She leaped on top of me, trying to get her fingers into my sensitive armpits so I’d lose by laughing as had happened many times before. I twisted and turned, keeping my elbows locked to my sides to keep her fingers from reaching their goal. She was smaller but faster.
“Excuse us, do we need to return later?” a female voice asked timidly.
I looked over Elizabeth’s shoulder and found three very surprised women staring wide-eyed at us.
She climbed off me, then off the bed, and snapped in their direction, “Any of you have insufferable brothers?”
One took a small step forward. “I do.”
“Good. Then you will understand my next request. When you are pinning his shirts, I hope you stick him a time or two.”
The young woman chuckled. “Maybe I can show you a hold I used to use on my brother.”
Before they could plan any more, I said, “Listen, I’m glad you’re here, but we’re dirty. The baths should come first, especially if you’re going to measure her for a gown. I know I smell bad, but not like her.”
The pillow flew in my direction again. The mood of the room instantly cheered, and the real work began. The women descended on us like starving ducks vying for bread crusts. We were measured, questions about texture and color shouted, styles discussed, and dozens of more subjects that I either had no idea about or didn’t care about.
Elizabeth responded to each, a staccato of sound that only the seamstresses and her understood. A slight woman demurely approached me and spoke so softly the others wouldn’t hear. “Sir, I mean no disrespect, but you mentioned bathing. Are you aware that this room is equipped for that?”
“I have no idea of what you’re talking about.”
She motioned for me to follow her into an alcove, and there she pointed to a curtain that would close it off. A stone tub sat in the center, and to one side, waist high, a firebox. Wood was neatly stacked in the corner. A pipe from the ceiling coiled around the firebox, then down to the tub.
She said, “Water is held in a tank on the roof and the pipe feeds down here. I can start the fire to warm it if you like.”
The valve was self-explanatory. Another valve and another pipe ran across the floor to the outside wall for drainage. Simple. I didn’t need her help anymore, but said, “Do not tell my sister about this until I’m done.”
She opened a cabinet and revealed a dozen bottles. Soaps, salts, and perfumes. I thanked her again, shooed her away, and pulled the curtain. I’d be sure to leave her a little extra copper or two. After a little fumbling and nearly scalding myself, I climbed out of the tub, clean and scented. But I had no clothing.
I called for and received a blanket. Wrapped in it, I strode forth like a king. Elizabeth gave me a quick smile that said she wanted to use the alcove next. A man stood to one side, the tools of his trade neatly spread on a linen cloth.
He had me sit and asked how I desired to wear my beard. I said, “Isn’t it fine the way it is?”
“It is not,” he assured me as he lifted his chin slightly in an air of distaste. “There are several popular styles you might choose from: a close trim pointed at the chin, a full beard with beads of your choice of color woven in, or a sculptured cut to make your face appear lean and hard. Or another.”
I called, “Elizabeth, I need your help.”
She came to my side and listened. Her response was the answer of a genius. “For comparison purposes, what styles do the three royal princes wear?”
The barber smiled too. He said, “It has been my privilege to trim each of them. They all prefer a traditional style preferred by most royals, very short on the sides, and a longer, tapered chin.”
“That will do fine,” she snapped and went back to the seamstresses.
As the man trimmed my beard, he also combed my hair and snipped it shorter, much shorter, as he said, “I assume you also wish to emulate the princes in hairstyle?”
He assumed right.
Afterward, he held a polished metal mirror for me to admire his work. The man was an artist. Still holding the mirror, I called, “Elizabeth you need to pay this man extra.”
“No need for that,” he chuckled. “I’m paid by the Black Swan.”
He departed and shortly after, another man entered, followed by three young men, each with their arms piled high with clothing. They deposited their burdens and departed, all but the first, a dapper and plump little man who examined me with the eyes of a starving hawk and I was a helpless squirrel.
He said, “I have brought you five outfits, one for everyday wear, one suitable for the ball—if you approve, and three more that will suffice for royal engagements.”
Anna came into my head. *Can you talk?*
*Not now,* I responded, *Unless it is important.*
*When you have time.* She was gone.
The man insisted I try on each outfit. I was naked under the blanket, but at a word to the five women in the room, all turned their backs. He pointed to the stack of small clothing for wearing under the rest. I pulled it on and tied the string at the waist.
The first outfit was notable because it was a reddish purple, almost a royal color, but a little too red. My instinct told me that was no accident. It identified me as important to my crown, but not part of it. The trousers were tighter than I was used to, the blouse looser. To offset the color, white trimmed the neck, wrists, and a stylized bird flew across my chest.
I called, “Elizabeth, look at this.”
She glanced my way and said, “That looks fine.”
That’s all. She was deeply involved in selecting the perfect button for a new dress so couldn’t be concerned with me. The other outfits were nicer than any I’d had at Crestfallen, for any occasion. The everyday clothing was loose, well-made, and a natural brown that wouldn’t stand out in a crowd on the street.
The cobbler came in with shoes for both of us.
I was still hungry.
And wondering at the cost of everything. What we were spending was a fortune.
Finally, all of them were gone, Elizabeth had bathed, and we descended in our new “daily” clothing to the dining room where dozens of other wealthy people ate, talked, overserved others, and gossiped. Most were eating small portions of delicacies that smelled wonderful.
However, Elizabeth had other ideas. She steered me outside the rear door and across a grassy expanse to the stables where Honest Bran was busy cleaning every crack and fissure of his carriage. He leaped to attention when he recognized us.
Elizabeth said, “Any progress on our invitations?”
“My cousin is spreading rumors about the intriguing strangers from a far-away land who arrived this morning. As you suggested, he is hinting that you are royal.”
I was impressed, especially since I knew nothing of the plan they’d concocted. The royal ball would have invitations sent to the local royals, as well as those visiting the city. However, rumors of the mysterious appearance of a beautiful princess from an unnamed land would travel quickly.
She motioned to the carriage, “I’ll ride beside my brother for this trip. We want to be shown around the richest part of the city, especially the palace. And as we travel, you will continue to educate us on the local politics, the history of Malawi, and any juicy rumors you know about.”
“And food,” I added. “I need to eat.”
He held out a helping hand for each of us to climb into his carriage, a world of difference from when he’d tried to cheat us not too long ago. With a flick of his whip, the carriage moved at a comfortable pace. We drew the attention of many, including those at the Black Swan eating on a patio under a grape arbor.