A Tale of Two Kingdoms (12 page)

He pulled up his hoodie, ran down the two flights of back stairs and burst in on the tour guides right at noon. They stopped eating, stopped talking, rose from their seats quickly and stared, but didn’t look nearly as surprised as they had the day before.

He could see that they were waiting for some bit of courteous pleasantry. He mulled over what that might be and, at length, settled on, “Good afternoon.”

Collectively they nodded and murmured, “Good afternoon,” like an en masse responsive reading.

“Please do no’ let me interrupt again. I’m just meetin’ a friend.” He smiled. “For a pizza.” He shrugged. “But no worries. I brought money.” He waved some bills.

They neither moved nor said anything in return, but did look at each other. Again, there was a knock on the door as if on cue. The same young elf rose to open it. It was raining even harder than the day before.

Innes was standing there in an elegant black waxed coat with water pouring off him as the shallow portico couldn’t protect him from windblown rain. He was holding a cardboard pizza box with a bit of plastic over it as haphazard protection and looked as pitiful as a stray dog.

“Come in, man,” Duff said as he motioned him forward. Innes stepped inside and nodded to the little assembly. “These are some of our finest tour guides. ‘Tis little doubt that each of them knows infinitely more about my family tree than do I. I’m afraid I’ve interrupted their noon meal two days in a row now.”

They all rushed to say, “No. No’ at all, your Highness. ‘Twas a pleasure.”

“This is my friend and solicitor, Mr. Innes. If you’ll excuse us, we’ll just…” Looking at Innes, Duff stopped. “Perhaps you’d like to leave your wrapper here? The gang will look after it for ye.”

He looked up at the guides for confirmation. They all rushed to assure Mr. Innes that his coat would be safe with them. So Duff took the pizza and ran off leaving his solicitor to struggle out of his coat and give chase like they were boys.

By the time they reached Duff’s suites, Innes was so red faced and heaving Duff was concerned he may have done the man injury.

“Peyton. Fae’s gods, man. I could no’ have dreamed you’d let yourself go or I never would have tested ye. Please accept my apology. And, when you can once again draw breath, I’ll offer you a beer to go with your pizza.”

“Very funny. If I had lost sight of you in this damned infernal place, I may have been wanderin’ about for days before bein’ found, only then to be imprisoned because of no’ bein’ able to properly explain what I was doin’ here. Deliverin’ a pizza to the prince! A likely story indeed, solicitor.

“My mate would be told I was found lookin’ like a drowned rat goin’ door to door sayin’, ‘Duffy? Duffy?’ You should be ashamed of yourself.” Duff just laughed. “You know, Duff Torquil, what you’re needin’ is a mate. Settle you right down by all the gods.”

“Right you are, Pey, and I’ll be agreein’ to the marrow in my very bones.”

“You will?”

“Aye.”

“Are you goin’ to eat that whole thin’ by yourself or were you plannin’ to share?”

During pizza and beer, Innes took a look around at the state of Duff’s bedroom with maps and papers strewn everywhere, also noting the dark circles under his eyes and the two days growth of beard.

“Duffy. Can’t help noticin’ there’s a lot of movin’ parts bein’ put into play here. Also can no’ help noticin’ that your groomin’ is in a wee state of decline.”

“Just a minor speed bump while I work out details. No’ to worry. In fact, in many ways I have ne’er been better. Do your part in this and I’ll be eternally grateful in ways that mere fees can no’ express.”

“A sweet speech, lad. But I am worried nonetheless.”

Shaking his head, the prince motioned toward the door. “Come let me show you the way out. I can no’ have you gettin’ lost,” he laughed. When they reached the guides’ break room, they shook hands outside the door.

Duff said, “Call or text me as soon as you have some good news.”

He was referring to the British Columbia property that Duff had shown him online. As the prince had rightly said, people in the business of buying and selling real estate were actively engaged in commerce on weekends.

Back in his room, alone again, Duff was thinking Innes was right. There were a lot of moving parts, which meant there were a lot of things that could go wrong, which meant that he had to be excruciatingly meticulous about every detail. He went back to work planning the last big step. How to get there.

He spread the biggest maps he could find out across the floor and then set the portaputer down on top of that with his notebook, ready to start the flight plan. He smiled to himself.

Before the days of airplanes, the word flight was only used in reference to humans to describe fleeing. As Duff planned their escape it occurred to him that both meanings of flight applied to their elopement.

They were fleeing by flying.

How he wished she was with him.

Right then.

He wished she was sitting next to him on his bedroom floor helping to calculate the flight plan as they conspired together about their getaway, imagining their new life, whispering about strawberries and caribou between kisses and touches while the rain beat against the casement windows of the northeast wing where fae royalty had slept and made more royal fae for three hundred years.

The critical calculations began with cruising speed, which fully loaded and fueled would average a hundred fifty-five miles per hour. Cumulative endurance range equaled four hours or seven hundred thirteen miles. In layman terms, that meant whatever came first.

He had to calculate what “fully loaded” meant, which included Aelsong’s weight. He knew it would be hopeless to ask her that and trust that the answer would be correct. He did know a little about females. So the only way to solve that problem was with a guess.

Day One.

Starting with Aberdeen, ninety-two miles from where he sat, they would take off from a small airfield and be over land for about fifteen minutes, over the North Sea for about fifteen minutes, over the highlands of Scotia for another fifteen minutes and then they would be flying north by northwest over the Norwegian Sea en route to the Faroe Islands.

The Faroes were under Danish sovereignty, which could not be better for Duff. He and the Danish prince had both been educated at Eton and had gotten along well. If there was any issue at the airstrip in the Faroes, a phone call would resolve it. Three hundred sixty-eight miles. A little over two hours.

Of course he could go further, but they needed to stop because of the way the next two legs would play out. If they didn’t spend the night in the Faroes, they’d be forced to stop at Rekjavik where he would be recognized and pandemonium would follow. They had to get to Canada before the hounds of Hades, otherwise known as paparazzi, were set free. And, he thought, they could do worse than a staggeringly beautiful, like-nowhere-else-on-Earth stop for their first night together.

That stopped his train of thought in its tracks. His first night with his mate, the first time he would make love to her for that matter, would be the Faroe Islands in the middle of the Norwegian Sea. Keeping that in mind he started scanning available lodging.

Since it was a far cry from tourist season, there was plenty available. He found a guesthouse described as unpretentious, honest and delightful. “Read between the lines,” he muttered to himself, at the same time thinking plain was okay. He and his intended were beyond being impressed by luxury. He jotted down the info including a note on the private annex building which he would send off to Innes so that arrangements could be made that were not traceable back to him.

Day Two.

They would make a stop for fuel, a piddle and food in Iceland, which was the only real worry. Keeping their heads down, weather and gods willing, they would get as far as the Kalusuk settlement at Tasiilaq, Eastern Greenland on the Denmark Strait just south of the Arctic Circle before dark and spend the night in a cold, but truly picturesque village.

Greenland was politically neutral and not a concern.

Day Three.

Stop for fuel, food and a piddle at Igaluit, Canadian Territory, Arctic. On to Happy Valley-Goose Bay, Newfoundland and Labrador. Stop for the night.

From the time they reached Igaluit they would be able to breathe easy because, even if no formal announcement had been made, they would be under protection of the Canadian government and could not be reclaimed by the Irish and Scotia monarchies without Canada’s permission.

Day Four.

Make it to Quebec by two o’clock where the Prime Minister would meet them. The Prime Minister would have an escort waiting at the airport and a press conference set up at the
Fairmont Le Chateau Frontenac
. From that time on, the world would know.

It was anybody’s guess whether the families would demand they return or
simply disown them.

Day Five.

They would continue their
journey to Winnepeg with a stop in Sault Ste Marie. He would ask the Prime Minister for a small security detail just to be sure that they could get to a hotel and back to the airport without a problem.

Day Six.

Stop in Saskatoon then on to Prince George where a hangar had been leased for the plane. The hangar came with a little hostel style efficiency in the back where they could spend the night.

Day Seven.

Buy two cars. Buy supplies. Drive a hundred and fifty miles to McBride and start settling into their new home.

There it was. What could go wrong? A lot.

As to how to anticipate every eventuality and put a Plan B in place, that was easy. Give up. It couldn’t be done. The Fates claim their share of outcomes in spite of the best of plans. And that’s that.

CHAPTER 5

Duff spent most of Sunday pacing up and down, going over it all again and again looking for flaws. He was also giving himself a crash course on things most people take for granted like budgeting money, trying to decide how much you can spend after you pay for necessities, which Duff had never thought about. Ever.

It was a whole new world. And it was exciting.

There were so many unknowns. He didn’t know if they’d be well-received, if the locals would get used to them, accept them and allow them to simply live their lives. He stopped in front of the mantel whereupon sat a collection of photos. He couldn’t say he’d miss his father at all, but he did feel pangs of both guilt and sadness about leaving without telling his mother goodbye.

He was so antsy by nine thirty that he couldn’t stay indoors anymore. If he was caught leaving the palace, there would be the devil to pay. If he wasn’t mobbed, then he certainly would get the speech about the dangers of going about with security, meaning assassination or kidnapping. He put on a black skull cap that covered his hair, pulled a navy hoodie low over his brow, and kept his head down.

It was dark. It was late. It was Sunday night in early March. There were not that many people out and about and those that were would not be expecting the prince of the fae to be out walking alone late at night. So he stuck his hands in the fleecy front pouch and took a brisk jog up Calton Hill. There was nobody up there but an old man walking a dog.

It wasn’t quite ten, but he couldn’t wait a minute longer. He took a chance that she was as eager as he and already situated somewhere private to accept his call.

“My love.”

He closed his eyes when he heard her voice, like a lick of honey.

“There you are.”

“Here I am.”

“Do you know how hard it was to find out what xoxo means?”

She laughed and the sound pulled all his nerve endings up tight like she was the symphony conductor and his body was a collection of instruments for her to play.

“’
Twas a puzzle then?”