A Clockwork Fairytale (29 page)

King Santo’s gray, papery skin stretched tight over the sharp angles of his face. Bruised smudges ringed his eyes. His lowered eyelids fluttered and his white scalp shone through his thin hair as if he were in his seventies, not his fifties. The nurse sitting at his bedside looked up at Vittorio with a frown and put a finger to her lips. She rose and came to him. “His Royal Highness had a restless night and has just fallen asleep,” she whispered. “Please come back later.”

“He requested my presence,” Vittorio retorted, irritated by her lack of respect for his position. She hadn’t even acknowledged him by name.

“That’s as may be,” she said. “But I will not allow the king to be disturbed. Whatever he wanted to speak with you about can wait until later.”

Vittorio blinked at the small dark-haired woman, almost speechless with outrage at her insolence. “I am the Royal Victualler,” he snapped. “You will address me properly, madam.”

The king drew in a thin wheezing breath and his eyes cracked open. “Vittorio,” he croaked weakly. “Is that you?”

The nurse frowned at him. “Now see what y—”

“Get out!” Vittorio jabbed a finger at the door. He would
not
be reprimanded by a blasted servant, even if she was a nurse. By the end of the day, she would be searching for alternative employment. Once the woman left the room, he went to the king’s side and bowed. “You wanted to see me, sir.”

“Sit.” King Santo raised a trembling finger from where it lay on the coverlet to indicate the chair. “I shall not be well enough to host the Great Earth Day Celebration this evening. I require you to stand in for me and introduce Melbaline to my guests.” He gasped and closed his eyes as if the effort of speaking had exhausted him. After a few moments, he turned his head to stare at the shaded windows. “I had so hoped to have the strength to introduce my daughter at Court, but I fear the next time I leave my sickbed I will be taken out feet first.”

Guilt crept through Vittorio. He tried to ignore it. “I’m sure you will get stronger again, sir.” Even to his own ears, his words sounded unconvincing.

King Santo looked at him. Although the king’s body had sickened, up until now, his mind had remained sharp, but finally his eyes were dimming. “I have tried to discharge my responsibilities, Vittorio, even when I have been so weary I wanted nothing more than to lay down my head to rest and never wake up again. Melbaline will soon be required to cope alone. It pains me to burden her with such a daunting task. You must make haste and find her a young prince from the mainland to marry, a man with enough experience to guide her in her duties.”

Impulsively, Vittorio reached out and clasped the king’s hand. “I’ll watch over her, sir. She will not be without friends and advisors.”

“Thank you, Vittorio. Knowing you will guide her eases my mind. You understand I’m sure that there are complex political ramifications in choosing one prince over another. She must listen to her advisors and not be impulsive in her choice.”

“If I may make a suggestion, sir…” Vittorio swallowed, the enormity of what he was about to say nearly stealing his voice. “You trust me, don’t you, sir?”

“I do.”

“Would you consider the possibility…might I suggest…?” Now, when he needed his confidence the most, he could not waver. “I believe I would make a suitable husband for your daughter. I have enough experience to guide her decisions, and she already has a firm place in my affections.” He held his breath as the king stared at him.

“I had not considered…” King Santo started, his words trailing off as he frowned.

“If you approve my suit we could announce the match tonight. It would end any speculation and ensure stability when the princess has to take over the royal duties. If you think it prudent, sir.”

King Santo lifted a hand to cover his eyes, and the cold sweat of uncertainty prickled Vittorio’s skin. Had he pushed too hard? He wanted to continue explaining how he could help Melba, but he kept his lips clamped shut. He had said enough.

Long minutes passed. A sick sense of gloom settled over Vittorio. He was sure he had made a terrible mistake revealing his interest in the princess. If King Santo rejected his suit, he would have no choice but to step down as head of Melba’s security. He had gambled everything on the king’s desperation.

Finally, the king dropped his hand to the coverlet and turned his face to Vittorio. “I intend no disrespect, but you are not the man I had hoped my daughter would take for her husband.” Everything inside Vittorio shriveled into a cold hard lump of frustration and despair. Why had he been stupid enough to gamble years of carefully laid plans on a hasty proposal?

“But,” the king continued, “your solution does have merit.” Vittorio’s desolation was blasted away by a flare of hope. He felt giddy with the wildly fluctuating emotions. “Matching my daughter with you removes the potential political backlash of choosing the wrong prince. You have the experience to offer informed advice and the wedding can be organized quickly. Lastly, but also of importance to me, I gather my daughter enjoys your company.” The king reached for Vittorio’s hand and squeezed it. “I think you may have hit upon the ideal solution in the circumstances. So yes, Vittorio, I give you permission to marry my daughter as soon as possible. I want to see her happily settled before I return to the Earth.”

***

In the distance, Melba heard the clock far below in Sugar Street Market start to strike. She counted the chimes, but couldn’t believe it was eleven bells already. She opened her eyes and peered at the ornate gold clock on her dresser to confirm. With a groan, she pulled the covers back over her face.

She had woken earlier that morning, but after her uncomfortable, restless night, she didn’t possess the energy to get out of bed. Even now, she still felt listless and achy.

A knock sounded on the door and the latch clicked open. “Are you awake, ma’am?” Madam Borrelli asked.

Melba uncovered her head and blinked at the woman. “Sorta.”

Madam Borrelli came in, closing the door behind her, and walked to the bed. “Are you unwell, ma’am?” she asked frowning.

“Just had a rotten night.” Melba sat up and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. She couldn’t pinpoint what was wrong with her like she could when she had a cold. She just felt weary, achy, and a little sick.

“The Royal Victualler is here to see you, ma’am.”

Melba groaned again and pressed the heels of her hands over her tired eyes. Vittorio probably wanted to discuss that evening’s Great Earth Day Celebration, but Melba’s enthusiasm had waned now that her father wouldn’t be attending. He had been too ill to see her yesterday morning. Then last night he had sent a message to say he would have to miss the celebration. That meant she must go with Vittorio. He had started to get on her nerves, telling her what to do all the time.

“You are perfectly at liberty to send him away if you do not wish to see him, ma’am. You don’t even need to give him a reason.”

Melba dropped her hands and stared at Madam Borrelli through bleary eyes. “He always makes it seem like everything he has to say is urgent and important.”

“To him, maybe.” Madam Borrelli laced her fingers tightly before her. “May I speak frankly, ma’am?” At Melba’s nod she continued. “In my opinion, and that of many others in the Palace might I add, the Royal Victualler takes too many liberties.
He
should obey your commands, ma’am.
Not
the other way round.”

It was true that Vittorio had started out polite and understanding and gradually become dictatorial, expecting her to do what he told her. But he was responsible for her security, and if she ever questioned his instructions, he always had a sensible explanation. “I
will
need to see him about security and stuff before we go to the Great Earth Day Celebration.”

“Then ask him to call again at half past four once you are dressed for the event. That still gives you ample time to discuss procedure before you are due to attend the function.”

“Righty ho.” Melba started to nod but her head throbbed. “Tell him to come back later.”

With a small tight smile, Madam Borrelli inclined her head and marched to the door. After it shut, Melba flopped back on the bed and listened to the angry exchange as Vittorio tried to argue his way in to see her. Finally, the voices quieted and a door slammed. A few moments later Madam Borrelli knocked and entered. “The Royal Victualler has gone, ma’am. He was most persistent and not at all happy to be sent away.”

Melba chuckled, imagining Vittorio’s angry expression. Then her amusement faded. He really had an awful temper and she wouldn’t want to be at his mercy. She prayed Turk never fell into his hands.

Madam Borrelli busied herself laying out Melba’s clothes and tidying up. After a few minutes, she cleared her throat. Melba sat up and heaved a resigned sigh. She had been so looking forward to attending the Great Earth Day Celebration with her father. Now she would have to pretend to enjoy herself and she wasn’t sure she had the energy.

“Shall I send down for some breakfast for you, ma’am?”

Over the last few days, even Melba’s appetite had gone. She shook her head.

“I am worried about you, ma’am.” Madam Borrelli stepped closer, then amazed Melba by pressing her hand to her forehead. “You don’t have a temperature that I can detect, but I think you should see a doctor.”

“I ain’t never seen a doctor in me life.” Surely feeling tired and listless wasn’t enough reason to call a doctor.

“I have served the Ferilli family since I was a girl,” Madam Borrelli said. “My loyalty is unquestioned, ma’am. You accept that, I hope.” Melba squinted up at the woman, wondering what she was going on about. “I know you and I did not see eye to eye to start with, ma’am, but please trust me.”

Melba shrugged, too weary to bother to work out what the old crow meant. Madam Borrelli pulled up a chair and sat facing Melba. “Please listen to me, ma’am. I have held my tongue about my suspicions, but now you are sickening I can no longer, in good conscience, remain silent. A number of long-serving staff members believe the Royal Victualler is poisoning the king. Over the last few years, that man has systematically undermined and discredited the king’s most trusted advisors, leaving himself as the only advisor close to the throne.”

“What?” Melba’s attention had started to drift, but the word ‘poisoning’ jolted her fully awake. Why would Vittorio want to hurt her father? “How?”

Madam Borrelli clicked her tongue. “I do not know and I might be wrong. But now you are sickening as well and I fear for you.”

“Me,” Melba whispered. “Do you think Vitto is poisoning me as well?” Why would Vittorio want to poison her if he hoped to marry her? Did he plan to wipe out her family and take the throne for himself?

“You need to be checked by a doctor outside the Palace who is not under the Royal Victualler’s influence. Do you have any friends who could help you find someone?”

Melba had sent Turk an invitation to the Great Earth Day celebration at the Palace, but she had not received a reply from him. “The man who rescued me and returned me to the Palace should be coming. If he got me note.”

Madam Borrelli wrung her hands together. “We must be very careful. The Royal Victualler is a dangerous man.”

“I should go and tell me pa.”

“No, ma’am, do not worry him. He is so poorly now there is little he can do. If we want to see the Ferilli line continue to rule Malverne Isle, you will have to deal with the Royal Victualler yourself.”

***

Turk leaned a shoulder against the wall beside the shrine to the Great Earth Jinn and watched the excited crowds thronging Sugar Street Market. Because it was Great Earth Day, entertainers from the outer circles had been allowed in. Music from a barrel organ and a piper vied with the excited chatter. Jugglers and fire breathers performed, surrounded by knots of people. Vendors sold toffee apples, meat pies, and paper cones of striped candy. The regular stalls had been replaced by those selling Earth Day keepsakes, including models of the Earth King and Queen, decorated Earth Blessings, and paper garlands fashioned to look like leaves and fruit. Children skipped past in traditional costume with pointed green hats and tiny apples and leaves sewn on their clothes.

Although Turk had an invitation to the celebration, he had come disguised as a Royal Guard so he would be better able to help Melba escape. Since he had left Dante at the Red House, he had formulated a plan of rescue and set up the arrangements. He now had everything in place. All he needed was for Dante to turn up to play his part.

The clock in the market square chimed five bells and a few minutes later Dante strode across the bridge from the second circle. The guards barely glanced at him, his fine clothes evidence enough that he belonged in the inner circle. He had certainly cleaned up well. He cut a fine figure in his black-tailed evening coat, satin waistcoat, and black tie. The ladies at the Red House had shaved him and cut the tat out of his hair. Most of his hair now hung to his collar, with only a single long strand bound with blue and gold thread trailing down the side of his face.

Dante paused a short distance away and squinted at Turk. Then he grinned. He came forward, fist raised to knock knuckles. When Turk didn’t respond he shook hands instead. “I nearly didn’t recognize you, Turk. Are you using a glamour?”

“I cannot risk entering the Palace without a good disguise. I’ll not be much help to Melba if I get myself arrested.” Turk sniffed. As well as the masculine smell of woodland spice soap, the fragrance of cheap tarts' perfume surrounded Dante. “You smell like a brothel.”