A Tale of Two Kingdoms (Knights of Black Swan, Book 6) Page 7

“No,” said a red-haired girl who had found her voice and was advancing from the corner. “The prince’s pizza pie will be on me! I insist.”

  As the argument ensued the prince backed away. When he reached the door, he said, “Thank you for your kindness. Allow me to invite you all to dinner in the Stirlin’ room. Monday night at eight.” He counted in the air. “Seven. How many would like to plus one?” Every one raised a hand. He smiled. “Very well. Fourteen it is. I’ll be leavin’ word at the front door.”

  Duff raced upstairs. The smell was driving him crazy. Truthfully he’d never had a bite of pizza before in his entire life, but it was a day for new possibilities and celebrating the beauty of common things. He relocked every door on his way back to his room, opened a beer, and bit into a pepperoni, Italian sausage, mushroom, black olive and green pepper pizza. He hadn’t known what to order so he’d asked the girl who took the order for a suggestion. He groaned out loud. He had eaten in most Relaix Fontaineau restaurants in the world and couldn’t remember groaning out loud.

  He was glad he’d ordered a large pizza and was already planning on getting another for dinner. He stuffed some currency into his pocket while he was thinking about it.

  Sometime later he realized he wasn’t hearing rain anymore. He glanced at the windows and then at the clock. He’d gotten so lost in the mechanics of planning a future that he’d gone past his target time. No matter. Later was probably better.

  The where had come to him with the simple random action of the turn of a globe on the way past. Canada was the world’s second largest country. If he and Song wore caps or wore their hair over their ears, with their coloring, in most places they could blend in.

  Canadians spoke a version of the same language. It was cold. True. But they were both from the same latitude as the southern half of Canada so weather wasn’t the issue that it might be for some. Lots of beautiful, sparsely populated land. It might not be heaven, but close enough. Be it ruinous or fortuitous, he would let their future ride on the casual spin of the globe.

  Duff had met the Canadian Prime Minister at a state dinner a few months before and, in all modesty, she had seemed taken with him. She’d made a point of remarking that, seeing him in person, she certainly understood why he’d been named World’s Sexiest Bachelor.

  He knew her response to his request for sanctuary would depend on a variety of factors. The granting of political sanctuary would draw worldwide attention and Canada was not known for being at the center of mediating international affairs. It could cement the office on her behalf until she died or decided to resign. Or it could shorten her political career and become the entire character of her legacy. Much would depend on her mood and personal ambition, both of which could only be known by the Prime Minister herself.

  He hoped his voice wouldn’t shake. It wouldn’t normally have occurred to him except that, when he lifted the phone, he noticed his hand was shaking a little. He had a lot riding on that one phone call.

  After talking with three levels of bureaucrats, Duff was put through. “Madame Prime Minister.”

  “Your Highness. To what do I owe the honor?”

  “My mate and I want to be citizens of your beautiful country. We are formally requestin’ political asylum. We will no’ be a drain on public resources. We have the means to support ourselves.”

  Fifteen minutes later, Duff had spelled out the issues and the need for asylum.

  “If you can get here unaided, you’ll be granted asylum.”

  She promised that their conversation would not be leaked until after Song and Duff were safe on Canadian soil. He said that he would confirm with her the exact date and place when they would arrive.

  Step Two. Pick a GO DATE.

  Materials needed: calendar.

  There will never be a perfect time. Looking for a perfect time equals procrastination. Procrastination is the first step toward failure. Best chance of success. Pick a self-imposed, hard deadline.

  He looked at the calendar. It was March third. His eyes drifted downward. March fifteenth caught his eye. His mouth twitched. No surprise why. March fifteen marked the end of boar season in Germany. It was one of his favorite things in the world. An area of the Black Forest was maintained as a nature preserve. Every spring they allowed a few dignitaries, on application, to hunt without modern weapons, during the very short season, to keep the population manageable.

  Duff hadn’t been in two years. He looked up and laughed out loud. Perfect.

  He grabbed his phone, ran through his contacts and tapped the screen. It rang.

  “Here.”

  “’Tis the crown callin’ for back taxes.”

  “Duffy! You sod! Your old man’s bleedin’ me dry, I tell ye. So you can no’ be too poor to hire cute lassies to dun poor citizens out of their rightful earnin’s?”

  “Cute lassies, you say? Have you seen Grieve?”

  “’Tis damn hard to be you.”

  “Aye. I’ve always said as much. Strange that ‘twould take a tax collection call to make you see.” The reply was good-natured laughter. “So would you happen to know what month ‘tis?”

  “’Tis pig stickin’ month.”

  “Aye. ‘Tis. Hard to get one past you, Iwan. Can you get away?”

  “Believe I might. What are you thinkin’?”

  “I’m thinkin’ do a favor, get a favor.”

  “Oh? Let’s hear it then.”

  “Well, I need to be somewhere that is no’ here without explainin’ to anyone, particularly my mother, where that might be, if you’re understandin’ what I mean.”

  “I believe I do.”

  “So I thought I might say I’ve gone huntin’ with the boys.”

  “Aye. Duffy, I will cover your ass should it become necessary and you know you do no’ even have to ask it, e’en though lyin’ to the queen is probably a hangin’ offense. But…”

  “But?”

  “I imagine it goes without sayin’. You’re no fifteen, you know.”

  He sighed deeply. “Ah, Iwan. All jokin’ aside. Bein’ prince is complicated.”

  “Well, we already established ‘tis hard to be you. Tell me the details.”

  After they discussed who might go and when they would leave, Duff hung up making a mental note to do something special for Iwan no matter how things turned out. Step Two complete.

  Go date: March 10th

  To Do:

  1.) Arrange clearance for hunting party with German ambassador.

  2.) Have Grieve clear my calendar from March 10th through 16th.

  3.) Have Song tell The Order she will be going home for personal time.

  Step Three. Getting away.

  Goal: To be there before they know we’re gone.

  Needed: 1.) passports and travel documents 2.) transportation

  To Do:

  Arrange transportation.

  Inform PM when itinerary is set.

  Step Four. A new life.

  Needed: 1.) money 2.) place to live

  Duff thanked the gods that he was one of the one percent of the one percent who need not worry about money. His grandfather, on passing, had left him a trust that had matured on Duff’s twenty-fifth birthday. He’d never touched a penny of it. Never so much as thought about it. But there was enough there to support a couple for a lifetime if they lived a reasonably humble lifestyle.

  At times in his life he’d wondered if he should feel guilty because he knew that extreme privilege or power almost always began with plunder, but he’d had more opportunity to curse his ancestors for their success with war and coastal raiding than thank them for it.

  Wanting to reach Innes before office hours ended Friday, Duff called with his list.

  “You ready?”

  “Go.”

  “I need to move my trust to Canada.”

  “Have you given thought as to how you’ll be wantin’ to do that?”

  “I have. I was thinkin’ to have you rush through purchase of a legacy corp, then op
en a bank account with Scotiabank in Canada with myself as signatory and transfer the balance from RBS.”

  “Hmmm. That would work. It will also cost a fortune.”

  “’Tis fortunate I have one then. And it needs to be accomplished by next Wednesday.”

  “Well, Duffy, you never were one for lettin’ grass grow under your feet.”

  “Take it as a compliment that I chose you then, Pey.”

  “’Tis. Indeed. Still, could be tricky. Next.”

  “I’ll be wantin’ you to make some purchases on my behalf. First, I want a very specific plane. A Tecnam P2006T. Call the plant in Capua. They have a wait list, but perhaps sufficient incentive could insure delivery to an out of the way private hanger in Aberdeen by Thursday early mornin’. With prepurchase inspections completed, maintenance check, fueled up and ready to go. Of course.”

  “Of course.” Innes sighed heavily. “Thursday, you say. I feel a weekend in the office comin’ on.”

  “Were you sayin’ you’re ready for the next item?”

  “Aye. You heard right.”

  “I would like to acquire some property in Canada. I believe it would be most expedient if the corporation purchases it on my behalf?”

  “As a recap, I understand you want the corporation in place with money transferred by Wednesday. In the most unlikely event I am able to perform miracles and brin’ this to pass, when are you hopin’ to transfer the property into the portfolio of your Canadian corporation?”

  “Well, if you have a willin’ seller and a willin’ buyer and an unencumbered title and a local lawyer who can use a printer, then I see no reason why it could no’ be accomplished on Thursday.”

  “I’m a solicitor, Duff. No’ a sorcerer.”

  “Really?”

  “Aye.”

  “Do you recall the strawberry blonde you pulled out of the hat check in London?”

  “Duff!” he said with a tone of warning. “There are certain thin’s friends are supposed to forget once their friends are well and truly mated.”

  “Where is that written?”

  “It does no’ need to be written to be true and I predict that I shall be remindin’ you of this conversation soon enough with a few recollections of my own.”

  “Thor’s Brows, simmer down, I’m givin’ your folly a twirl. ‘Tis a bit more wiggle room on the closin’ of the real property. Say, Tuesday. Wednesday latest.”

  “Well, at least it seems more within the realm of reality, which is where my legal practice is most comfortable. And, on the subject, since you have hired me as your personal solicitor, the capacity of advisor bein’ implied, It behooves me to be askin’ certain questions.”

  “Such as.”

  “Do you want to tell me what this is all about?”

  “I do, Pey, very much. But that information will no’ be forthcomin’.”

  After a pause, Innes said, “All right. Do you have the information on the real property?”

  “No’ yet. I’m doin’ research online and will have a list of possibilities for you to look into, say, noon tomorrow. I do no’ want to communicate by email. I’ll type out the URLs and maybe you could come pick them up.”

  “Come pick up URLs?”

  “Aye.” Duff gave him directions. “Oh. And bring a pizza.”

  “A pizza?” Innes sounded like he wasn’t sure what it was.

  “Aye. I like the round sort of pepper sausage thin’s. Whatever you want will be fine.”

  “All right, Duff.” Innes bore the indulgent tone of a man set on a visit with a friend committed to an institution.

  Duff closed the phone. He’d been staring at the monitor with the Tecnam P2006T specs on it while he was talking to Innes. Once he knew where he and Song were going, it hadn’t taken long to reason out that their best chance was to be gone before anyone knew it. With a face as readily recognizable as his, that made leaving the country a problem by air, sea, or rail. Unless he could get away by private plane.

  If he showed up at a large airport terminal, paparazzi would be everywhere. If he chartered a private jet, it would hit the entertainment news and speculation about use of the phrase “playboy” was bound to arise and draw attention. However, if he showed up at a small hangar to try out the new twin engine plane of a friend, he could drive right onto the tarmac and might even sneak into the cockpit without being noticed.

  Duff had gotten his pilot’s license when he was fourteen. He loved flying and, in another life, might have found a way to make a living at doing that instead of being a professional manikin, available for photo shoots with sports teams, or the token royal entertaining officials at lunches.

  The plane he was staring at was perfect in every way. It was a gorgeous twin engine, high wing, retractable gear beauty with Garmin glass instrumentation. Stable. Responsive. Sleek. Lightweight. Fast. It only needed a thousand feet of runway or, in a pinch, a stretch of smooth fairway.

  The view of the interior with its modern molding and classic instruments was romantic. He could so easily picture eloping in that plane. He envisioned the beautiful elf with the bright blue eyes and the luscious smile sitting just inches away, looking breathless about an unknown future, but so happy that they were facing it together just inches apart.

  He pulled his attention back to the task at hand. When lovers are fleeing, they need an exact destination. Canada is far too general. Second, they need a flight plan. He decided to work on finding a place to live first.

  It took longer than he thought - all night, in fact, but when it was done, he had something to give Peyton. Three choices, but the second and third were far below number one. He had his heart set on the first and hoped it didn’t turn out to be an old, cached, expired listing. With luck it would turn out to be already vacated or arrangements could be made to prepare for new owners immediately.

  He’d started out looking just on the other side of the Atlantic Ocean, but some urge kept driving him further west until he’d gone almost to the other side of the world. That’s when he found it, the very thing that made his heart sing. There was a picture of the Canadian Rockies and the river that meandered in front of what he hoped would be his future home.

  A hundred and seventy-four acres of timberland on the Fraser River near McBride, BC, bordering on park land, about one hundred fifty miles from Prince George to the west and one hundred fifty miles from Jasper to the east. One thing was for sure. No one would be doing a casual drive by to say hello.

  The description said the year round off-grid home was solar/wind powered with a diesel generator as backup. The main wood stove was located downstairs, with the kitchen cook stove upstairs, which also heated water, so there would be a continuous supply of hot and cold running water.

  It also went into great detail about the attached greenhouse that allowed early gardening. “Eat salads before the snow is off the ground,” it said. As for outdoor gardening, it described separate gardens of established strawberries, asparagus, and assorted other berries as well as an herb garden, large vegetable garden complete with removable hoop houses for earlier planting, and an apple orchard.

  Among the wildlife mentioned were moose, elk, deer, bear, wolves, coyotes, and migratory birds.

  He hadn’t known it was possible to want something so badly it made your teeth hurt. Other than Song, of course. He’d never had a chance to ask how she might feel about any of it, but he knew how she felt about living apart. He wondered what she would think about growing strawberries. He wondered if she even liked strawberries. He looked at his watch. It was the wee hours. He wished he could just pick up the phone, call and ask if she liked strawberries. As for himself, he liked them fine, but wasn’t sure if they grew on a tree or bush or vine.

  He got a few hours’ sleep, and woke just in time to go greet Innes. He didn’t have time to shave and knew he looked unkempt. He hadn’t had proper dinner, hadn’t had any breakfast, but he felt great.

  He pulled up his hoodie, ran down the two flights of back st
airs 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.