I blinked as the wooden ceiling barely inches above my face faded in and out of my vision.
Here in a private compartment, I, Juliette Contzen, 3rd Princess to the Kingdom of Tirea, was currently lying atop a sack of potatoes.
Yes, potatoes.
Not a chaise armchair padded with corduroy cushions. Not a meadow pruned until only petals as soft as my heart remained.
But the flag of the peasantry.
Potatoes.
Because here on this creaking ship, even the compartments ostensibly for guests were actually ill-fitting storages for foodstuffs. And judging from the alarmingly large hole in the corner, also an endless buffet for the rodents which lived here.
It was an appalling excuse for accommodation. A suite made only for the mice which scurried in the darkness.
But I wasn’t here to review the shoddiness of this compartment … yet.
No, I was here to prevent an even worse crime from occurring to my image. One far worse than lying atop a sack of potatoes.
“Uuughh …”
I lifted my forearm to my head as the ceiling spun before me, then winced as I eyed its dismal colour.
Yes. Rotting brown tinged with moss and holes. Decor popular only amongst penniless bandits and the barons they optimistically robbed.
And yet I preferred it over the sight of Coppelia’s amused face as she leaned cheerfully over me.
“Hmm … blue hue, quivering hands, puffy cheeks … mmh, mmh. I think you’re dead.”
I tried turning my head away in a huff. It only made my nausea more pronounced.
“I wish to see a qualified physician.”
“I’m a qualified Coppelia.”
“Then I roundly reject your prognosis. I cannot appear that bad.”
“Bad is a fried egg with the yolk already broken when I see it on my plate. You look worse than that. You might be a ghoul.”
“Please, no ghoul is as pretty as I am, even in my weakened state.”
Indeed, it was my greatest skill to always feel worse than I looked.
Even if discomfort engulfed my tummy like a fruit slime to a rotting apple core, I still appeared as immaculate as the freshly risen dawn. Useful for when I dared sample the chiffon cake Florella somehow turned into caramel flavoured ash. But less useful when I needed a trained healer to swoop down and save me from my misery.
“Ughhhh …”
I groaned as my lack of experience with shipfaring began to show itself.
To be a princess was to be worldly. Yet up until now, this meant traversing the world of my books. A learning choice which encapsulated my genius efficiency. I could become a paragon of culture while simultaneously warding away the hedgehogs from my orchard. And perhaps rolling around in the grass as I did so as well.
I never quite imagined I’d be forced to experience those pages of seafaring adventuring in such grisly detail.
Each moment, I was gifted the sensation of being bundled about by the waves as though shunted by a mob of rioting peasants. My mind thought back to the warm descriptions I read of the thrill of the motion and the promise of wondrous bounty. And then I knew what I would do once I returned to the Royal Villa.
Order the writer found, arrested, and then shackled to the side of a ship until a rewrite was agreed upon.
“Want a back rub?” asked Coppelia as I rolled to my side.
I glanced back at her.
“Will it help?”
“Probably not. Actually, it depends. If you’re choking on food, I can help bring it back out.”
“Then no. I need to keep food in, not out.”
With that said, the threat to my dignity wasn’t quite so imminent anymore.
Certainly, whatever storm we’d waded into had passed. Now I no longer felt like a spinning marble. Only an ailing princess.
Braving the lack of equilibrium, I cautiously sat up from my sack and tested fate. I waited for the crashing of the waves and the groan of the hull.
Nothing.
I breathed a sigh of relief.
Although it pained me to go below decks, I’d been assured by the captain that the centre of the ship was the most steady.
Indeed, it wasn’t so bad now! After only spending the entire night rolling about while wishing the end of the world, it was clear to me that I took to the sea as naturally as any seasoned captain! Who else could survive their first exposure to the great horizon and not disgrace themselves upon the floor?
Rather, I could barely feel the ship careening anymore!
I’d acclimatised so well that the ship now felt utterly still! … So still, in fact, that it was almost as though we weren’t moving.
A moment passed.
And then–
“Why have we stopped?!” I said, jumping to my feet. “Tell me these sailors are not as laissez-faire with their work as adventurers! They cannot be permitted to take breaks! Their work is actually important!”
Coppelia raised a hand to her ear, poised like an attentive deer in the woods.
“Huh. You’re right. I mean, I didn’t hear anything over your cries of des–”
“Ahem!”
“Over your moans of torme–”
“A-Ahem!!”
“Over your sobs of distress, akin to a wounded hog after headbutting a door–”
“C-Coppelia!”
I looked aghast as I witnessed my future handmaiden’s career prospects submerging before me. She merely beamed as she leaned to the side, listening out for any sounds.
“Ahahaha, sorry, sorry~ I shouldn’t laugh. Much. What I mean is that I didn’t hear anything over your gentle objections to the rough handling of the ship. Which is definitely strange. No shouting, fighting, singing or spitting. Weird, huh?”
I decided her reprimand would come in the form of less strudels and more hazelnut croissants in the next provisions purchase. A more amiable split towards my tastes.
“... Quite so,” I said, turning my suspicion towards the door. “A sail may become listless, but sailors will always be irredeemably raucous. Something is amiss.”
While normally a blessing, I didn’t consider the silence to be a boon.
Even after sailing throughout the night, I had little doubt that the crew of this ship possessed the strength to toil until they found themselves in the arms of the next dimly lit tavern. This was no time for slacking!
For them, or for me!
“Come, Coppelia! The sooner we reach our destination, the better! Even if the wind itself ceases to be, I shall brook no excuse! So long as these sailors have legs, they can paddle! And so long as I have my royal aura, I shall compel them to do so!”
“Toe the line or walk the plank!~”
I nodded as I stepped gingerly forwards. I paused to ensure I didn’t fall over, and then swept open the compartment door.
“–Hieee?!”
Only to immediately recoil as I found a sailor already staring in my direction.
Carrying a platter of … biscuit things as though meaning to deliver it, this slack jawed, wide eyed and drooling ogre was a portrait of all things slovenly as whatever food he hoped to offer was decorated with a garnish of his own making.
“Salutations … ?”
I dared to utter a greeting. The sailor made no attempt to answer. His eyes were empty and still, as if staring into a deep fog.
And then … I noticed the figures behind him.
To my increasing horror, a dozen sailors were standing in various poses of gormlessness within the hold of this ship, their faces an art gallery of unsalvageable lack of etiquette. All of them were drooling. But unlike the one before me, none were staring at me.
Or rather, towards my direction.
Indeed, their eyes blankly faced whatever ropes and tasks their hands were working on, as though statues suddenly enveloped in a dream.
“Oooooh …”
Coppelia waved her hand before the sailor carrying the platter. She then glanced down at the biscuits, decided she actually possessed standards and chose to ignore them in favour of poking the ogre’s cheeks instead.
Still, he made no response.
Him, nor any of those behind him as the clockwork doll went ahead and skipped amongst them, prodding and poking with abandon.
They were utterly transfixed.
No, more than that … they were bewitched, as if enthralled in a waking dream.
“Like dribbling barons permitted to enter the Royal Villa,” I said, as I cautiously slipped past the biscuit sailor. “There can be no mistake. This is the expression nobility makes when they finally appreciate where their tax collections go.”
Coppelia removed a bucket from a sailor’s hand. She put it atop his head instead.
“That’s a lot of taxes you take. They’re completely out of it.”
“Not a lot, Coppelia. Merely proportional. We take what is our due and no more, to defend the kingdom’s borders and to replenish our daily supply of fresh cutlery and tableware.”
“Eh? You mean spoons and plates?”
“As well as assorted forks, knives, bowls and glassware, yes.”
“Why do you need a fresh daily supply of them? Isn’t it enough to wash them?”
“Oh … ohoho … ohohohohohohohoho.”
I raised my hand to my lips and laughed. Coppelia, knowing when she’d made a mistake, patiently waited for my mirth to subside.
“Because as royalty, we set more than standards. We set trends. If we’re not at the forefront of table fashion, then some upstart from the countryside will doubtless seek to dethrone us. This is how coups begin.”
“Not because of high taxes, historical grievances and because you think they’re all peasants in nicer clothes?”
“Don’t be silly. It’s an insult to peasants to say all nobility wear nicer clothes.”
“Uwaaah~ the first nice words you’ve ever said about peasants. And it’s still kinda …”
“And believe me, if taxation and grievances is all it took to initiate a coup, we’d be drowning in them before lunch time. Obviously, the true melting point is when we reuse the same pattern of gilded forks two days in a row.”
“Oh … my bad.”
Coppelia nodded, having learned something new today.
I was pleased at her attitude, yet also slightly concerned. As my future handmaiden, she needed to be well versed in royal table setting … as well as, well, everything else.
The task ahead of me was becoming ever more ominous.
Especially when it was interrupted by the ceaseless barrage of obstacles my foes with significantly more free time placed before me.
“... hehehehe …”
Such as a girl’s laughter.
The sound washed over me like a musical chime.
For a moment, I paused, my deliberations on Coppelia’s training put to the wayside as images of my orchard briefly flickered across my mind. I relaxed as I spied a strawberry shortcake amongst the branches of an apple tree, the red hue of its jam centre even more colourful than the unpicked fruits surrounding it.
And then I thought about the platter of biscuits covered in drool, and the image broke.
“Laughter,” I said, frowning as I shook away the clear fingers of an unwelcome stupor. “And a girl’s, no less. I did not think that this ship of ogres plus one cat had any others as guests.”
“Oh, so that’s what it was.”
“Excuse me?”
“I thought I heard something between your … eh, ladylike remonstrations with the ship. I couldn’t be sure. Some of your not-groans sounded like crazy giggles as well, soooo …”
My mouth opened wide at the insinuation.
That my giggles could be construed as anything less than the sweet song of songbirds was absolutely–
“... heheh heheheehe …”
“Yeah! It sounded like that, actually!”
I pursed my lips.
There was a long list of responses to give to Coppelia’s cheek … and once I was no longer being distracted by this highly suspect laughter, I would consider what they’d be!
“It seems the Henrietta has a stowaway,” I declared, sweeping past the unmoving ogres as I headed for the nearby stairs. “And as esteemed guests, I refuse to have my journey hampered for any reason other than to allow my tummy to rest.”
“In that case, isn’t this a good thing?”
“Yes, I’ll be sure to thank this uninvited visitor. Just after I sufficiently toss them overboard. A mage, do you think?”
“Could be. Or a witch. They’re famous for their bewitching charms. And this one’s strong. I’ve never seen ogres charmed by anything less than a maiden with bigger biceps than thighs before.”
I frowned, hand by my side as I made my way topside.
A sorceress of some skill, then. And also utterly irrelevant.
Because I had far too much to do and far too little time to allow any adversary to disrupt my noble plans to roll around in my orchard before summer arrived to wilt the grass dry. Whatever this stowaway’s cause for enchanting the crew of this ship was, I’d hear them out while they flailed in the water. Maybe.
A window of daylight welcomed me as I climbed the short steps to the deck. Once there, I was left to wince at the glaring midday sun, the salt air assailing my delicate senses, and the utter lack of willpower the sailors aboard this vessel demonstrated in resisting a charm spell.
They stood, sat or lounged like drunkards outside a bar, their addled minds replacing whatever fleeting thoughts of work they had to instead ogle in a sleepless daze.
“... Ehehe hehe …”
And still, that feminine laughter resounded–and it came from the end of the deck, where the entrance to the captain’s abode was ominously askew.
Coppelia leaned past me, her curious eyes deciphering the mystery of what awaited within.
“I bet 5 silver crowns you’re going to put a hole through the ship.”
“Don’t be absurd. I’m not going to put a hole through the ship. I’m still on it.”
“Is that a bet?”
“... No …”
Ignoring Coppelia’s satisfied expression, I slipped between the stupefied ogres and approached the slightly opened door. Drawing Starlight Grace, I parted whatever slivers of shadow were cast by the glaring sun.
Then, I slowly peeked my head in.
The world’s least impressive captain’s cabin greeted me, indicative of the size of the ship. Not even an entryway to petulantly keep the guests waiting. It was no grand frigate, but a trading cog whose captain was hopefully seeking to sell it for a newer vessel.
Sadly, the ogre in question was unlikely to answer any queries I had for him.
Wearing the same mesmerised look as the sailors who served him, his only claim to redemption was the drawn cutlass in his hand. It was the only measure of resistance he had offered. Bereft of blood, there was no indication he’d managed to do anything to thwart the person currently rummaging through the chest behind his desk.
“Heheheh … you can go in my trove … and you can go in my cupboard … and you? Hmm, maybe you can go in my spare heap …”
“Or perhaps they can stay exactly where they are. At least until my own tax inspectors can properly scrutinise this ship’s ledgers.”
The figure’s back jolted upright. She slowly turned around.
Before me, a girl blinked at me in mild surprise.
She had flowing red hair which stretched past her waist. Wide eyes brimming with innocence. And a young face with an unnaturally smooth complexion.
A girl no older than I, and certainly not prettier.
Even so, she was the picture of a young maiden.
All except for the majestic, single fin she had for legs … and also the fact that most young maidens didn’t burgle ships while stark naked.
The length of that hair had a practical purpose, it seemed.
Why, it was the only thing maintaining her dignity.
A mermaid.
Famed inhabitants of the Kingdom Beneath The Sea, they were as peerless in their wiles as they were in their hair routines.
Blessed with both beauty and sonorous voices, all the waters were their hunting ground as they exploited their endless capacity for mischief to lure their prey into the depths below.
Seeing me with my drawn sword, this fiend in the guise of a naked maiden blinked with her large silvery eyes, then slowly, very slowly–she returned to rummaging through the chest.
“Heheheh … you can go in my nightstand … and you can go under my pillow …”
My mouth fell open, my storied sword dipping from shock.
Because for the first time in my life, I, Juliette Contzen, 3rd Princess to the Kingdom of Tirea and fairest of them all, had suffered a devastating attack.
I … was being ignored?!
I blinked as the wooden ceiling barely inches above my face faded in and out of my vision.
Here in a private compartment, I, Juliette Contzen, 3rd Princess to the Kingdom of Tirea, was currently lying atop a sack of potatoes.
Yes, potatoes.
Not a chaise armchair padded with corduroy cushions. Not a meadow pruned until only petals as soft as my heart remained.
But the flag of the peasantry.
Potatoes.
Because here on this creaking ship, even the compartments ostensibly for guests were actually ill-fitting storages for foodstuffs. And judging from the alarmingly large hole in the corner, also an endless buffet for the rodents which lived here.
It was an appalling excuse for accommodation. A suite made only for the mice which scurried in the darkness.
But I wasn’t here to review the shoddiness of this compartment … yet.
No, I was here to prevent an even worse crime from occurring to my image. One far worse than lying atop a sack of potatoes.
“Uuughh …”
I lifted my forearm to my head as the ceiling spun before me, then winced as I eyed its dismal colour.
Yes. Rotting brown tinged with moss and holes. Decor popular only amongst penniless bandits and the barons they optimistically robbed.
And yet I preferred it over the sight of Coppelia’s amused face as she leaned cheerfully over me.
“Hmm … blue hue, quivering hands, puffy cheeks … mmh, mmh. I think you’re dead.”
I tried turning my head away in a huff. It only made my nausea more pronounced.
“I wish to see a qualified physician.”
“I’m a qualified Coppelia.”
“Then I roundly reject your prognosis. I cannot appear that bad.”
“Bad is a fried egg with the yolk already broken when I see it on my plate. You look worse than that. You might be a ghoul.”
“Please, no ghoul is as pretty as I am, even in my weakened state.”
Indeed, it was my greatest skill to always feel worse than I looked.
Even if discomfort engulfed my tummy like a fruit slime to a rotting apple core, I still appeared as immaculate as the freshly risen dawn. Useful for when I dared sample the chiffon cake Florella somehow turned into caramel flavoured ash. But less useful when I needed a trained healer to swoop down and save me from my misery.
“Ughhhh …”
I groaned as my lack of experience with shipfaring began to show itself.
To be a princess was to be worldly. Yet up until now, this meant traversing the world of my books. A learning choice which encapsulated my genius efficiency. I could become a paragon of culture while simultaneously warding away the hedgehogs from my orchard. And perhaps rolling around in the grass as I did so as well.
I never quite imagined I’d be forced to experience those pages of seafaring adventuring in such grisly detail.
Each moment, I was gifted the sensation of being bundled about by the waves as though shunted by a mob of rioting peasants. My mind thought back to the warm descriptions I read of the thrill of the motion and the promise of wondrous bounty. And then I knew what I would do once I returned to the Royal Villa.
Order the writer found, arrested, and then shackled to the side of a ship until a rewrite was agreed upon.
“Want a back rub?” asked Coppelia as I rolled to my side.
I glanced back at her.
“Will it help?”
“Probably not. Actually, it depends. If you’re choking on food, I can help bring it back out.”
“Then no. I need to keep food in, not out.”
With that said, the threat to my dignity wasn’t quite so imminent anymore.
Certainly, whatever storm we’d waded into had passed. Now I no longer felt like a spinning marble. Only an ailing princess.
Braving the lack of equilibrium, I cautiously sat up from my sack and tested fate. I waited for the crashing of the waves and the groan of the hull.
Nothing.
I breathed a sigh of relief.
Although it pained me to go below decks, I’d been assured by the captain that the centre of the ship was the most steady.
Indeed, it wasn’t so bad now! After only spending the entire night rolling about while wishing the end of the world, it was clear to me that I took to the sea as naturally as any seasoned captain! Who else could survive their first exposure to the great horizon and not disgrace themselves upon the floor?
Rather, I could barely feel the ship careening anymore!
I’d acclimatised so well that the ship now felt utterly still! … So still, in fact, that it was almost as though we weren’t moving.
A moment passed.
And then–
“Why have we stopped?!” I said, jumping to my feet. “Tell me these sailors are not as laissez-faire with their work as adventurers! They cannot be permitted to take breaks! Their work is actually important!”
Coppelia raised a hand to her ear, poised like an attentive deer in the woods.
“Huh. You’re right. I mean, I didn’t hear anything over your cries of des–”
“Ahem!”
“Over your moans of torme–”
“A-Ahem!!”
“Over your sobs of distress, akin to a wounded hog after headbutting a door–”
“C-Coppelia!”
I looked aghast as I witnessed my future handmaiden’s career prospects submerging before me. She merely beamed as she leaned to the side, listening out for any sounds.
“Ahahaha, sorry, sorry~ I shouldn’t laugh. Much. What I mean is that I didn’t hear anything over your gentle objections to the rough handling of the ship. Which is definitely strange. No shouting, fighting, singing or spitting. Weird, huh?”
I decided her reprimand would come in the form of less strudels and more hazelnut croissants in the next provisions purchase. A more amiable split towards my tastes.
“... Quite so,” I said, turning my suspicion towards the door. “A sail may become listless, but sailors will always be irredeemably raucous. Something is amiss.”
While normally a blessing, I didn’t consider the silence to be a boon.
Even after sailing throughout the night, I had little doubt that the crew of this ship possessed the strength to toil until they found themselves in the arms of the next dimly lit tavern. This was no time for slacking!
For them, or for me!
“Come, Coppelia! The sooner we reach our destination, the better! Even if the wind itself ceases to be, I shall brook no excuse! So long as these sailors have legs, they can paddle! And so long as I have my royal aura, I shall compel them to do so!”
“Toe the line or walk the plank!~”
I nodded as I stepped gingerly forwards. I paused to ensure I didn’t fall over, and then swept open the compartment door.
“–Hieee?!”
Only to immediately recoil as I found a sailor already staring in my direction.
Carrying a platter of … biscuit things as though meaning to deliver it, this slack jawed, wide eyed and drooling ogre was a portrait of all things slovenly as whatever food he hoped to offer was decorated with a garnish of his own making.
“Salutations … ?”
I dared to utter a greeting. The sailor made no attempt to answer. His eyes were empty and still, as if staring into a deep fog.
And then … I noticed the figures behind him.
To my increasing horror, a dozen sailors were standing in various poses of gormlessness within the hold of this ship, their faces an art gallery of unsalvageable lack of etiquette. All of them were drooling. But unlike the one before me, none were staring at me.
Or rather, towards my direction.
Indeed, their eyes blankly faced whatever ropes and tasks their hands were working on, as though statues suddenly enveloped in a dream.
“Oooooh …”
Coppelia waved her hand before the sailor carrying the platter. She then glanced down at the biscuits, decided she actually possessed standards and chose to ignore them in favour of poking the ogre’s cheeks instead.
Still, he made no response.
Him, nor any of those behind him as the clockwork doll went ahead and skipped amongst them, prodding and poking with abandon.
They were utterly transfixed.
No, more than that … they were bewitched, as if enthralled in a waking dream.
“Like dribbling barons permitted to enter the Royal Villa,” I said, as I cautiously slipped past the biscuit sailor. “There can be no mistake. This is the expression nobility makes when they finally appreciate where their tax collections go.”
Coppelia removed a bucket from a sailor’s hand. She put it atop his head instead.
“That’s a lot of taxes you take. They’re completely out of it.”
“Not a lot, Coppelia. Merely proportional. We take what is our due and no more, to defend the kingdom’s borders and to replenish our daily supply of fresh cutlery and tableware.”
“Eh? You mean spoons and plates?”
“As well as assorted forks, knives, bowls and glassware, yes.”
“Why do you need a fresh daily supply of them? Isn’t it enough to wash them?”
“Oh … ohoho … ohohohohohohohoho.”
I raised my hand to my lips and laughed. Coppelia, knowing when she’d made a mistake, patiently waited for my mirth to subside.
“Because as royalty, we set more than standards. We set trends. If we’re not at the forefront of table fashion, then some upstart from the countryside will doubtless seek to dethrone us. This is how coups begin.”
“Not because of high taxes, historical grievances and because you think they’re all peasants in nicer clothes?”
“Don’t be silly. It’s an insult to peasants to say all nobility wear nicer clothes.”
“Uwaaah~ the first nice words you’ve ever said about peasants. And it’s still kinda …”
“And believe me, if taxation and grievances is all it took to initiate a coup, we’d be drowning in them before lunch time. Obviously, the true melting point is when we reuse the same pattern of gilded forks two days in a row.”
“Oh … my bad.”
Coppelia nodded, having learned something new today.
I was pleased at her attitude, yet also slightly concerned. As my future handmaiden, she needed to be well versed in royal table setting … as well as, well, everything else.
The task ahead of me was becoming ever more ominous.
Especially when it was interrupted by the ceaseless barrage of obstacles my foes with significantly more free time placed before me.
“... hehehehe …”
Such as a girl’s laughter.
The sound washed over me like a musical chime.
For a moment, I paused, my deliberations on Coppelia’s training put to the wayside as images of my orchard briefly flickered across my mind. I relaxed as I spied a strawberry shortcake amongst the branches of an apple tree, the red hue of its jam centre even more colourful than the unpicked fruits surrounding it.
And then I thought about the platter of biscuits covered in drool, and the image broke.
“Laughter,” I said, frowning as I shook away the clear fingers of an unwelcome stupor. “And a girl’s, no less. I did not think that this ship of ogres plus one cat had any others as guests.”
“Oh, so that’s what it was.”
“Excuse me?”
“I thought I heard something between your … eh, ladylike remonstrations with the ship. I couldn’t be sure. Some of your not-groans sounded like crazy giggles as well, soooo …”
My mouth opened wide at the insinuation.
That my giggles could be construed as anything less than the sweet song of songbirds was absolutely–
“... heheh heheheehe …”
“Yeah! It sounded like that, actually!”
I pursed my lips.
There was a long list of responses to give to Coppelia’s cheek … and once I was no longer being distracted by this highly suspect laughter, I would consider what they’d be!
“It seems the Henrietta has a stowaway,” I declared, sweeping past the unmoving ogres as I headed for the nearby stairs. “And as esteemed guests, I refuse to have my journey hampered for any reason other than to allow my tummy to rest.”
“In that case, isn’t this a good thing?”
“Yes, I’ll be sure to thank this uninvited visitor. Just after I sufficiently toss them overboard. A mage, do you think?”
“Could be. Or a witch. They’re famous for their bewitching charms. And this one’s strong. I’ve never seen ogres charmed by anything less than a maiden with bigger biceps than thighs before.”
I frowned, hand by my side as I made my way topside.
A sorceress of some skill, then. And also utterly irrelevant.
Because I had far too much to do and far too little time to allow any adversary to disrupt my noble plans to roll around in my orchard before summer arrived to wilt the grass dry. Whatever this stowaway’s cause for enchanting the crew of this ship was, I’d hear them out while they flailed in the water. Maybe.
A window of daylight welcomed me as I climbed the short steps to the deck. Once there, I was left to wince at the glaring midday sun, the salt air assailing my delicate senses, and the utter lack of willpower the sailors aboard this vessel demonstrated in resisting a charm spell.
They stood, sat or lounged like drunkards outside a bar, their addled minds replacing whatever fleeting thoughts of work they had to instead ogle in a sleepless daze.
“... Ehehe hehe …”
And still, that feminine laughter resounded–and it came from the end of the deck, where the entrance to the captain’s abode was ominously askew.
Coppelia leaned past me, her curious eyes deciphering the mystery of what awaited within.
“I bet 5 silver crowns you’re going to put a hole through the ship.”
“Don’t be absurd. I’m not going to put a hole through the ship. I’m still on it.”
“Is that a bet?”
“... No …”
Ignoring Coppelia’s satisfied expression, I slipped between the stupefied ogres and approached the slightly opened door. Drawing Starlight Grace, I parted whatever slivers of shadow were cast by the glaring sun.
Then, I slowly peeked my head in.
The world’s least impressive captain’s cabin greeted me, indicative of the size of the ship. Not even an entryway to petulantly keep the guests waiting. It was no grand frigate, but a trading cog whose captain was hopefully seeking to sell it for a newer vessel.
Sadly, the ogre in question was unlikely to answer any queries I had for him.
Wearing the same mesmerised look as the sailors who served him, his only claim to redemption was the drawn cutlass in his hand. It was the only measure of resistance he had offered. Bereft of blood, there was no indication he’d managed to do anything to thwart the person currently rummaging through the chest behind his desk.
“Heheheh … you can go in my trove … and you can go in my cupboard … and you? Hmm, maybe you can go in my spare heap …”
“Or perhaps they can stay exactly where they are. At least until my own tax inspectors can properly scrutinise this ship’s ledgers.”
The figure’s back jolted upright. She slowly turned around.
Before me, a girl blinked at me in mild surprise.
She had flowing red hair which stretched past her waist. Wide eyes brimming with innocence. And a young face with an unnaturally smooth complexion.
A girl no older than I, and certainly not prettier.
Even so, she was the picture of a young maiden.
All except for the majestic, single fin she had for legs … and also the fact that most young maidens didn’t burgle ships while stark naked.
The length of that hair had a practical purpose, it seemed.
Why, it was the only thing maintaining her dignity.
A mermaid.
Famed inhabitants of the Kingdom Beneath The Sea, they were as peerless in their wiles as they were in their hair routines.
Blessed with both beauty and sonorous voices, all the waters were their hunting ground as they exploited their endless capacity for mischief to lure their prey into the depths below.
Seeing me with my drawn sword, this fiend in the guise of a naked maiden blinked with her large silvery eyes, then slowly, very slowly–she returned to rummaging through the chest.
“Heheheh … you can go in my nightstand … and you can go under my pillow …”
My mouth fell open, my storied sword dipping from shock.
Because for the first time in my life, I, Juliette Contzen, 3rd Princess to the Kingdom of Tirea and fairest of them all, had suffered a devastating attack.
I … was being ignored?!
