A Pearl Among Princes Read Free Page A

prepares in the summer is truly fit for a king.
    Over there on the raised dais are Headmistress Jule and the instructors in their university robes. I scrunch my nose as I do at the smell of blue cheese at the sight of mean pockmark-faced Pillage, Professor Emeritus in the military arts. He once taught for the House of Ash and has come to Miramore for the warm climate and fresh air to soothe his smoke-diseased lungs. It’s rumored that Pillage wants to teach this year, but we can’t imagine he would stoop to teach the charming arts. Not that he has an ounce of knowledge on such matters—he is the least charming man I’ve ever met.
    Reaching my friends, I hug them. “Lu! Nuff!”
    â€œGracie,” Lu says, relieved, “thank goodness. Where have you been?”
    â€œWe feared you’d miss the rating,” Nuff says.
    â€œWouldn’t miss it for the world,” I say. Inside I’m thinking, Especially this year . But even as I think this I wonder how I could leave Father and Mackree and my dear best friends, Lu and Nuff.
    Sweet Lu, short and plump, pale and pretty, a heart as good as gold. She wants a big family, a gaggle of children. Nuff and I tease her about turning into that lady who lived in a shoe who had so many children she didn’t know what to do.
    And Nuff, beautiful Nuff, tall, thin, and ebony-skinned, smart and so quick-witted, the sweet aroma of frangipani always about her. Nuff adores Miramore and insists she could never leave. Nuff’s mother, so wise in formulating soaps for their laundry work, is equally gifted at crafting luscious perfumes from the sweet petals of the island’s flowers. She is teaching her daughter her trade. One day Nuff will take her mother’s place. Any prince who falls in love with Nuff will have to fall for this island too.
    The trumpet blows. The first ship lands. A roar of excited chatter rises up.
    â€œThis prince is from Oakland,” Nuff says, pointing to the large brown-leafed coat of arms on the sail.
    Of all the forest trees, I like the oak least of all. Its fat leaves make heavy wet piles on the ground over winter, blocking sunlight from the flowers in spring.
    Two docksmen work to secure the ropes. The Oakland captain lowers the wooden steps. The crowd hushes. A red feather is the first to appear, then a brown velvet hat, yellow curls, and long bony nose on a powder white face as this round-bellied royal one ascends from his cabin.
    â€œHe looks our age,” Lu says.
    Standing on the deck this first PIT sniffs the air and squints his eyes as if he is not accustomed to sun. His captain supports the PIT’s elbow as he waddles down the steps to the dock. This PIT could use some exercise. I start to say as much, then stop. Lu forever battles with her weight and I’d never want to hurt her feelings again. Last year I kindly suggested she might want to eat more apples than apple tarts, and I offended her greatly.
    The wind whips off the Oakland PIT’s velvet hat and drops it into the sea, where it skits across the surface like one of Mackree’s skipping stones. The stones I used to collect for him on my morning beach walks.
    Without a word of instruction, Lu’s little brother, Leem, and his friend Brine tear off their shirts, run to the water, and dive toward the floating hat. Reaching it first, Leem holds up his dripping trophy, waving it triumphantly in the air. He swims back to shore, hoists himself up on the dock, and wrings the water from the hat as he has no doubt watched his mum do with towels countless times. Then with a clumsy but practiced bow, Leem kneels and presents the hat to the royal.
    â€œYour Highness,” Leem shouts in a too-loud voice, and then steps back reverently.
    The royal one of Oakland, oval shaped like a fat farm egg, scowls as if he’s been proffered a rat. “Toss it there, boy,” he says, pointing to a refuse barrel.
    Some Muffets giggle as if this is