A Most Charming Prince

Three: A Cunning Linguist Thief

If a person, such as a highway robber man, happened to be watching the prince, he would see a young knight in a blue doublet and chainmail, riding a horse as fine as money could buy. This watcher may or may not have remarked that the young man was not only exceptionally clean (the kind of cleanliness that involved full body immersion in hot water, oodles of real soap, several scrubbing brushes plus someone to do your back, and a washing frequency quite higher than twice a year whether you needed it or not), but he was also a superb specimen of man.

Approximately six foot two inches (or for the metrically inclined, one meter eighty-eight), wide chest, shoulders like boulders, a chin strong enough to balance an ox on it, shining black hair flowing in perfect waves to barely grace the afore-mentioned shoulders, sky-blue eyes, and pearl-white teeth straight from a dentist's catalogue (yes, both kingdoms have dentists. No, our hero has not had his teeth bleached, he was born with it, baby).

And a less than honest person lurking about in the woods would have remarked the ruby ring on the prince's left hand (actually, anyone who wasn't visually impaired would have seen it—it was the size of a robin's egg and fiery red as molten lava), as well as his family jewels resting easy on the saddle between his legs.

"There's a sack of luscious goodness, if I ever laid eyes on one, and would last me longer than the sweet memories of knocking this pretty popinjay on the head," the thief muttered. "Such an innocent babe wandering in the forest, but we'll take care of him."

Of course there was a highway robber man on the prowl in the thick of the bushes, but you knew this to be true already. Now the hunter becomes the prey, and the prince should have been more careful about what he wished for, am I right?

Well, if you be trembling all a fearful for our monk-raised, Lancelot-figured, optimistic prince on his first outing in the world, then you have forgotten Friar Ferdinand's parting remarks—the prince was quite simply his best pupil.

The thief jumped from behind a rock, swinging double knives, a cruel glint in his eyes, a unwholesome stench about his person and a wild, triumphant laugh. "Your valuables or your life, milksop!"

The prince, with nary a blink of the eye, kicked him soundly in the face. A half cartwheel and a whimper later, the thief hit the hard dirt, shimmering spots a sparkling in his eyes. He rubbed his chin, stunned. But this wasn't the alpha and omega of his trickery, no sir. He was prepared for every eventuality.

As the prince hopped gracefully from his horse, who naturally stayed near, the thief scrambled for the nettles. Cursing the stinging plants, he grasped the end of a frayed rope and yanked with all his might.

A log tumbled from the rock above the prince, spiraled briefly in the air before careening downwards straight for his majestic head.

That's it. Nothing more but cream pudding will be left, and I'll ride merry off into the—

The prince sidestepped and the log bounced harmlessly on the dirt and rolled into the ditch. He drew his sword, the slither of metal like the hissing of a thousand snakes, and in less time than lightening took to flash, the pointy end was firmly ensconced beneath the cut-throat's ... throat.

The thief looked askance at the blade which was sharp enough for a neat shave. "Wait a moment, now, I think there might have been a misunderstanding between us," he said, careful to move only his lips and not his chin while speaking.

"I believe your words were quite clear, purloining pick-pocket!"

"Why, my good sir, you didn't allow me to finish."

"The log wasn't the punch-line to your criminal attempt at my possessions?"

"I meant to say, throw me your valuables and I'll let you get on with your life while I carry them for you. Dastardly heavy things, valuables. I'll carry them for you and be your footman for a minor fee."

"Apologies," the prince said and helped the thief to his feet, nearly throwing out his shoulder socket. "You must understand my confusion, what with the surprise tactics you employed. I could use a lackey. You could use a bath, but that's for later. Take my cloak and saddle bag."

The thief bowed, groaning under the sudden weight. His knife was hidden by the bag, though, and when he conveniently stumbled forward he let it nick the cord at the prince's waist. The desired sack fell, and out tumbled two gleaming golden spheres, encrusted thoroughly with such sparkling jewels that the thief forgot entirely who he was and where he was. Kneeling in the ground, the images of living in the lap of luxury filled his vision—starry nights at the Paradise Pier, a floating bower boat on Lake Le Très Grand, his own harem in the desert with little song birds in the trees and a host of luscious ladies feeding him grapes, and he would still have money left over to buy songs to be composed in his honor and plucked out on harps while he drank himself into a happy stupor.

On days when he managed to steal two pennies, a basket full of knitting and some soft carrots from farmers and old women, he counted himself lucky. This would set him up for life. With a capital L. "God's balls and buttocks!"

"Why not at all," the prince said. He scooped up the jewels, breaking the spell on the thief. "These are heirlooms from my family, our namesake jewels, given to me by the friars when they sent me homewards."

"And where are these generous friars to be found, if a simple man might ask?"

"The Alte Monastery. I was sent there as a babe and raised by the Brotherhood. Now, I must return home and show them the jewels, where I will learn who my parents are," the prince said. He swung with ease into the saddle and sent a thought to his horse to continue the journey. "They are the only proof of my identity."

The thief fell into step beside him. "Am I to understand, you are carrying around these lovely jewels, but you don't know who you are?"

"Quite right, peon."

"It's Nigel, actually, your worshipfulness."

"No need for formalities. Here on the highway, we are all pilgrims following our destiny. Now, can you direct me to the House of Il Répoute? I am told it is located on the River Rio, near Port Las Ostras."

The thief stumbled. "House of, I'm sorry, did you say house of ill repute?"

"Exactly"

"So before you go home to find your true parents, you want to make a stop-over, wink wink nudge nudge?" The thief whistled. "Well, at least you've got your priorities straight. Give credit where credit is due and whatnot. Don't you worry your head a minute, your knightliness. I know the road to take. They have the most delectable dumplings you'll find this side of the River Rio.

"Is that so?"

"Oh, yes. And the Lady of the house has melons. Such melons—large, ripe, heavy—"

"Your descriptions bring water to my mouth. Let us make all haste!" The prince's horse picked up his hooves to a smart trot, leaving the thief wheezing and running behind.

*** So the thief becomes a lackey and the prince an unwitting knight who trusts him. I hope his faith in his new servant be not misplaced... ***