Section F: Fairy Tales & Physicists

Interlude

"Excuse me, sire?"

With a sigh, the grizzled head looked up from the scroll-strewn desk. It was funny, when he was a little lad, dreaming of the time when he would be king, he'd imagined battles and adventures and intrigues and heroic deeds and nefarious foes and all kinds of exciting stuff.

No-one had warned him about the paperwork.

"What is it, Nonkins?"

"I'm afraid there's still no sign of him, sire."

Nor, for that matter, recalcitrant, irresponsible, pain-in-the-arse princes.

"Well, that's just great. You've checked all the taverns?"

"Yes, sire."

"His mistresses' haunts?"

"Yes, sire."

"The brothels?"

"Yes, sire."

"Even Madame Malodorante's? You know, the one down by the tannery? The one where they give you a free clothes peg with every...transaction?"

"I'm afraid so, sire. Not a prince in sight. A few queens, and more sets of crown jewels than I would ordinarily care to see, but no princes whatsoever."

"Bloody hell. Surely somebody has seen some sign of him. I mean, the ostentatious great show-pony is pretty hard to miss."

"Well, sire, I hardly like to bring it up, but there has been one reported sighting."

"What? Why didn't you say so? Spit it out, man."

"It was down by the docks, sire."

The king groaned. "Don't tell me he's got it into that thick head of his to go adventuring again. Probably heard some ridiculous tale of a fair maiden in a faraway land, trapped by a sorcerer or a witch or some such nonsense. I keep telling the bloody idiot if it's a challenge he wants, he can help me with getting literacy rates into double figures and keeping the sewers running. No need to go haring about after fantastical beasts and supernatural folk. Provided they keep their talons and wands and incantations out of our business, he can keep his nose—and all his other bloody appendages, for that matter—out of theirs."

"Well, sire, I don't know about all that. But I should mention the witness in question is perhaps of somewhat doubtful reliability. I'm afraid he's a sailor on shore-leave and seemed to be...well, three sheets to the wind, if you get my drift. In any case, he reported seeing the prince leaving one of the dockside apothecaries. Apparently one of those specialising in, ah...the more exotic kinds of pharmaceuticals."

The king shook his head. You'd think it would be enough. Heir to the kingdom. Built like a brick outhouse. Chin cleft you could sharpen your sword in. Full head of hair. Handy with a blade and a natural on a horse. Girls from here to breakfast. Hung like a rogue stallion, too, by all accounts. All in all, a pretty fair hand in the game of life, you'd have to say. You'd think that would be enough for any man. But, no, apparently not. Not for his son, at any rate. The great tosser.

"Right. And then what?"

"And then he disappeared, sire."

"What, he slipped down an alley, or some such?"

"Uh...no, sire. According to the witness he quite literally disappeared. As in, vanished. Just like that. In a flash of green light, apparently." Nonkins cleared his throat. "Ah, as I mentioned, sire—this was a sailor. On shore leave."

"Right. Good. Excellent." The king rubbed his temples. "So, any other ideas?"

"Well, sire, I suppose we could ask the royal soothsayer."

"Already have, I'm afraid. Against my better judgement, but desperate times and all that."

"I see. And may I ask what he said, sire?"

"Oh, you know. Otherworldly powers, disturbances in the ether, mysterious forces reaching across the planes of existence, blah blah blah. All the usual kind of guff that old charlatan carries on with."

Nonkins features grew animated. "How extraordinary, sire! Perhaps this means there is something to the sailor's story. Perhaps this means the prince really has been magicked away. Perhaps—"

"Perhaps you should keep a firmer grasp on reality, my good man. Magicked away? Pfft, what a steaming pile of horse turds. Speaking of which, I gave the soothsayer a good kick up the arse and sent him to muck out the stables. He may as well do something to earn his keep for a change. And as for the prince, no doubt he's simply passed out on some stranger's floor somewhere."

"I suppose you're right, sire."

"Of course I'm right. And furthermore, I've had enough. Tell me, how long have you worked for me now, Nonkins?"

"Let me see. It must be ten years or more, sire."

"And have you got a wife?"

"A wife? Well, I've had my eye on Poll the scullery maid for a while, but no, not yet, sire."

"And you've been playing the field in the meantime, no doubt? A likely young lad like yourself?"

"Oh, no sire. I'm strictly a one-scullery-maid man."

"Keen on a drink or two?"

"Never touch the stuff, sire."

"And tell me, how are your parents these days?"

"My parents, sire? They're dead."

"Excellent, excellent. Uh, I mean, I'm sorry to hear that. Ever get the urge to fight a dragon?"

"What? Uh, I mean, I beg your pardon, sire?"

"It's a simple question, lad. Do you ever feel the need to take your life into your hands by waving a sword at big scary beasts?"

"Never in my entire life, sire."

"I'm relieved to hear it. You know, I think you'll do nicely, Prince Nonkins."

"Prince Nonkins, sire?"

"That's right. Summon my lawyers and we'll have the adoption papers drawn up."

"But...but...can you do that, sire?"

"Course I can. I'm the bloody king."

"But what if the prince comes back, sire? The real prince, I mean?"

"Well, if it turns out he's been on another one of his benders or hair-brained quests, I'll disown him for being unfit for the throne. The soothsayer's pretty old, so I daresay he's going to need some help in the stables. But if it turns out he has been magicked away, I'll apologise most humbly and reinstate him to his position as heir."

"But sire, if he has been transported to some other plane of existence, then surely the odds of him coming back are virtually zero?"

"Ah, I see you're already getting the hang of court diplomacy, Nonkins. Excellent. We'll make a royal out of you yet."

"But, sire—"

"Please, Nonkins—call me Dad.