A Pearl Among Princes Read Free

only known to the royal families. You will not find the island on a seafaring map, nor divined by navigation device. And if the constant circle of fog around the isle, as thick as Saturn’s ring, is not enough to keep visitors away, the dangerous spiked shoals on the left arc, like the spears of armored knights, or the fiery whirlpools that can suck a boat down into a dragon-fierce inferno on the right arc, would discourage an idle explorer.
    The only people who come here are the PITs. Their trusted captains deposit them in June and return to collect them in September along with the reams of cotton and wool, linen and lace ordered from the mills. Only these faithful old seamen know the way.
    A thirteenth ship? Who can this be? I turn my spyglass for a closer look. Judging from the boat, this royal is not wealthy. He comes in a simple vessel, two modest tarp sails without adornment, no regal coat of arms.
    There is the captain at the wheel, but where is his royal passenger? This ship bears no such grandeur as a lower deck. It is really no more than a fishing boat.
    Hmmm, how interesting. How exciting!
    I gather my skirts about me and hurry down the tower steps to find Lu and Nuff.

CHAPTER 3
    The PITs
    What are little boys made of ?
Snips and snails,
And puppy dogs’ tails!
That’s what little boys are made of.
    Â 
    What are little girls made of?
Sugar and spice,
And everything nice!
That’s what little girls are made of.
    Rushing down the hill toward the beach to meet my friends, I pause to pluck a callaberry blossom and loop the stem around my ear. The red flower with a yellow heart is lovelier than the ruby hair brooch that brash PIT from Sycamore, Aldous, offered me last summer. His girlfriend, a duke’s daughter, insisted he take the ornament for the summer to remember her by. Sir Aldous had the nerve to say I could “borrow it” in exchange for a kiss. “Pig’s chance of that,” I told him.
    Hopefully Nuff is finished ironing the royals’ fine linen sheets and Lu is done dusting their quarters. Thanks to Father, on this arrival day, I am not due in the kitchen until later.
    â€œHave fun, Gracepearl,” Father said this morning in the kitchen, feathers flying up about his happy face as he plucked the freshly slaughtered chickens for tomorrow’s feast.
    â€œAnd give those poor princes a pity-try this year,” Nora Baker shouted to me as she took a tray of muffins from the oven. “If yer lucky maybe one’ll call ya princess.”
    I smiled and caught a feather in the air. “Or I could stick this feather in a prince’s hat and call him macaroni.” Swiping two hot muffins I dashed off, Father’s laughter ringing sweet in my ears.
    Down one flight of stone steps, then another, I reach the beach, toss off my sandals, and sink my feet in the cool soft sand.
    â€œGracepearl! Gracepearl!” Lu and Nuff call from an elevated spot by the docks.
    Over there are the Muffets in their matching pink shawls primping their hair and fidgeting about for the best spots for the princes to see them.
    Maneuvering through the crowd, I search faces for Mackree as I go.
    As they have on this first day of summer for ages, the people of Miramore have gathered here to welcome the royal boys. Fishermen, farmers, carpenters, weavers, tinkers, butlers and scullery maids, stable hands, grounds-keepers, those who toil in the orchards and vineyards and vegetable gardens, the flax and wheat and cotton fields, the farms and the fabric mills. Miramore exists primarily as a summer school where royals learn the charming arts. Secondarily we provide reams of wool and cotton fabrics, linens and fine embroidered pieces for the wealthy families of the Order.
    The isle provides us food aplenty and surely everything a cook could wish for. Father furnishes delicious meals for the professors who remain here all year long, but as he would be the first to boast, the food he