"You brought me a new vessel! How lovely."
Peregrine and Fields exchanged a glance, as Fields' misgivings about allowing the entity to come with them—convoluted back-story and pan-dimensional capabilities notwithstanding—continued to grow. He glared at the old man, shuffling along behind the younger, more sprightly members of the party, i.e., everyone else.
"What's that?"
Ken pointed at the rear seat of the Jag. "The strapping, young, comatose man there. That looks like just the body for me. I'll have no trouble keeping up with you lot, once I jump behind the steering wheel of that little number. Just give me a few minutes to get wired in, and we can be on our way."
Peregrine paused in the act of opening the driver's side door. "Er, I don't think you can do that, Ken. We don't know a lot about good old Prince Power Nap there, but presumably he's going to want his body back, if and when he decides to wake up."
The old man peered through the rear window. "Wake up? Oh, I don't think so. I can't read minds, Peregrine, but I can certainly sense brain function, and I can assure you that young fellow has all the mental faculties of an overcooked cabbage. Possibly less. His brain makes Ken's seem positively showroom fresh."
"Well, maybe he's just not very bright," suggested Embers. "Take my husband...er, that is to say, in my experience, sometimes princes are not necessarily the sharpest swords in the armoury." Her eyes took on a faraway, wistful look. "Or the longest."
There were a few seconds of intensively contemplative silence before the entity went on. "Ahem. Well, be that as it may, if said armoury contained cannonballs, even they would be sharper than the young man in the back seat there. Quite frankly, his brain is mush. Or, in other words, perfect for my needs."
"So, the witch's curse fried the prince's brain?" asked Fields, painfully aware of how well that one little question neatly encapsulated the mind-bogglingly surreal absurdity of his day—so far.
"Curse?" The entity frowned at the younger man. "What on this Earth are you on about? There's no such thing, you idiot. You know, you struck me as being positioned somewhere towards the less endowed end of the intelligence spectrum, but I didn't realise quite how far along. Peregrine, when this partner inevitably goes the way of your last dozen or two, I'd suggest next time you look for one a little quicker on the uptake. Now, shut up the lot of you, while I jump ship."
And, just like that—the change sudden yet subtle—the old man was transformed. There were no dramatic movements, he didn't utter a sound, yet it was clear to everyone present something had happened—something fundamental. The eyes, glittering and alive with intelligence, glazed over. The face, formerly so animated and expressive, became slack. The indefinable air of restless, keen interest, evident since the entity had first woken, was now, without question, gone. Standing before them was an old man blinking vacantly in the sunlight, and nothing more.
There was barely time to absorb this transformation, however, before movement in the back seat of the Jaguar drew everyone's attention. The prince—until now still and seemingly lifeless—twitched. His eyelids flickered. He drew a long, shuddering breath. And then his eyes, which had been so long shut, at last opened.
Sapphire blue. Fields sighed. Of course. And bloody captivating. Typical.
A frown of mild puzzlement marring his tanned, chiselled features, the prince surveyed his surroundings, pausing as his gaze came to rest on Embers. Ever so slowly, the frown morphed into a smile, which although faint and somewhat vague, still somehow managed to be sufficiently lascivious for the princess to blush to the roots of her cascading blonde hair. And then, with great care and deliberation, as if working out how to do it for the very first time, the prince winked. The gaze moved on.
And, sliding past Fields as if he wasn't even there, alighted on Peregrine. The frown returned. The effort clear on his troubled features, the movement laboured and unsteady, the prince raised an arm and pointed at the road, his mouth working in an apparent effort to speak.
"D-d-d-d—"
"Yes?" encouraged Peregrine.
"Spit it out," said Fields.
"Perhaps I could kick him in—" began Embers.
"No!" barked the two agents.
"—d-d-dish!" finished the prince. Smiling in triumph, he moved his arm to point at Peregrine, and then, without warning, passed out, collapsing back into his former limp and immobile state.
"Oh. I see." Blush fading, Ember's expression became ever so slightly frosty. She sniffed. "Yes, well. Hmm."
Expression bemused, Peregrine stood motionless for a few seconds, before breaking into a grin and giving the princess a playful shove. "Don't sweat it, slugger—you're still the resident hottie in this little group. Prince Ken wasn't chatting me up"—she paused for a surreptitious peek at the reflection of her butt in the Jaguar's window—"or at least, I don't think he was."
"No?" asked Fields, surprised to be feeling unaccountably a little frosty himself. "So, what was he doing then?"
"Well, unless I'm mistaken, I think he might have been telling us where to go. You guys take old Ken back into the home while I get Pearl warmed up. I'll explain on the way."
As the road signs once again flashed by, this time even faster than before, Fields tried very hard not to think about the Jag's alarming lack of airbags, anti-lock brakes and traction control, and even harder not to think about its possession of a nuclear reactor, combined with a driver who seemed to consider watching the road to be an optional and overrated component of the whole driving business. Tried, and for the most part, failed. Gritting his teeth, clenching his buttocks, and gripping the door handle with convulsive strength, he forced his mind back onto the case.
"So, where are we going?"
"Hmm?" Busy fiddling with the vehicle's sound system, Peregrine looked up just in time to swerve around a cement truck, before turning back to face her partner. "What's that?"
"I said—look out for that van!"
With a quick glance back to the front, Peregrine skimmed past the rear corner of a bright orange Kombi, overtaking it on the highway's verge, before—with a squeal of tyres—barrelling back across to the middle lane. "No, that wasn't it. Before that." She gave the sound system a final, decisive poke, and the opening chords of a music track filled the car, crystal clear and stunning in their fidelity.
It only took a few bars for Fields to recognise the song—Don't Lose Your Head, by INXS. He shook his head. Figures.
Embers began to bob along to the music. "Oh Peregrine, what an interesting piece," she enthused, looking around the interior of the car. "Wherever do you fit the orchestra?"
"Ha! That's a bit of a long story, slugger. Just a little more of our world's magic. Well, kind of—when I was in the future, I got the sound system upgraded, too."
"What I said," interjected Fields, feeling the need to get the conversation back on track, "was, where are we going? You said Ken...er, the prince...I mean, the entity, told us where to go. How could he do that with one word?"
"Partner, what was that one word?"
"Dish," replied Fields, with a frown. "But that doesn't..." He trailed off, as understanding dawned. "Oh, right. Of course. But are you sure that's what he meant?"
"Sure? Nope. But until he wakes his sorry arse up and lets us know either way, have you got any better ideas?"
Fields considered this. "Well, we could put out an APB on Featherstone's car. But given I don't particularly fancy explaining it's because we think he's importing princesses from other dimensions and has been abducted by a witch, I'd really rather not."
"Ha-ha, now you're getting in the swing of the whole Section F thing. More often than not, partner, you'll find when the freaky shit hits the bizarro fan, it's easier to pick up a hose than to call the cleaners. So, let's get moving."
Fields grip on the door tightened, as his buttocks reached hitherto unprecedented levels of clench. "Get moving?"