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smackenzie“Now what?” Hazel asked. “I have to convince him to go back to the palace and be a prince. I can’t go home until I do that.”
“I thought you only had to find him,” Alex said. This whole thing was a little too strange for him. He was managing to get his head around the fact that he’d been eating, sleeping, and living with a prince for the past year or so, and that for most of that time he’d been financially supporting said prince without the faintest idea who Lowe really was.
“No, I’m pretty sure I have to get him back to court.” Hazel looked disappointed and thoughtful, and as Alex watched, her face changed again and settled on determined. “I’ll just have to convince him it’s the best thing for him and the kingdom. It probably doesn’t matter so much to Prince Derek that Marcus said it was my destiny to find the lost prince and restore him to the throne.”
“His name is Lowe. Lowe Quillier. He won’t answer to Derek.” At least, he never has in the time I’ve known him….
“Well, he’ll have to eventually.” She reached under the table to pat Toast on the head, then froze as something seemed to occur to her. She looked at Alex with concern and something approaching horror. “You’re not... the two of you.... You’re not married, are you? Are there children? He doesn’t have a baby, does he?”
“No.” Alex shook his head. “Neither of us has children, so there’s no reason to be married. We don’t have any kind of partnership contract. Lowe never mentioned that he wanted one and I never thought it was important.”
Maybe they should have had one drawn up, but for what purpose? Alex made most of the money, and his name was on the apartment, but he’d never considered that he and Lowe would have an acrimonious breakup. He’d never actually considered a breakup at all. It wasn’t that he was so in love with Lowe, or that Lowe was so in love with him, but they were happy together, and why would anyone want to ruin that?
They wouldn’t have gotten married anyway, because there were no kids and the only reason to get married was if you were going to reproduce, or if one of you already had children from a dissolved marriage. Alex had never given children much thought – his brother had a son, and his sister had two – but now he found himself wondering what he would have done if Lowe had come with a kid or two. He probably would have done the same thing – taken them in – and now he’d have to watch them leave.
How could Lowe have kept that a secret from him? It was something you read about in books, or saw performed in plays – the hidden prince, the great secret, the machinations he had to go through to escape some life-threatening person or event, the joy of the people at his being found. It was something you might tell your children or your younger siblings at night, before they went to bed, how there was once a prince who was in danger, so a kind soul in the palace spirited him away to be raised by poor but kindly farmers, until he was old enough to know who he was and what his birthright required of him. It wasn’t something that actually happened to people you knew. It wasn’t something that happened to you.
At least, it wasn’t something that happened to you if you were Alex Bellhorn, journeyman bookbinder, unofficial partner of one Lowe Quillier, nominally a copyist and scribe but in actuality Prince Derek Lysander Edward Gregor Maxwell, second son of the king’s second queen, fifth in line for the throne and missing from the royal complex for something longer than a year.
Now what? was a very good question, indeed.
“If you’ll excuse me,” Alex said to Hazel, “I should get back to the shop. I left some work undone and the cat is probably sitting on it and shedding cat hair in the glue.” He swung his legs over the side of the bench and stood up. He had to go back to work but he wanted to find Lowe. He knew he’d go back to the shop, because he was nothing if not conscientious about his work. Besides, Lowe would have to come home sometime, and until he did Alex was pretty sure he could take care of himself. He didn’t expect Lowe to be gone long.
“Wait,” Hazel said, reaching for Alex’s arm. “How am I going to find you and Prince Derek? Lowe, sorry, how will I find him? He has to go back to the palace and be a prince again. I can’t go home until I convince him.”
“I work in the shop of Master Bookbinder Damon Clary on Board Street. We live two buildings down, in a flat on the third floor over Naveen and Sons Binders.”
“Naveen? I’ve never heard a name like that before. Where are they from?”
“Here, as far as I know. The bindery’s been there at least seventy years. They’re good landlords. It was nice to meet you,” he said politely. “It’s been interesting talking to you.” And that at least was true. “I have a feeling we’ll be seeing each other in the not so distant future.”
Hazel nodded. “Destiny.” She grinned. Toast sneezed and she giggled.
“Goodbye.” And Alex left the pub and headed back to the shop.
He thought about what Hazel and Lowe had said as he walked, and by the time he got back to Master Damon’s shop he’d decided that whatever his bloodline or birth, Lowe was still the same person he’d been an hour ago. He was still lazy and cute, still a bad poet and a good kisser. If Hazel was right about the king and Lowe’s three older half siblings and older brother, and if Lowe was destined to sit the throne, well, he’d have to go back to the royal compound and make himself un-lost.
Alex had occasionally thought he and Lowe were a forever thing, but he’d also thought they would eventually grow apart, or find other people, or something. He knew Lowe was faithful, but he also knew Lowe could be a little flighty.
But still, the only thing that had changed was that Alex found out who Lowe’s parents really were. Lowe wasn’t any different. Well, now he was probably a little pissed off, but Alex knew that would pass. Lowe could be a little mercurial, but he couldn’t sustain real anger for very long.
Alex got back to the shop to find Master Damon sitting with a well-dressed woman discussing what sounded like the restoration of an entire collection of books, and Hazel Clary in the back cursing fluently at the cat. Alex wondered sometimes what Master Damon had been thinking when he brought that cat home. Curt was supposed to chase mice and anything else that might want to chew on the paper and various bindings, but he mostly got in the way and shed on things. On the other hand, when he was sleeping, or in a good mood, he was a very cute cat, and except for his tendency to want to sleep on the work table in front when Alex wanted to do work on it, he was pretty good-natured. And he was smaller than most dogs, and didn’t need to be walked regularly.
When Alex was growing up, the couple that ran the stationer’s shop next to his parents’ printshop had owned a small fluffy lapdog named Biscuit, who napped on a pillow near the front door and needed to be walked in the street every two or three hours. The stationers’ apprentices were always dispatched for the job, and in the winter or during a rainstorm or if it was particularly windy out, Alex could hear them grumbling and complaining every time they walked by his parents’ shop. The dog seemed to have two speeds, comatose or energetic, and had an annoying high-pitched yip. The wife of the couple adored him with the kind of lavish affection people usually bestowed on their favorite children, although she was also very demonstrative with her own daughter. The daughter, oddly enough, was allergic to dogs. Alex’s sister thought the girl broke into a sneezing fit every time Biscuit looked at her because she just didn’t want to be responsible for walking him.
So all things considered, Curt was better than a little yappy dog, even when he jumped off the press and knocked over a bottle of glue. And wow, could Hazel think of some inventive curses. Alex was impressed.
He spent the rest of the day finishing the cover boards for his decorative leather binding, moving Curt off the table, and making notes for the dismantling, rebinding, and recovering of an old and very heavy book of astronomy, which had some beautifully painted pictures and a terrible binding. It was a good day, all told, even with the revelation about Lowe’s parentage and apparent fate. By the time he went home, Alex was even inclined to think Hazel might have made a mistake, and even if she hadn’t, and Lowe really was the missing prince, everything would still work out fine. Lowe would come home, they’d eat dinner, talk about it, make a plan, and go on with their lives. And if that included Lowe returning to court, well, Alex would deal with that when it happened.
But this theoretical plan did not include one Hazel Vine, wandering hedgewitch-in-training, and one Toast, yellow retriever, both of whom were sitting in Alex’s front room when he got home.
“Master Sedge let me in,” she explained. Master Sedge was currently the oldest Naveen of Naveen and Sons. “I convinced him I was Lowe’s sister.” She grinned. “And considering Lowe and I don’t look anything alike, it was some trick. I don’t think his eyes are very good.” She was sitting on the settle, writing in what looked like a blank book. Making notes, Alex guessed, or planning out her next moves. Toast sat on the floor, his tail thumping against the boards when Alex came in.
Alex just stood there and blinked at her. He wanted to give her credit for persistence, but there was something a little unsettling about coming home to find someone you’d only just met sitting on your settle, looking like she belonged there. He wasn’t sure if he should kick her out or ask her to say for dinner.
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“I thought you only had to find him,” Alex said. This whole thing was a little too strange for him. He was managing to get his head around the fact that he’d been eating, sleeping, and living with a prince for the past year or so, and that for most of that time he’d been financially supporting said prince without the faintest idea who Lowe really was.
“No, I’m pretty sure I have to get him back to court.” Hazel looked disappointed and thoughtful, and as Alex watched, her face changed again and settled on determined. “I’ll just have to convince him it’s the best thing for him and the kingdom. It probably doesn’t matter so much to Prince Derek that Marcus said it was my destiny to find the lost prince and restore him to the throne.”
“His name is Lowe. Lowe Quillier. He won’t answer to Derek.” At least, he never has in the time I’ve known him….
“Well, he’ll have to eventually.” She reached under the table to pat Toast on the head, then froze as something seemed to occur to her. She looked at Alex with concern and something approaching horror. “You’re not... the two of you.... You’re not married, are you? Are there children? He doesn’t have a baby, does he?”
“No.” Alex shook his head. “Neither of us has children, so there’s no reason to be married. We don’t have any kind of partnership contract. Lowe never mentioned that he wanted one and I never thought it was important.”
Maybe they should have had one drawn up, but for what purpose? Alex made most of the money, and his name was on the apartment, but he’d never considered that he and Lowe would have an acrimonious breakup. He’d never actually considered a breakup at all. It wasn’t that he was so in love with Lowe, or that Lowe was so in love with him, but they were happy together, and why would anyone want to ruin that?
They wouldn’t have gotten married anyway, because there were no kids and the only reason to get married was if you were going to reproduce, or if one of you already had children from a dissolved marriage. Alex had never given children much thought – his brother had a son, and his sister had two – but now he found himself wondering what he would have done if Lowe had come with a kid or two. He probably would have done the same thing – taken them in – and now he’d have to watch them leave.
How could Lowe have kept that a secret from him? It was something you read about in books, or saw performed in plays – the hidden prince, the great secret, the machinations he had to go through to escape some life-threatening person or event, the joy of the people at his being found. It was something you might tell your children or your younger siblings at night, before they went to bed, how there was once a prince who was in danger, so a kind soul in the palace spirited him away to be raised by poor but kindly farmers, until he was old enough to know who he was and what his birthright required of him. It wasn’t something that actually happened to people you knew. It wasn’t something that happened to you.
At least, it wasn’t something that happened to you if you were Alex Bellhorn, journeyman bookbinder, unofficial partner of one Lowe Quillier, nominally a copyist and scribe but in actuality Prince Derek Lysander Edward Gregor Maxwell, second son of the king’s second queen, fifth in line for the throne and missing from the royal complex for something longer than a year.
Now what? was a very good question, indeed.
“If you’ll excuse me,” Alex said to Hazel, “I should get back to the shop. I left some work undone and the cat is probably sitting on it and shedding cat hair in the glue.” He swung his legs over the side of the bench and stood up. He had to go back to work but he wanted to find Lowe. He knew he’d go back to the shop, because he was nothing if not conscientious about his work. Besides, Lowe would have to come home sometime, and until he did Alex was pretty sure he could take care of himself. He didn’t expect Lowe to be gone long.
“Wait,” Hazel said, reaching for Alex’s arm. “How am I going to find you and Prince Derek? Lowe, sorry, how will I find him? He has to go back to the palace and be a prince again. I can’t go home until I convince him.”
“I work in the shop of Master Bookbinder Damon Clary on Board Street. We live two buildings down, in a flat on the third floor over Naveen and Sons Binders.”
“Naveen? I’ve never heard a name like that before. Where are they from?”
“Here, as far as I know. The bindery’s been there at least seventy years. They’re good landlords. It was nice to meet you,” he said politely. “It’s been interesting talking to you.” And that at least was true. “I have a feeling we’ll be seeing each other in the not so distant future.”
Hazel nodded. “Destiny.” She grinned. Toast sneezed and she giggled.
“Goodbye.” And Alex left the pub and headed back to the shop.
He thought about what Hazel and Lowe had said as he walked, and by the time he got back to Master Damon’s shop he’d decided that whatever his bloodline or birth, Lowe was still the same person he’d been an hour ago. He was still lazy and cute, still a bad poet and a good kisser. If Hazel was right about the king and Lowe’s three older half siblings and older brother, and if Lowe was destined to sit the throne, well, he’d have to go back to the royal compound and make himself un-lost.
Alex had occasionally thought he and Lowe were a forever thing, but he’d also thought they would eventually grow apart, or find other people, or something. He knew Lowe was faithful, but he also knew Lowe could be a little flighty.
But still, the only thing that had changed was that Alex found out who Lowe’s parents really were. Lowe wasn’t any different. Well, now he was probably a little pissed off, but Alex knew that would pass. Lowe could be a little mercurial, but he couldn’t sustain real anger for very long.
Alex got back to the shop to find Master Damon sitting with a well-dressed woman discussing what sounded like the restoration of an entire collection of books, and Hazel Clary in the back cursing fluently at the cat. Alex wondered sometimes what Master Damon had been thinking when he brought that cat home. Curt was supposed to chase mice and anything else that might want to chew on the paper and various bindings, but he mostly got in the way and shed on things. On the other hand, when he was sleeping, or in a good mood, he was a very cute cat, and except for his tendency to want to sleep on the work table in front when Alex wanted to do work on it, he was pretty good-natured. And he was smaller than most dogs, and didn’t need to be walked regularly.
When Alex was growing up, the couple that ran the stationer’s shop next to his parents’ printshop had owned a small fluffy lapdog named Biscuit, who napped on a pillow near the front door and needed to be walked in the street every two or three hours. The stationers’ apprentices were always dispatched for the job, and in the winter or during a rainstorm or if it was particularly windy out, Alex could hear them grumbling and complaining every time they walked by his parents’ shop. The dog seemed to have two speeds, comatose or energetic, and had an annoying high-pitched yip. The wife of the couple adored him with the kind of lavish affection people usually bestowed on their favorite children, although she was also very demonstrative with her own daughter. The daughter, oddly enough, was allergic to dogs. Alex’s sister thought the girl broke into a sneezing fit every time Biscuit looked at her because she just didn’t want to be responsible for walking him.
So all things considered, Curt was better than a little yappy dog, even when he jumped off the press and knocked over a bottle of glue. And wow, could Hazel think of some inventive curses. Alex was impressed.
He spent the rest of the day finishing the cover boards for his decorative leather binding, moving Curt off the table, and making notes for the dismantling, rebinding, and recovering of an old and very heavy book of astronomy, which had some beautifully painted pictures and a terrible binding. It was a good day, all told, even with the revelation about Lowe’s parentage and apparent fate. By the time he went home, Alex was even inclined to think Hazel might have made a mistake, and even if she hadn’t, and Lowe really was the missing prince, everything would still work out fine. Lowe would come home, they’d eat dinner, talk about it, make a plan, and go on with their lives. And if that included Lowe returning to court, well, Alex would deal with that when it happened.
But this theoretical plan did not include one Hazel Vine, wandering hedgewitch-in-training, and one Toast, yellow retriever, both of whom were sitting in Alex’s front room when he got home.
“Master Sedge let me in,” she explained. Master Sedge was currently the oldest Naveen of Naveen and Sons. “I convinced him I was Lowe’s sister.” She grinned. “And considering Lowe and I don’t look anything alike, it was some trick. I don’t think his eyes are very good.” She was sitting on the settle, writing in what looked like a blank book. Making notes, Alex guessed, or planning out her next moves. Toast sat on the floor, his tail thumping against the boards when Alex came in.
Alex just stood there and blinked at her. He wanted to give her credit for persistence, but there was something a little unsettling about coming home to find someone you’d only just met sitting on your settle, looking like she belonged there. He wasn’t sure if he should kick her out or ask her to say for dinner.
words: 1777
total words: 21,139
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Date: 2004-11-17 10:03 pm (UTC)