shame that you hadn't the shoes to match?"
"Margaret, I can't believe how cruel you are," said the second girl. "Obviously her island has pooled all their money to buy that dress for their princess. I wouldn't be surprised if they gave up clothes of their own in order to give their precious princess this lovely thing."
"Oh, I do apologise, Miya," said Margaret. "I didn't mean to offend you. Please forgive me if I did. And who is this? Miya, I know it's very difficult for you to keep up with the latest trends and fashions all the way out there on your little island, but bringing a servant with you to a ball is not the done thing these days."
"I'm not sure her isolation can excuse this faux pas," said the second girl. "I don't believe bringing a servant along has ever been in fashion. Or are you trying to start a new trend? I don't mean to be cruel, Miya dear, but you've hardly the standing to pull that off. I'm only telling you this to try to prevent further embarrassment for you. As a friend."
Miya turned slowly, facing the two girls, her expression fixed and bright.
"Thank you, Anne," she said, her voice tight. "Actually, this is my brother."
"Oh, Miya! Don't say that so loudly!" said Anne. "People might hear! People who don't care about you, that is." She glanced up at Sola. "Perhaps you could tell people that he is your bodyguard, instead."
"I don't need a bodyguard," snapped Miya, before she could help herself.
"Now, now, Miya, I'm just trying to help you out. There's no need to get snappy. I know you have a little bit of an inferiority complex but—"
"Who on EARTH would feel inferior to YOU?" Miya hissed, stepping forward, looking up at Anne, her eyes burning. "You're the most—"
"Miya, this only goes to prove my point," said Anne, shaking her head sadly. "If you want to rise above your reputation as, well, these aren't MY words, of course, but as an angry little weed growing from a backwards compost heap of an island, then—"
"Stop."
The voice was Sola's. He frowned down at Anne.
"Sola, it's okay," said Miya. "It's—"
"No, no, let him speak," said Anne. She smiled brightly up at Sola. "I'm very interested to hear what he has to say."
Sola looked at her, then at his feet. Anne smiled triumphantly.
"Well, it's nice to know that some people around here know their place, at least," she said. "Oh, Miya, I've just noticed, you have a scrape on your cheek! Did you have some trouble putting makeup on? You really shouldn't use a knife when applying rouge."
"Anne, don't be so rude!" said Margaret, batting her friend lightly with the fan she was holding. "You KNOW Miya doesn't have the first clue about putting on makeup! Even mentioning it must be dreadfully embarrassing for her."
"Oh, of course! How very rude of me. Miya, I'm so sorry. I know you probably can't even afford makeup, despite how desperately you need it."
Miya glared at Anne, unable to even pretend to be civil. More than anything she wanted to find the words, find the right thing to say that would take Anne down, make her feel like she was feeling, but her confidence had melted in the presence of the other princesses, her words had vanished, her mind had simply given up and gone to hide in a corner until the mean girls went away. More than she had wanted to escape from the would-be kidnappers at Biscuit Cove, more than she had wanted to defeat Badtooth, perhaps even more than she wanted to get out of here and get on with finding her grandfather, Miya wanted to know the words that would defeat Princess Anne.
"I ... you ..." she managed.
"It's all right, Miya," said Margaret. "Don't cry. You're among friends. We just care about you, we're trying to help you."
"I'm not bloody well crying!" Miya snapped.
"Goodness, Miya, language!" said Anne, with a laugh. "Don't be so tense, it's terrible for your complexio
n."
"Who cares about complexion!" yelled Miya. "How is complexion in any way important? I can outfight a pirate captain, I can outwit a gang of kidnappers, I can outsail half a dozen ships that are ALL trying to SINK me! Those are the things that are important! What can YOU do, REALLY?"
Or at least, that's what she wanted to say. Somehow, with Margaret and Anne smiling at her like that, the words simply would not come.
"Well, in any case, perhaps I'll see you later," said Anne. She reached out and patted Miya's cheek. "Oh, don't be that way, Pancake. You'd really have quite a pretty face if you didn't go around scowling all the time, and perhaps learnt the basics of, well, presentation. I suppose you're just young, that must be it."
"You're fifteen! You're only fifteen, you're only a year older than I am, stop acting like you're so much BETTER than me!" Miya said. Or rather, that's what she intended to say. What actually came out was:
"You ... you're ... you can't ..."
"And perhaps some elocution lessons," said Margaret. "That means 'speaking properly', Miya."
"I know what it means! And maybe you should be taking some 'how not to be a hateful little wench' lessons!" was what Miya wanted to say, but she just stood there, fists clenched at her sides, Sola's hand on her shoulder, watching the two princesses walk away.
"At least it is over," said Sola quietly, after a moment.
"It's not."
And in the same way Miya couldn't bring herself to say the things she wanted to say to the two princesses, she also couldn't bring herself to put her hands over her ears, or run away, or talk loudly to cover up what followed, which was this:
Princess Margaret and Princess Anne leaned in towards one another, and whispered something, and then they laughed. It wasn't a cruel laugh. It wasn't a mean laugh. It wasn't even a particularly loud laugh. But to Miya, it was the worst sound in the entire world.
At least, that's what she'd thought.
"What are YOU doing here?"
It was then that Miya discovered that the ACTUAL worst sound in the entire world was hearing your arch-rival Grace Morgon say "What are YOU doing here?" in the place you'd least expect to meet her.