by Rex Sumner
prick, a saying that had quickly passed through the army.
"S-s-s-sergeant!" stuttered the excited officer. "Get the men on parade, quickly now! We have an emergency."
"Of course, sir," said the sergeant calmly, face straight and grave despite all the soldiers behind the officer now bobbing up and down and grinning. "What seems to be the trouble?"
"The Princess has disappeared," wailed the officer, "on our watch too! She has probably been kidnapped by Uightlanders and we'll have a ransom to face!"
The soldiers stopped bobbing and looked concerned. This sounded like a genuine problem for which they might actually be held responsible.
"Princess, sir?" asked the sergeant calmly. "I'm sure we can track her down in no time. What does she look like? Perhaps she went dancing in the Officers Mess?"
Andy suppressed a grin. The Officers Mess was tiny.
"Dancing? Don't be ridiculous. Turn out the guard and the next Watch as well. We're going to have to search the fort. The Princess is far too young to dance. She was sent to bed immediately after supper last night and hasn't been seen since."
Something in Andy's guts turned over and the world spun. His face ashen, he listened as the sergeant lined up the guard for the officer to address.
"The Princess Asmara is missing and we have to find her. Men, I am relying on you. She is not just the Princess of the Realm, but the Crown Princess and only Heir. It is of paramount importance that she is found safe and well immediately. If we've lost her, well, I'll be cashiered and I'll make damn sure you all spend years breaking rocks in a punishment battalion! You will search the whole fort! You will search the dungeons! You will search the bedchambers! You will go through the town, you…"
"Sir," interrupted the sergeant wearily, "do we have a description of the girl? I am sure one of the Watch will have seen her last night."
"Description? What do you mean? She's the Princess, isn't that enough? Haven't you seen her?"
"Nossir, we've been on the frontier a while, sir, and we don't get to see many princesses up here." Like most things, the sergeant's irony went over the Duty Officer's head.
"Oh, well, she's twelve years old, very beautiful, red headed and… what's the matter?"
Every head had turned to look at Andy, who had dropped his cup of tea.
"Let me just go to the cells a moment, sir," said the sergeant tactfully and went towards them, with the Duty Officer following behind him.
"Cells? Cells? Why would we look in the cells, it's not exactly where she would choose to - OH MY GOD!!!! Your Highness, I am so sorry, I had no idea you were here, I'll get you out immediately, um, sergeant, it's locked!"
"Yessir, it's a cell, sir."
"Well get the fucking key! Oh, I am so sorry, Your Highness, I didn't mean to swear in front of you, we'll have you out in a moment, oh, your poor face, what has happened, I will be with you in minute, I am Second Lieutenant Peter Purcell, your rescuer from this terrible ordeal, get a move on soldier, open the door! Oh, Lord, somebody has tied her up! She has a noose round her neck! Her eye! Oh, the King will have us on the frontier tomorrow, quick, sergeant, get those bonds untied, CAREFUL WITH THAT KNIFE! There, Your Highness, I have you now, I shall take you straight to your father, no we must fix your face, where is the medic? SERGEANT! GET THE MEDIC! CAN'T YOU SEE THE PRINCESS IS INJURED YOU FOOL!"
"The medic has been sent for, sir, as has her maidservant who will come with clean clothes. Ma'am, if you would like to step into the Duty Officers Quarters, we'll have somebody attend to you shortly."
"Thank you, sergeant, and if I could have some water followed perhaps by some hot tea and bread, that would be wonderful." The voice was sweet, melodic and childlike. Over his devastation, Andy tried and failed to compare it with the filthy ranting he'd received during the night. He slumped against the wall.
As the door to the Duty Officers Quarters closed, Purcell turned and hissed, "Who is responsible for this outrage? I want him locked up instantly!"
Andy was marched into the great hall by the Regimental Sergeant Major, at 120 paces to the minute, twice normal speed. He was brought to a halt in front of the head table and stood at attention, fixing his gaze on a point about two feet above the King's greying head. King Richard, a powerful man with his daughter's red hair and a prominent nose jutting forward aggressively, gazed at the soldier with interest.
The Princess, dressed in a demure green frock, sat on his left with a piratical cast to her looks, brought on by the immense black eye and huge swelling on her eyebrow. She grinned delightedly at the sight of Andy and pouted when he didn't respond.
Andy was in misery. Purcell had spent a good quarter of an hour telling him that the automatic penalty for striking a member of the Royal Family was death and speculating on how sentence would be carried out. Consequently he had resigned himself to his fate and spent the day contemplating his life. Mentally, he had apologised to his parents for the disgrace he had brought on the family. He regretted that he hadn't managed to bed Mariestty that summer, and hoped that Molly wasn't pregnant if he was going to the gallows.
There was silence in the great hall as the King examined Andy. The King had over ruled the General, who had wanted a public trial in front of the soldiers and threatened to resign his commission if the King went over his head to punish the boy. The General sat fuming to the King's right, while to one side of the hall was a long table at which sat several officers from the fort garrison, including Purcell. Opposite them was another table at which sat soldiers in total contrast to the garrison officers, like a row of dowdy sparrows opposite parakeets.
They made Purcell uncomfortable. They were men from the Royal Pathfinders, who had appeared suddenly just before the hearing, silently come in and taken the table. Purcell looked at them and sniffed, they hadn't bothered to change and their clothes bore the evidence of hard riding. He was sure he could smell them from across the hall and sniffed again.
A scarred brute met his eye, and Purcell felt a desperate need for the toilet. The fellow didn't even wear insignia so he had no idea what rank the man was. None of them wore insignia, damned confusing, and Purcell couldn't understand why they were permitted in the room.
Mentally he rehearsed his story again, ignoring the Pathfinders, checking that his rendition showed himself in excellent light and would crucify this sorry excuse for a soldier. He thought he could draw it out for a good half an hour, and already imagined the congratulations he would receive in the Mess that evening. Why, if he played it well he should get that promotion, not before time!
The King broke the silence. "So, boy, how long have you been a Pathfinder?"
"Two years, sir!" snapped Andy instantly, although confused by the question.
A bejewelled flunky that Andy hadn't noticed stepped forward. "The prisoner will call the King "Your Highness" and only speak when spoken to!"
The King waved his hand irritably. "He's one of my soldiers. It is an honour to be called sir by a Pathfinder. We're on the frontier and don't need your bloody Gallic tomfoolery." He glared at the courtier who retreated indignantly.
"I spoke to Bobby earlier." He nodded at one of the dowdy soldiers. "Told me your record. Said you did well at Meadowsweet last year."
"Sir, thank you sir!" answered Andy a bit more slowly, as it came to him that "Bobby" was General Lord Roberts, Commander of the Royal Pathfinders, and he flicked his eyes briefly to see his Commanding Officer and staff sitting emotionlessly in a row. Even his Sergeant was there, staring at him expressionlessly. He shrank internally, at the thought of the trouble he had caused his boss. Somebody must have ridden to tell him straight after his arrest and he wondered who, even as he thought that it was three hours ride to the camp.
"I read your report from the Guard Record," continued the King. "Fine report, what I would expect from a Pathfinder. Clear and to the point."
Purcell's dreams crashed around him. It hadn't occu
rred to him that a stupid soldier would think to make a report, and he hadn't checked the Record. Quickly he tried to mentally edit his story.
"You are very wrong on one point, though, boy," said the King with great relish. "I was married to her mother, you see." The King sat back in his chair and stroked his beard to hide his grin at Andy's confusion.
"I, I don't understand, sir," stammered Andy weakly.
"She's not a bastard. You called my daughter, the Crown Princess of the Realm, a foul-mouthed, ugly little bastard. In writing."
"Sir," said Andy weakly, as a gasp ran round the hall and a brief mutter from the garrison officers. The Princess sat up straighter and beamed proudly.
"From your report, this was shortly after you clouted her to cause these injuries." The King waved his hand at his daughter who angled her face to make sure that everybody could see the damage. "Very precise blow," mused the King. "Not hard enough to cause permanent damage, just enough to stop her struggling. Deliberate or accidental?" he barked this last straight at Andy, who was too confused to reply.
"I think it was deliberate," said the King as Andy failed to speak, "based on what I hear about your skill with weapons. So, boy, what should I do with you? Striking a Royal Personage hard enough to mark them like this? You know what the penalty is?"
"Sir!" replied Andy strongly, "Permit me to lead the