to say what a pleasure it’s been meeting you.”
“Likewise.”
“I’d like to say that, but I can’t, because it isn’t true.”
“Always tell the truth,” she told him. “It’s what princes do.”
“You don’t say. Well, goodbye for now.”
“Bye.”
He nudged the horse with his heels and rode away, wincing slightly as he rose to the trot.
I just assaulted a member of the royal family
, she told herself, as he ducked under a low branch just in time, then got hit in the face by a broad spread of chestnut leaves.
That’s − not right
. But it had felt right at the time. Oh yes.
Geopolitical entities, she thought, as she walked slowly down the path. Hectares. Sovereign debt. The words had bubbled up in her mind like silt from the bed of a stream, as soon as she’d thought of the idea that needed them to be expressed with. Had they been there all along, she wondered?She couldn’t have made them up, because
he’d
understood them. And his explanation; well, it was so full of holes you could strain soup through it, but it was—She frowned. It had sounded like it came from the same place her own thoughts came from, wherever the hell that was. So—
There was a dear old lady hobbling up the path towards her, her face buried in a shawl. Oh damn, she thought, not
now
.
—So maybe he did, too. Now there was an interesting idea, and one that didn’t need long, difficult words. She lifted her head, settled the basket comfortably in the crook of her arm and quickened her step. As soon as the dear old lady came within hailing distance, she gave her a terrifying scowl and yelled “GO AWAY!” at the top of her voice. The dear old lady froze, looked at her, wriggled out of the shawl with a splendidly fluent movement and dashed off into the trees, its tail between its legs.
“That’s better,” she said, to no one in particular. “Thank you.”
She walked on a few steps, then stopped dead, turned round and ran back. She found the place where she’d stood talking to Prince Florizel
−
the horse had thoughtfully left a brown pyramidal marker for ease of identification
−
and dropped to her hands and knees, scrabbling in the leaf mould until she found what she was looking for.
When she’d trodden on Florizel’s foot, he’d dropped his small grey box. She’d seen it fall, out of the corner of her eye, but at the time she’d had other things on her mind. She picked it up and looked at it. She’d never seen anything like it before. It was a little bit like a small roof tile, except that it had a piece of glass set into it; decoration of some kind, she guessed, like the numbers and letters laid out in neat rows underneath. She turned it over in her hand, but the back was quite plain.
Why would a grown man carry around a roof tile with him? And when she’d told him about the wolves, he’d prodded at some of the decorative letters, almost as if he was making notes (but there was no ink, no goose quill, and she couldn’t see anything written anywhere). She frowned. Neat rows of letters; all the letters in the alphabet were there, and never the same one twice. It reminded her of the slate her mother had made for her when she was learning how to read: but Florizel was a grown-up and had seemed reasonably intelligent, even if he was obnoxious, so presumably he already knew how to read. There were other symbols as well as letters and numbers, but she had no idea what they were supposed to be.
She stared at the box for a while, then shrugged. If he valued it, sooner or later he’d be back to look for it. Probably as well to keep it safe till he returned. If it was just left lying there in the road, it might get ruined by the dew or run over by a cart. And if he didn’t come back for it, then maybe someone would give her sixpence for it in the market. Hard to see what anybody would want with such a thing, but, then, people bought all sorts of junk. She put it in her basket and covered it up with a bit of
“Likewise.”
“I’d like to say that, but I can’t, because it isn’t true.”
“Always tell the truth,” she told him. “It’s what princes do.”
“You don’t say. Well, goodbye for now.”
“Bye.”
He nudged the horse with his heels and rode away, wincing slightly as he rose to the trot.
I just assaulted a member of the royal family
, she told herself, as he ducked under a low branch just in time, then got hit in the face by a broad spread of chestnut leaves.
That’s − not right
. But it had felt right at the time. Oh yes.
Geopolitical entities, she thought, as she walked slowly down the path. Hectares. Sovereign debt. The words had bubbled up in her mind like silt from the bed of a stream, as soon as she’d thought of the idea that needed them to be expressed with. Had they been there all along, she wondered?She couldn’t have made them up, because
he’d
understood them. And his explanation; well, it was so full of holes you could strain soup through it, but it was—She frowned. It had sounded like it came from the same place her own thoughts came from, wherever the hell that was. So—
There was a dear old lady hobbling up the path towards her, her face buried in a shawl. Oh damn, she thought, not
now
.
—So maybe he did, too. Now there was an interesting idea, and one that didn’t need long, difficult words. She lifted her head, settled the basket comfortably in the crook of her arm and quickened her step. As soon as the dear old lady came within hailing distance, she gave her a terrifying scowl and yelled “GO AWAY!” at the top of her voice. The dear old lady froze, looked at her, wriggled out of the shawl with a splendidly fluent movement and dashed off into the trees, its tail between its legs.
“That’s better,” she said, to no one in particular. “Thank you.”
She walked on a few steps, then stopped dead, turned round and ran back. She found the place where she’d stood talking to Prince Florizel
−
the horse had thoughtfully left a brown pyramidal marker for ease of identification
−
and dropped to her hands and knees, scrabbling in the leaf mould until she found what she was looking for.
When she’d trodden on Florizel’s foot, he’d dropped his small grey box. She’d seen it fall, out of the corner of her eye, but at the time she’d had other things on her mind. She picked it up and looked at it. She’d never seen anything like it before. It was a little bit like a small roof tile, except that it had a piece of glass set into it; decoration of some kind, she guessed, like the numbers and letters laid out in neat rows underneath. She turned it over in her hand, but the back was quite plain.
Why would a grown man carry around a roof tile with him? And when she’d told him about the wolves, he’d prodded at some of the decorative letters, almost as if he was making notes (but there was no ink, no goose quill, and she couldn’t see anything written anywhere). She frowned. Neat rows of letters; all the letters in the alphabet were there, and never the same one twice. It reminded her of the slate her mother had made for her when she was learning how to read: but Florizel was a grown-up and had seemed reasonably intelligent, even if he was obnoxious, so presumably he already knew how to read. There were other symbols as well as letters and numbers, but she had no idea what they were supposed to be.
She stared at the box for a while, then shrugged. If he valued it, sooner or later he’d be back to look for it. Probably as well to keep it safe till he returned. If it was just left lying there in the road, it might get ruined by the dew or run over by a cart. And if he didn’t come back for it, then maybe someone would give her sixpence for it in the market. Hard to see what anybody would want with such a thing, but, then, people bought all sorts of junk. She put it in her basket and covered it up with a bit of
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