Section F: Fairy Tales & Physicists

Chapter 4

And he was even more surprised by the princess who leapt from behind the door, crying, "Feel my wrath, you craven wretch!" before kicking him—with remarkable accuracy and truly astonishing enthusiasm—squarely in the balls, and then, as he lay squirming and groaning on the floor, finishing with a barely contrite, "Oh—my apologies, good sir. I thought your codpiece was that of another."

Horribly afraid his codpiece may now be codpieces, Fields squinted up at her through a haze of pain and confusion. "Who? Whuh? Ima...Ima. You're und...under...gnnngghhherrrr..."

The princess nudged him with her foot and even in his distressed state, Fields couldn't help but wonder how that delicate, slippered appendage could possibly have inflicted so much pain. "Oh dear," she sighed, "it would seem I have incapacitated the village idiot. What's your name, lackwit?"

"Fuh...fuh...eeelll...duh...ss."

"What an odd name. Impractical, too. I believe I'll call you Eel. You do wriggle so."

"Buh...buh...but..."

"What's that? You must enunciate, Eel. E-nun-ci-ate. You'll never get anywhere in life, lying about on the floor, mumbling nonsense. Now, up you hop, there's a good fellow. I have some questions to ask about this strange village of yours. Most particularly, how does one leave?"

Summoning all his will, Fields managed to get to his hands and knees. Swaying a little, he took a deep breath, swallowed down his nausea, and forced himself to form coherent words. "I...am a federal agent. You have assaulted my...my...uh, person. That is a serious offence. You are under...under...arresss..."

Gazing up at his tormentor, as the tears cleared from his eyes, Fields found himself suddenly at a loss for words. She was, without doubt, one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen. Flawless skin, tiara-topped, honey-gold hair cascading over creamy white shoulders, delicate snub of a nose, and eyes so vividly blue as to seem like windows to a glimpse of the summer sky. Killer bod, too.

"Who...who are you?" he gasped.

"You have the honour of addressing the future queen of Gronce, Eel. The most royal, the most revered, the most regal Princess Emberlotta." Expression solemn, she executed a perfect curtsy, before breaking into a grin. "But you can call me Embers."

"That's fantastic!"

Phone to his ear, Fields gave the princess a sickly smile, before turning away to reply to Peregrine. "Fantastic? A dead prince is fantastic?"

"Yes! Well, okay—maybe not so much for him. But for us? Hell, yeah. It means we're onto something, partner."

"I guess. Maybe."

"Just one thing, though."

"What?"

"How do you know he's a prince?"

"What? Well, obviously..." Trailing off into uncertainty, Fields suddenly realised what an excellent question this was. How did he know? In direct contravention of his training, he had simply jumped to a conclusion, without compelling evidence. In his defence, the body was extraordinarily...princey? Princile? Prince-like?

"Well, he's got a crown and a cape and a sword and...stuff like that. You know."

"Ha! Love it. And the girl?"

Fields glanced back at Embers, seated demurely by a window and gazing with composed interest at the leafy suburban street outside. Dappled sunlight played on her features, highlighting the graceful curve of her neckline, half in shadow and half in light, and as he watched, a single ray struck her tiara's diamond centrepiece, surrounding her in a shimmering, rainbow-hued halo. Somewhere, a bird began to sing.

He rubbed his temple. "Uh, yeah. She's quite princessy."

"And not even dead—excellent. Sit tight, I'm on my way.

Quite why he'd made the decision to call Peregrine rather than HQ, Fields wasn't exactly sure. It may have had something to do with the awkward nature of informing his superiors he'd just been assaulted and incapacitated by an apparent fairy-tale princess, moments after finding a dead (apparent) fairy-tale prince.

However, way down deep in his innermost core, down where the truths that could barely be acknowledged lived, there was also the little niggling awareness that maybe, just maybe, he was in sole possession of a potentially crucial lead in the Princess Murders—the biggest case of the last decade.

The kind of lead that could crack the case.

The kind of case that could restore his career.

Of course, that wasn't what he told himself. What he told himself was he'd probably stumbled onto some weird fetish scenario completely unrelated to the case, Featherstone was no doubt guilty of nothing more sinister than eccentricity (and possibly, a somewhat unconventional sex-life), and Peregrine was almost certainly guilty of being a wasabi-wielding, semi-delusional crazy lady.

In which case, he'd reasoned, calling HQ would only be a waste of their valuable time and resources. His obvious duty was to contact his partner, stay on the scene, question (at close range and in extreme detail) the drop-dead gorgeous princess, and then, at some point, try to explain the dead prince.

Who, as it turned out, wasn't technically dead. At least, according to Embers.

"But he's not breathing!" protested Fields, a little out of breath himself after a seemingly fruitless attempt at CPR. "And he's got no pulse."

Embers had watched his efforts, with polite—if a little puzzled—interest. "No, I suppose he wouldn't. But then, it wouldn't really be much of a curse if he did, would it?"

Fields looked up from the immaculate, chiselled features of the young man, as peaceful and composed as if he were simply sleeping. "A curse?"

"Yes, Eel—a curse. Cast by that horrid old crone of a witch. Do try to keep up."

"A witch?"

"Yes, Eel—a witch. Summoned by the sorcerer."

"A sorcerer?"

"Yes, Eel—a sorcerer. He's the one—"

"Stop!" Fields held up a hand, while rubbing his eyes with the other. Assorted other sources of pain had helped him to forget about his headache, but it was now doing its best to reassert itself. "Stop right there. Firstly, my name is Fields! Agent Fields. Not Eel. Secondly, please don't tell me this sorcerer was summoned by a genie, or something like that. I don't think I could take it."

"Don't be ridiculous, Eel. Firstly, who ever heard of anybody called Agent? Preposterous. Secondly, the sorcerer couldn't possibly have been summoned by a genie."

"Oh, good." Fields experienced a fleeting moment of sweet relief, before his annoyingly legalistic mind presented him with the obvious, unavoidable question. Despite his best efforts, he couldn't resist. "Why not?"

Embers emitted a little snort, which she somehow managed to render both ladylike and refined. "Oh, Eel, you dolt. Everyone knows genies aren't real. They're only in stories."

Fortunately for everyone present, Fields was saved from having to respond to this statement by the arrival of Peregrine.