The Prince's Bargain - K.M. Shea Page 0,67

tottering up the sidewalk, heading for the neighboring house.

“Wrong way, man,” Wilford called. “You’re blind as a bat. You don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“What did you say?” Thad poked his head out of the carriage, a leather satchel dangling from his gloved hands.

Wilford peered back at him through the thick lenses of his glasses. “I said he’s blind as a bat.”

“Eh?”

“Blind as a bat!”

“No thank you, I’m full.” Thad stumbled down the stairs, his legs visibly shaking. When he reached the bottom stair, he chewed loudly and stared at the footman hurrying forward to help them. “This isn’t my house.”

“We’re not visiting your house, sir.” Myth, joining in the charade, spoke in a very loud and firm voice as she—agile in her translator pants and jacket—jumped the steps and rushed to steady Wilford before he almost tripped on the curb and fell down. “His Royal Highness Crown Prince Arvel sent us to retrieve some documents, remember?”

“Eh?” Thad said.

Grygg was still making a break for the next-door neighbor’s house, so the footman hurried after him and got him turned around just as Lord Julyan emerged from his house.

“Welcome…representatives…?” he trailed off as the footman dragged a complaining Grygg back to their group, and Thad took tiny, shaky steps, bumping into Wilford, who querulously grunted and elbowed him.

“I say, watch where you’re going,” Wilford said.

“What?” Thad chewed his tree resin and squinted at Wilford.

“Ho, ho, I’ve found the right house!” Grygg said. “Sharp as a tack I am—nothing gets past me.” He walked straight into the fence, backed up with a great harrumph, then marched forward when the footman flipped the latch and opened the gate for him.

“Come along, sir.” Myth took Wilford’s arm. “Your services are needed inside.”

“Of course!” Wilford tried to draw himself up straight, but his shoulders were so hunched, he only succeeded in nearly losing his walking stick.

Lord Julyan, dressed in a rich, green silken tunic, seemed puzzled by the general pandemonium, though after watching it for a few moments a smug smile twitched across his lips.

Excellent. He’s taken the bait. I was concerned we were overdoing it, but Arvel said we had to make it obvious.

“Good afternoon, Lord Julyan.” Myth bowed once the three “aides” had been corralled to the tiled patio just in front of the house’s main entrance. “I am here on behalf of His Royal Highness Crown Prince Arvel to collect some documents on logs. My companions are three of His Majesty, King Petyrr’s, most trusted and senior aides.”

“King Petyrr, long may he live!” Wilford declared.

“What?” Thad asked.

Myth patted Wilford’s arm in a soothing gesture, then returned her attention to Lord Julyan. “I am—”

“Translator Mythlan, Arvel’s personal translator.” Lord Julyan’s smile seemed slick like snail ooze. “I recall the pleasure of meeting you and am honored you—one of my nephew’s close companions—have come on his behalf. He said you’d be coming today.”

“The honor is all mine, sir.” Myth bowed again. “I hope we do not take up too much of your time.”

Lord Julyan’s posture took on an arrogant slant, his shoulders rolled back and his chin tilted up. “Nonsense. As always, I live to serve His Majesty King Petyrr, and little Arvel of course. Please, come in. Everything is in my personal study. We may retrieve it together.”

“Thank you.” Myth gently led Thad, Wilford, and Grygg inside.

The small and narrow entryway opened up into a windowless chamber that sported a large staircase. A set of rooms were perched at the front of the building, taking advantage of the sunlight and street view, and a long hallway split off from the chamber, stretching deeper into the town house.

“No, no, not up the stairs, sirs. This way,” Myth called in a coaxing voice as Wilford made for the staircase, Grygg on his heels.

“Nonsense, Translator Mythlan. We know where we’re going—oof.” Grygg smacked into a support pillar, backed up, and patted it. “Well. This house is clearly poorly designed.”

“Sir, sir, this way.” A footman got in front of Wilford and forcibly herded him back to Myth, all while Thad chewed his tree resin annoyingly loudly and peered around.

“The décor here leaves something to be desired,” Thad said.

“Perhaps His Majesty’s aides should remain outside the study?” Lord Julyan opened a door to one of the front rooms—which had two windows and a view of the street. “I rather like my study, and—”

There was a metallic clunk as Grygg almost knocked over a suit of armor—by accident, Myth was fairly certain, based on his sheepish expression. He grabbed