Part of Your World (Disney Twisted Tales) - Liz Braswell Page 0,68

into silence agam, falling back disappointedly into their seats.

"What do we do about it, Mr. Grimsby?" the maid finally asked.

"I really don't have the foggiest idea. It's not our place. I have sworn to protect and serve the royal couple; it is an oath I cannot break...."

"Yes, yes, yes." Carlotta almost used the cup to gesture with, scattering scalding hot tea everywhere. The fme bone china weighed so little in her hand that she had almost forgotten it was there. "But I never signed on to serve an undersea hag, if that's what, you know.

Grimsby turned white at the term hag, as if she had mentioned something as terrible as her own unmentionables.

"No, neither did I," he haltingly allowed. "And she's certainly not actmg like a proper princess...."

"Oh, hush on that. There's been plenty of warrior princesses in both of our lands, Mr. Grimsby. But she's not even actmg like a proper warrior—or any sort of normal human being—because she isn't one. She's like a rabid dog—er, shark—biting everyone and everywhere. Mr. Grimsby, we—all of Tirulia—are in thrall to an evil supernatural being, oaths or no!"

"I think I could forgive whatever she was, if Eric truly loved her."

Carlotta almost dropped her teacup at this heartfelt admission from the old gentleman's gentleman. It was only shockmg because the very Bretlandian Grimsby was usually as sealed up as a clam when it came to what he felt or believed.

"You've been with the prince a long time, haven't you?" she said softly.

"Well...you know, our careers don't often give one much time for things like family," the old butler said mildly. "I care for him very deeply. Like a son."

Carlotta looked stern. "Then we should let our hearts and souls dictate our actions, Mr. Grimsby, not contracts. There are others who can judge us, maybe, for what we swore and didn't swear. But they aren't on Earth, if you see what I'm saying, Mr. Grimsby."

"I don't like talk of mutiny. Miss Carlotta—it's not our place—"

"Oh, heavens forfend, Mr. Grimsby. But if you meant what you said about Eric, I believe there is another... girl... thing... whom the prince might indeed have feelings for."

"I always thought he did, I always wished that he had..." Grimsby trailed off wistfully, thinking back to earlier times. Then he redirected his attention on the maid. "All right, then. Perhaps if you have something in mind for an... acceptably subtle and appropriate course of action that might benefit our original employer, given the circumstances, well, I might be persuaded to go along."

"First thing we do is find all the downstairs folks we can trust and put them to work looking for the sea king. As for other ideas.. .I'm sure an opportunity will present itself, Mr. Grimsby," Carlotta said, eyes twinkling over her teacup. "It is a very small castle, after all."

In the world of operas, when a hero is searching for something, be it the identity of a woman who rescued him or the letter that will free his daughter from bemg unjustly imprisoned, the tenor smgs heartbreakingly about his quest, wanders around on stage, picks up a few props, and looks under them. He finds the thing! Voila. Done.

Real life was a lot more tense and a lot less satisfying.

And, unlike m opera, Eric's search for the Kmg of the Sea was often interrupted by real-life stuff: sudden appearances of Vanessa or her manservants, meetmgs, rehearsals for the opera's end-of-summer encore, formal events he had to attend, or princely duties—such as hearing a coroner's report on the death of the Ibrian.

(No foul play discovered, although why such a healthy youngish man had keeled over would remain a mystery for the ages. Vanessa had no trouble getting along with his replacement, who was much more amenable to collusion anyway.)

Often when interrupted Eric would forget which was the last object he had looked at and have to start a room from the beginning.

Then he hit upon a brilliant idea to keep track, inspired by his life as a musician. He would carefully mark the first thing that he looked at in a room, observing its precise placement, and the last thing he looked at before leaving—and then he would write it all down in his musical notebook. The altitude of the item was indicated by a note: high G over C, for instance, for the top shelf of a bookcase, middle C for the floor. A portion of a room was a measure of music: each room was a refrain.