A Clockwork Fairytale

by Helen Scott Taylor

  His feet carried him toward the monastery, toward the safety, simplicity, and peace of his old life. Where he knew what was right and wrong and his duty was always clear.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The Royal Victualler can charm the salt from the sea.

  —Gwinnie

  Vittorio could not believe that the wretched spymaster monk had outwitted him.

  That morning Vittorio’s man of law had drawn up a deed assigning sovereignty of South Spit Marshes to Dante. As soon as Vittorio had exchanged the document for Master Turk’s identity and whereabouts, he had come straight to the man’s palace. But the Great Earth Jinn was not favoring him today. He’d fruitlessly searched Master Turk’s palace from top to bottom, and a cantankerous old harridan of a housekeeper had hit him twice with a skillet. He’d had to lock her in the bathhouse to shut her up.

  While he waited impatiently at Waterberry House for Master Turk and the princess to return, a messenger arrived with news that Master Turk had already taken the princess to the king. The blasted spymaster was no doubt at that very moment pocketing the king’s generous reward for his daughter’s return.

  Angry to have been taken for a fool, Vittorio snatched up a book and hurled it across the library at Waterberry House. It skated over the desk, sending the inkwell and pen flying before it smashed into the back of a chair. The spine split. Pages burst into the air and fluttered to the floor like dead butterflies.

  Vittorio strode out of the library door, pushing past the guardsman who had brought him news of the princess. “I’m returning to the Palace. I want two men left here to keep watch for Master Turk. He has to return sometime. In the meantime, you can release that carping woman from the bathhouse, but she must not leave the house.”

  Vittorio burst out of the front door of Waterberry House and hailed a punt. He climbed aboard and stood in the prow with his arms crossed, glaring at the cheerful nobles on the water.

  When the punt arrived at the Royal Palace, he took the external lift straight to the top level where King Santo had his apartment. Outside the office of the king’s personal secretary, he paused to gather his thoughts before he rushed in. All was not lost. Instead of compelling the princess to marry him, he would now have to woo her, but with the aid of a glamour that would not be a problem.

  He pasted on an affable smile, knocked once, and entered the office. The king’s personal secretary looked up from his desk with a tight smile. Most of the staff respected Vittorio, but he had never won over this weasely little man. “What may I do for you, your honor?” Mister Rossi asked with the self-important manner that so got up Vittorio’s nose.

  “I’m here to congratulate his majesty on the wonderful news of his daughter’s return.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Well, is he available, sir,” Vittorio snapped, his patience paper-thin and ready to tear.

  Rossi made a theatrical production of putting on his eyeglasses and checking the king’s schedule. “The king may be able to see you now, your honor.” He stood and turned toward the inner sanctum of the king’s private suite. “One moment, please. I shall check.”

  Vittorio paced back and forth. When he was king he’d toss Santo’s self-righteous little gatekeeper out of the Palace so fast his feet wouldn’t touch the ground.

  Rossi returned with a courteous nod. “The king will see you now, your honor.”

  Vittorio didn’t spare Rossi another look. He strode along the short corridor to the king’s reception room and knocked. At a murmur from inside, he entered.

  King Santo stood at the window looking out at the bird’s-eye view of the city. His hand gripped the top of his cane tightly, but he stood tall. It gave Vittorio a shock to see him looking improved. Vittorio was poisoning him slowly with the noxious emanations from Foul Jinns, using only one dose of poison a week to reduce the risk of discovery. Perhaps he should increase the frequency.

  Vittorio bowed low. “I gather congratulations are in order, sir,” he said, with a smile.

  “Yes, thank you, Vittorio. I am almost overcome with joy at the unexpected return of my daughter. I am relieved she was returned to me in time for me to get to know her. I fear I have few years left above Earth.” King Santo raised a hand to wipe away a tear, but his expression positively glowed with pleasure.

  A flash of guilt caught Vittorio by surprise. He firmed his resolve. Santo was a good man and had always been fair. If Santo had been Vittorio’s father, his life would have been a different matter. But Santo did not even realize the Royal Victualler was his nephew. Vittorio had no choice but to hasten Santo’s return to the Earth, or the king might live to reign for another thirty years. Vittorio was not willing to wait that long for the throne.

  “Would you assist me, my friend?” the king asked.

  “Of course, sir.” Vittorio hurried forward and took the king’s arm, helping him to his chair.

  Santo settled himself, staring thoughtfully at his hand while he smoothed out his purple robe. “I am worried for my daughter’s safety. We did not discover who stole her or why she was taken. What if she is kidnapped again?”

  “Surely that is unlikely, sir. It would be far more difficult for someone to snatch her from the Royal Palace now she is a grown woman.” And Vittorio had no reason to kidnap her again.

  “Still, I cannot risk anything happening to her.” Santo looked up, the expression in his eyes earnest. “You are my most trusted man, Vittorio. I want you to take personal responsibility for Princess Melbaline’s safety. Do not delegate the task to any of the Royal Guard, however capable and trustworthy they are. I shall only feel confident if you are taking care of her.”

  For a few seconds, Vittorio just stared at King Santo. He couldn’t believe his good luck. The king was handing the princess to him on a silver platter. “Absolutely, sir,” he said enthusiastically. Your daughter will become my top priority.” This would give him the opportunity to charm and woo Melbaline. The king held him in high regard. He was confident that if he persuaded the princess to marry him, then the king would agree.

  Maybe the interference of the Shining Brotherhood had worked in his favor. This way he could court Melbaline and marry her with the king’s blessing.

  “I shall start my assignment immediately, sir.” He bowed and clicked his heels together.

  “Yes, of course, Vittorio. You will find my daughter in the suite that used to belong to the queen. I think you’ll be surprised how much Melbaline resembles her mother. It shocked me when I first saw her.”

  Vittorio smiled more to himself than for the king’s benefit. He had only seen Queen Juliana from a distance. But in her portraits, she was stunning. The Great Earth Jinn must be smiling on him. His bride would not only provide him with the throne—she was a beauty as well.

  ***

  Melba had been shown to a beautiful suite along the hall from the king’s rooms. After a brief glimpse of cream silk chairs, curtains, and bedding, and honey-wood furniture inlaid with rainbow-hued flowers made from seashells, two women had hustled her into an adjoining bathroom. She’d protested that she wanted to wash herself, but a stuck-up old bag called Madam Borrelli had told her that princesses did not bathe themselves like common folk.

  Swallowing her embarrassment, she’d let them wash her because she didn’t want to be common and upset her father. He seemed so sick and frail it frightened her. What if he died and she had to be queen? Gwinnie had said her father had become king at seventeen and he hadn’t known what to do. She didn’t want the same thing to happen to her.

  Now she sat on a dainty pink velvet loveseat by the window in her private sitting room, watching the points of light blink on across the city as twilight fell. From this high up on Nob Hill she could see across all four circles to the sea. She could even see the dark streak of the mainland on the horizon. Her only disappointment was that Turk’s palace was out of sight on the other side of the hill.

  Her new golden-silk dress spilled around her like a pool of s
unlight. A pattern of shiny beads trimmed the bodice and pretty puffed-lace sleeves covered her arms. But the best thing was the matching shoes. She hitched up the layers of lace and silk skirts to see her feet and shivered with delight. The tiny gold slippers had silver heels and silver filigree toecaps shaped like flutterbys.

  She wanted to get up and practice walking in the heels, but she was self-conscious in front of Madam Borrelli. The old woman sat in a corner reading a book, her stance as rigid as if she had a cane up her back. She was skinny as a cane as well. Her plain black dress hugged her body, the only decoration a fringe of black lace around her high neckline. Instead of wearing a cap and ribbons like Gwinnie, Madam Borrelli’s hair was covered with a net decorated with black pearls. Her pointed nose, thin lips, and bony claw-like fingers made her look like one of the black crows that fought the seagulls for fish scraps.

  The king had told her Madam Borrelli would be her companion, but she’d rather be left alone to look at her new stuff than have the old crow watching her.

  A knock sounded and Madam Borrelli rose and hurried to the door. She stepped into the corridor and Melba took the opportunity to jump up and walk a few paces, holding up her skirts to see her new shoes. At the sound of a male voice, she dashed back to her seat.

  Madam Borrelli returned her hands linked primly in front of her. “The Royal Victualler is here to see you, ma’am.” She dipped her head, then retreated. Melba gripped the edge of the seat her stomach clenched with nerves, almost light-headed with the whirlwind of changes in her life. Turk had warned her against the Royal Victualler, so she must be cautious.

  The beautiful man she had seen playing the sacred tubular bells in the market stepped into the open doorway and for a moment she couldn’t breathe. He bowed formally, clicking his heels together. “It is my great pleasure to make your acquaintance, Your Royal Highness.” His gaze traveled over her, then he stepped into the room and came forward. He was just as she remembered, bright blue uniform trimmed with gold, gold hair, blue eyes, tall, imposing—almost overwhelming. Turk was a man, but he was a young man not much older than herself. The Royal Victualler was older and intimidating.

  She drew back in her chair as he approached. He bent and she belatedly remembered to offer him her hand. She held her breath as he pressed his lips against her skin, but he did not linger, stepping back immediately.

  “Pleased to meet you,” she said, not sure what else to say.

  “The king has charged me with the honor of protecting you, ma’am. I hope that meets with your approval.”

  Melba nodded, a little mesmerized by him. He was so elegant. Even his deep, smooth voice was perfect.

  “May I take a seat, ma’am?”

  “Oh, Great Earth Jinn, sorry.” Melba jumped up and dragged a chair close to the loveseat for him. Then she thought she probably shouldn’t have done that. But he took the seat she offered without comment.

  “Please be assured you have no reason to be nervous with me, ma’am. I’m here to serve you in any way I can.”

  The Royal Victualler’s excessive politeness rang false. Melba looked down at her hands so she could think. Turk had warned her that the Royal Victualler wanted to marry her to get the throne, so she mustn’t be blinded by his charm. But she needed someone to help her settle in and show her around.

  “I don’t really know what to do,” she said nervously. “I like this room and all the nice stuff, but I can’t just sit up here all the time doing nothing.” She needed to keep her mind occupied so she didn’t pine for Turk.

  She glanced up at the Royal Victualler, half expecting him to laugh at her, but he gave her a reassuring smile. “That, ma’am, is exactly what most young ladies love to do. Nothing. But if you wish to be active, I shall find diversions to entertain you. I’ll show you around the Palace, introduce you to the staff, and answer all your questions.”

  The tension along Melba’s spine eased and she smiled. As long as she kept her wits about her, the Royal Victualler could be a useful ally and friend.

  “Will you call me Melba, please? I don’t like ma’am. It makes me sound ancient.”

  He laughed at her joke and she relaxed a little more. “You definitely don’t look ancient, Melba. You are a very beautiful young lady.”

  Heat ran up her neck into her cheeks. “Thank you,” she said, wondering if he really thought that or if he was flattering her to make her like him.

  “If I’m going to call you Melba, I think you should call me Vittorio, or Vitto if you like.”

  “Vitto.” Her gaze darted up to him and then back to her hands.

  “I gather you were found living in a bakery in the third circle, Melba.”

  She nodded. Even though she’d spent the previous night huddled in the bakery storeroom, that part of her life seemed like a long time ago now.

  “Do you remember anything about your life before you arrived in the bakery?” he asked gently.

  “No. I were only three when I went there.”

  “Sometimes we are able to remember a long way back,” Vittorio said. “I was only four when my mother abandoned me at the monastery of the Shining Brotherhood, but I still remember her face.”

  “Ain’t you seen your ma since then?”

  Vittorio leaned back and his gaze drifted into the distance. “She went to the mainland. She has never returned.”

  Melba stared at him, seeing him for the first time as a person who had a ma and pa and hopes and worries, rather than just the beautiful man who wanted to use her to get the throne. “Why did your ma leave you with the Shining Brotherhood when you was so small?”

  He shrugged. “A misguided opinion of what was in my best interests, I imagine.”

  “I heard you was a monk,” she said.

  He laughed as if the joke was on him. “Not anymore, thank the Great Earth Jinn.”

  “Why did you leave?”

  He leveled a serious gaze on her and she wondered if she’d asked too personal a question. “The Primate of the Shining Brotherhood is both dishonest and dishonorable. I still perform my devotions to the Great Earth Jinn, but I have no time for an organization led by such an unscrupulous man.”

  Melba remembered what Gwinnie had said about Gregorio the Primate. He should have been king but he’d walked out and left all the work to her father. “Old Master Maddox, who I was pledged to in the bakery, said the Shining Brotherhood weren’t to be trusted.”

  “Well, your Master Maddox had it about right, Melba. They are not to be trusted.”

  Although she knew he was buttering her up, she liked the way he agreed with her. “Master Maddox said it’s unnatural the way they stay away from women.”

  Vittorio burst out laughing, his eyes glowing with mirth. “I couldn’t agree with him more. The Great Earth Jinn created men and women to need each other. The bluejackets have a saying that a young monk is like a kettle without a spout. Eventually the steam blows off his lid.” A frown flitted across his face as Melba giggled. “Forgive me. That was an improper thing for me to say to you.”

  “I heard worse than that, Vitto.” Melba laughed harder, leaning back to kick up her feet so she could see her new shoes. Then she remembered she was supposed to be behaving like a princess. But Vittorio grinned at her with no hint of disapproval.

  “So what did Master Turk have to say about the Shining Brotherhood when you criticized them?” He asked. The sound of Turk’s name on this man’s lips sobered her and her laughter died. She didn’t want to discuss Turk with anybody. Her thoughts and feelings about him were private.

  Melba’s hand went to the front of her dress where Turk’s Earth Blessing hung around her neck and she blinked back tears. She’d managed not to think about him while she talked with her father and most of the time while she bathed. But after she dressed, sneaky painful longings overwhelmed her and she’d cried. “Turk didn’t say much about them,” she said absently.

  “I’m surprised he didn’t defend his Brothers,” Vittorio said.
<
br />   Melba squinted at him. “They ain’t his Brothers.”

  “Master Turk is a monk, Melba. Didn’t he tell you?”

  An icy chill washed over Melba’s skin as though she’d been dunked in the harbor. “He ain’t a monk!” But even as the denial burst from her lips, the evidence flashed back through her mind: the monk collecting a message from the cubbyhole behind Turk’s palace, the habit hanging in his wardrobe, the sacred tubular bells in his simple bedroom, the Earth Blessings he wore. How had she missed all those clues? But she wouldn’t believe it. “He’s a spymaster,” she said.

  “My guess is he spies for the Shining Brotherhood. I told you the Primate was unscrupulous.”

  She remembered Turk asking her father to have the reward delivered to the Shining Brotherhood. Everything inside Melba clenched tight as a fist. She hunched forward against the pain. Like Gwinnie, Turk must have known she was the princess as soon as he saw her feet. Had he been planning to turn her in for the reward the whole time she’d been with him? Turk had disapproved of Master Maddox because he’d only looked after her for coin, but he was worse. He’d turned her into a girl and betrayed her trust for coin.

  “I’m sorry. Have I upset you?” Vittorio asked softly. “I assumed you must know.”

  “Please go,” she whispered. She just wanted to be alone. How could Turk have done this to her? A sob shook her but she hung on to her control until she heard the door close behind Vittorio. She wished she had never met Turk. She pushed her hand inside her bodice, yanked out his gold Earth Blessing, and hurled it across the room. It hit the wall with a dull clink and dropped to the ground. Tears burning, she dashed to her bedroom and threw herself down on her bed.

  Chapter Sixteen

  A boy is guided onto the path of devotion by his master, but a man stays on the path by mastering himself. —Brother Carlos

  Turk flung a star blade at the target on the monastery garden wall. The razor-sharp six-pointed star hissed through the air and bit into the wood. His right hand was a mass of bloody nicks from repeatedly handling the lethal blades, while his feet ached from hours spent kicking the punch bag in the gymnasium. But he had to stay active to stop his mind brooding on Melba.