Heroics for Beginners

by John Moore

  And staggered on.

  When a wise old sage tells you not to let a magical talisman fall into the wrong hands, take him seriously. Do not laugh it off until the object is stolen and the Forces of Evil are unleashed.

  —HANDBOOK OF PRACTICAL HEROICS BY ROBERT TAYLOR

  Prince Kevin Stopped at the door of Princess Rebecca’s salon, which was lacquered in a light pink with a seafoam green frame. The brass lock plate was intricately engraved with flowers and curlicues. It looked very feminine. He adjusted his lapels and cuffs, and said, “What time is it, Winslow?”

  “When we passed the clock above the stairs, sire, it was ten minutes past the hour.”

  “We’re early,” said Kevin. He turned and strode briskly past the door. His valet followed him to the end of the hall, where the Prince found a mirror in a gilt frame. He stood there critically inspecting the ruffles in his collar.

  “Beg pardon, sire.” Winslow was a little out of breath. “Did the lady not say to be there at eight o’clock and to be prompt?”

  “Yes, but girls’ time is different from guys’ time. If you get there on time, you catch them when they’re still putting on their makeup, and that flusters them. Then they think you’re stupid for not knowing you’re supposed to be late. Better to give them more time.”

  “If you say so, sire.” Winslow was doubtful. He had served the Prince for many years, but only recently had His Highness begun dating, and back in Rassendas, the girls came to him. This was an unfamiliar situation.

  “Let’s take a look.” He strolled unhurriedly back down the long hallway, pausing to look at a few paintings that adorned the walls. They were mostly of the royal women, for this was the wing of the castle where Deserae’s queens and princesses traditionally had their suites. As yet, there was no portrait of Rebecca. He looked for a painting of her mother. Before leaving Rassendas, his father had given him an additional piece of advice. “If you find out what her mother looks like, you’ll know what the Princess will look like in twenty or thirty years. Or maybe as little as fourteen years, in some of the more rural kingdoms. So look for a portrait of her mother. On second thought, don’t look for a portrait of her mother. Sometimes it’s better not to know.”

  Kevin had treated these words of wisdom with the same weight and gravity that all young men give to advice from their parents. “Dad,” he said, “are you aware that there’s a dead mouse on your chin?”

  “I’m growing a little beard. You don’t like it? Everyone else thinks it looks cool.”

  Going from portrait to portrait, with Winslow beside him, he eventually reached the pink-and-green door again.

  This time he rapped on it three times and waited. There was no answer. He looked at the bottom of the door for a sign of light. There was none. He shrugged. “Maybe I’m still too early.”

  “Perhaps, sire, you are too late, and she got tired of waiting.”

  “I don’t think so.” The Prince tried the handle and found the door was unlocked. “Well, I’ve been invited. Winslow, wait for me outside this door. Do not leave. On no account are you to let anyone in. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, sire.”

  “See you later.” He turned the handle and opened the door halfway. Inside it was dark. He turned back toward his valet and gave him a questioning look. Winslow could only shrug. Kevin slipped inside and shut the door carefully and quietly behind him.

  Inside, the room was not quite black, but the only light came from the moon shining through a pair of open French windows and a few tiny red dots in the fireplace, the last embers of a dying fire. Faintly, the sounds of the ball still wafted in the air. Kevin waited for his eyes to become accustomed to the gloom before moving forward. He didn’t wait long enough. Almost immediately he hit his shin on a low table. “Ow!” Kevin was annoyed now. “Becky! What are you doing?”

  A girlish giggle sounded just behind him. Kevin whirled, reached at the air in front of him, jumped forward, and banged his other shin on yet another table. “Dammit, Becky!”

  He felt the lightest of touches on the back of his neck. This time he was quicker. He spun, grabbed—and felt a pair of warm, moist lips pressed against his own, firm breasts squeezed against his chest, and the curve of a smooth, bare bottom beneath his hands. These sensations held for but a second. Then in an instant the body squirmed from beneath his arms, and with almost magical swiftness the girl’s laughter sounded across the room.

  Kevin moved toward the sound, coming up against a sofa and climbing over it. Very faintly, he could see an outline of pale skin glowing in the moonlight. Or thought he could—the outline seemed to fade away as he got closer, and suddenly he felt a hot, wet, female tongue slide into his left ear.

  “Ah!” He swung his arms wide and brought them together in a bear hug, clasping them around—empty air. A moment later he felt a pair of soft arms wrap around him from behind, the front of her thighs press against the back of his, and her delicate fingers stroke his chest. She kissed his neck and faded away, and once again he heard a giggle. This time he was sure it came from near the fireplace.

  “How does she do that?” Kevin asked himself, starting toward the laughter and getting tangled in a chair. He gave it a kick. It hit something else and he heard a clatter as things he couldn’t see, but did not doubt were expensive and delicate, were knocked to the floor. He swore under his breath. Then he discerned a candlestick in the dim light. He grabbed it. Carefully he carried it to the fireplace, lowered the wick to the grate, and blew on an ember until the wick came to a tiny flame. It was all he needed. He stood up once more, and in the soft glow of candlelight, he finally beheld the Princess of Deserae.

  She was clad in a loose velour dressing gown. Her hair was still tied in a tight bun, her arms were folded sternly across her chest, and her lips were pressed into a thin straight line. She was standing at the door to her dressing room, as if she had just walked in to investigate the noise. Her eyes swept over the disarranged furniture, pausing on an overturned vase, and a fallen statuette. She said nothing, but looked at Kevin with cold disapproval.

  The Prince gave his head a small shake, as if to clear it. “Becky, weren’t you naked just now?”

  Becky’s lips twitched. She tried to hold the severe expression, but her eyes, suddenly filled with merriment, gave her away. “Prince Kevin! Are you suggesting that I, the Princess of Deserae, would let a boy into my rooms while in a state of dishabille? I am shocked, absolutely shocked, that you could ask such a question. Really, what kind of girl do you think I am?” She lowered herself onto a settee and patted the space next to her.

  Kevin reached it in two leaps. He slid up next to her. “I think the Princess of Deserae is a tease.”

  Becky bounced out of her seat and onto his lap. “Just a flirt.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and breathed into his ear. “There’s only a thin line between being a flirt and being a tease.”

  “Yeah, and you’re about six leagues on the other side of it.” He held her tight and kissed her. This time it was a long kiss, slow and deep, and her mouth met his with enthusiasm. When they finally broke away, he asked her, “How am I doing? Any news?”

  “You’re doing great.” Becky flicked a stray strand of hair out of her face. “Oh, the Baron is so pleased that you liked his cider. That was absolutely inspired. He has a lot of influence with Daddy.”

  “Mmm.” Kevin stretched out on the settee and pulled Becky on top of him. “We can’t get overconfident though. My feeling is that the Council as a whole still leans toward Logan.”

  “Yes, but don’t forget their wives. The ladies are coming to your side. And you can bet they whisper in their husbands’ ears.” Becky sat up. She let her robe fall open and gave a little shake, enjoying the way Kevin’s eyes involuntarily followed the motion. “Oh, and that bit with the little girl in the garden tonight—the women loved it. That story is already all over the castle.”

  “She was a cute kid. Kiss.”

  Becky kissed
him again. Then suddenly she broke away, laughing.

  “What?”

  “I was thinking about dinner. ‘I am a student of idleness, ’” she mimicked. “Where do you come up with lines like that? Did you see Logan’s face? I had to leave the table to keep from laughing out loud.”

  “I’m glad you did. One smile from you, and those guys would be head over heels in love. I’d never get rid of them. I know what I’m talking about. One smile is all it took for me.”

  “What a charmer you are, Kevin. Will you always talk to me like this?”

  “Alas no. After a while I’ll run out of the good stuff and begin repeating myself. Remember which lines you like best, so I can use them again.”

  “I’ll start taking notes.” She snuggled in his arms for another round of kisses. “Oh, I have something to show you.”

  She took the candle, lit a table lamp, then crossed the room and took a magazine from a wicker basket. Bringing the candle back to Kevin, she shoved the magazine into his hands. “This is so great. It’s this month’s Teen Princess magazine. Have you read it?”

  “Teen Princess? Gosh no, I’ve been meaning to . . .”

  “Check this article.”

  “Black Velvet!” Kevin read. “In a Hot New Look for Cold Winter Nights.”

  “No, the other page.”

  “Has Your Prince Come? Find Out Now with the Teen Princess Quiz!”

  “See, the idea is that you and your boyfriend take the quiz together. Then you add up the score, and if it’s high, you know you’re right for each other.”

  “I am not taking the Teen Princess quiz.”

  “I knew you’d say that. So I took the quiz for both of us, choosing the answers that I know you would have chosen.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “And then I did the same thing for each of the others. Raymond, Bigelow, and Logan. I skipped Harkness because he’s too young.” Becky leaned over him and ran her finger down the column of printed questions. “And guess what? You scored the highest!”

  “Good, good. Who came in second?”

  “Lord Logan, of course.”

  “Of course? Why do you say of course?”

  Becky looked at him out of the sides of her eyes. “Well honey, you have to admit he’s really good-looking.”

  “What? He’s old! For God’s sake, Becky. He’s over thirty!”

  “And he’s so tall. And he’s very muscular. Look at his arms.”

  “Becky! Are you trying to make me jealous?”

  Becky suddenly looked coy. “Why, Prince Kevin. Are you jealous?”

  “Of course I’m jealous.” Kevin tossed the magazine aside. “So there’s no need to make me more jealous. It’s just throwing fat on the fire. A fire that’s already burning for you.”

  “Oh, you’re so poetic.” Becky kissed him again, then, just as Kevin was really getting into it, pulled away. “Wait, I have something else to show you. Stay here.” He remained seated while she went back to her dressing room. But once there, she turned and paused with her fingers on the door handle. “I bought this for our wedding night, but I’m just going to give you a sneak preview now.”

  “You’re already buying clothes for our wedding night? I guess you’re pretty confident.”

  “I have faith in you, darling. You’ll win them over. I’ll work on Daddy from my side. And I’ll keep giving Logan the Ice Princess treatment. Maybe that will discourage him.” Becky’s voice came through the door, which was still partly open. “Now this is very naughty, so you’ll have to remember your promise. I’m the Princess, after all. There are some things I just can’t do until we’re married.”

  “Well, you can’t do what we’ve been doing either.” There was a mirror just on the other side of the door. Looking at it, Kevin caught a few fleeting glimpses of creamy skin.

  “Yes, but there are some things I really can’t do. Now remember.”

  “I remember.”

  “Are you looking at me in that mirror?”

  “Of course I am. That’s why you left the door open, isn’t it?”

  “Oh you.” Becky sounded exasperated. But she made no effort to close the door. “Go put on some music. I just got some new disks. They’re under the settee.”

  The Prince lit another candle and slid a wooden case out from under the couch. It held a stack of perforated brass plates. He selected one, carried it over to the panharmonium, and put it on the turntable. He found the crank on a shelf underneath the machine. He wound the spring and closed the cover. From the speaker horn came the soft sounds of a light waltz.

  “That’s nice,” said Becky from her dressing room. “Oh, I can’t wait until we’re officially engaged and can go out together. Won’t it be nice to go to a concert? Or a ballroom?”

  “Sure,” said Kevin. He thought of the last date he’d had in Rassendas. He and the girl had managed to sneak away from the palace, away from the prying eyes of servants and courtiers. He had taken her to a dark, smoky club on the bohemian side of town, where a trio of musicians was playing, and the candles were set in old wine bottles with straw covers. They had just ensconced themselves in a corner booth when the King, with his shades, beard, and black turtleneck, and carrying a clarinet, came to jam with the band. The crowd loved it. Kevin’s girlfriend was impressed. “Wow,” she had said. “Your father is totally cool.” Kevin had sourly agreed.

  Now the gentle notes of the panharmonium floated through the room, out into the soft night air. Almost concealed by the music was a whisper of breath. Becky had blown out one of the remaining candles. The other she had placed in the room behind her, so that when Kevin turned, he found her silhouetted in golden light. The nightgown she wore was little more than a translucent film, almost transparent in fact, a glossy sateen that hung from her shoulders on two thin spaghetti straps, baring everything above her nipples. What remained below was tight in all the right places, and where it was loose, enough light showed through to outline the figure beneath, letting his mind fill in the erotic details. She paused long enough to give Kevin a good look, and when she was sure she had created the maximum impact, she removed two pins from her hair and gave her head a gentle shake. A waterfall of golden curls cascaded over her soft shoulders and down to the middle of her back. She let him drink in this sight also, then said, “Well, what do you think?”

  “Can’t talk,” said Kevin. “I’m trying to keep from swallowing my tongue.”

  “Maybe I can help.” She fitted her body to his and found his mouth with her own. Together they circled the room in a slow dance, his arms around her waist, her arms around his neck, clinging together while the panharmonium tinkled its way to the end of the disk. Even when the music stopped they didn’t separate but stood close together. Becky rested her head on Kevin’s shoulder and firmly moved his hand from her thigh back up to her waist. A gentle breeze came in through the window and caressed her hair. She smiled as Kevin patted the stray tresses back in place. He looked at the spaghetti straps of the nightgown and considered pushing one off her shoulder, wondering if the whole nightgown would slide to the floor, leaving her naked in his arms. Or would it just slide down on one side, leaving one breast bare? Would she get angry with him? Probably not. He decided to risk it. He kissed her deeply, and, while her tongue was in his mouth, he gently pushed a strap with one finger.

  Becky opened her eyes and screamed.

  He pulled back, but she grabbed him and held him tightly. “Kevin!” she whispered hoarsely. She spun him around so he was facing the open windows, the draperies waving slightly in the gentle wind, and the white marble balcony stained with a puddle of dark liquid. “Blood!”

  Winslow heard a scream, kicked the door open, and ran into the room, stumbling over furniture right and left. The Prince and Princess were on the balcony, each with a candlestick in one hand, both kneeling next to a prone figure. It was lying in a pool of what was quite unmistakably blood. He stopped at the windows. The Prince looked up and spoke sharply. “Winslow!”<
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  “Yes, sire.”

  “There are glasses and a decanter on the sideboard. Pour a large brandy.”

  “Yes, sire.”

  “And drink it yourself. Then sit down.”

  “Yes, sire.”

  Becky was holding a mirror to the man’s lips. “He’s dead.”

  “Who is he? Do you know him?”

  “It’s Thunk the Barbarian,” said Becky. “He’s a professional hero. Daddy sometimes hired him for troubleshooting. You know, dangerous missions for the kingdom.”

  “He’s been tortured.” Kevin held the candle over him, looking at the array of fresh bruises and recent scars. “Someone worked him over pretty badly.”

  “Oh, poor Thunk. It must have been terrible.”

  “What was he doing?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Well, he’s beyond feeling any pain now. Winslow, alert the castle guard.”

  “Wait!” Becky clutched the front of her nightgown. “I can’t be seen like this. I have to change clothes.” She ran back to the adjoining room, closing the door firmly behind her.

  That nightgown is ruined, Kevin thought irrationally. He stood up. So are these trousers. The knees were soaked with blood. It all seemed so unreal—the dead man, the moonlight, the drapes blowing gently in the French windows, the girl in the bloody nightgown—like some sort of gothic novel.

  He went back inside. Winslow was still sitting, eyes closed, hunched over, his hands on his stomach, as though nauseous. Kevin poured a brandy for himself and sat down next to his valet. He put a hand on the older man’s shoulder. “Are you all right?”