Doom of the Darksword - Margaret Weis [81]
Gwen drew a shivering breath in relief, then realized, too late, that she was betraying far more interest in this young man than was maidenly proper. Hoping her cousins hadn’t noticed the burning flush in her cheeks, she buried her face in the bouquet.
“I say, loosen up,” yelped a voice. “You’re pinching me most awfully.”
Gwen gasped, dropping the flowers in her amazement. The voice had come from the heart of her bouquet!
“Almin’s blood, child!” one of the flowers said irritably. “I didn’t mean for you to loosen up quite that much! I’ve crumpled a petal.”
The blossoms lay scattered in the street. Slowly, cautiously, Gwendolyn drifted down out of the air to kneel beside the bouquet, staring at it incredulously. One flower stood out amid the dainty selection of violets and roses. This was a bright purple tulip, adorned by a red streak around its middle and a dash of orange on the top.
“Well, are you just going to leave me lying in the filth?” the tulip asked in aggrieved tones.
Gulping, Gwen glanced up to see if her cousins were looking at her, but they appeared to be totally absorbed in watching the Duuk-tsarith. The warlocks had not moved from the spot. Hands clasped before them, their black hoods pulled low over their faces, they appeared to be doing nothing. But Gwendolyn knew that they were mentally going over everyone in the crowd, throwing out the long, unseen filaments of their magical web, seeking their prey.
Her eyes on the warlocks, Gwen reached out and gently picked up the purple tulip.
“Simkin?” she asked hesitantly. “What —”
“Shush! Shush!” hissed the tulip. “There’s been a most frightful mistake. I’m positive of it. Why should they arrest me? Well, there was that one incident with the Countess’s jewelry … But surely no one remembers that! Stuff was all fake anyway. Well, most of it…. If I can just get to the Emperor, you see, I’m certain he’ll set everything right! Then, there’s my friends.” The tulip took on an air of importance. “Can you keep a secret, child?”
“Well, I —” Gwen regarded the tulip in bewilderment.
“Shush! The dark young man. Noble family. Father died. Left the boy a fortune. Wicked uncle. Boy kidnapped. Held prisoner by giants. I rescued him. Now he returns, expose uncle, claim inheritance.”
“Really?” Gwen raised her eyes to look at the dark young man over the tulips petals. “I just knew it,” she said.
“That’s it!” the tulip cried. “Why didn’t it occur to me? Wicked uncle behind this! Heard we were coming back. Should have known. Had me arrested to get me out of the way. Too bad,” the tulip said gloomily. “He won’t stop with kidnapping now. It’ll be murder this time.”
“Oh, dear, no!” Gwen whispered in alarm. “There must be something you can do!”
“I’m afraid not, unless you would — But no, I couldn’t ask it.” The tulip gave a gusty sigh. “I’m destined for life in a bud vase. As for my friend? Bottom of the river …”
“Oh, no! I’ll help, if you really think I can,” Gwen faltered.
“Very well,” the tulip responded with seeming reluctance. “Although I hate to involve you. But, you see, sweet child, I was thinking that if you were to drift over there quite casually and appear not to notice that anything was amiss and quite casually grab hold of the dear old catalyst, you could say, quite casually, ‘Father Dungstable! I’m terribly sorry I’m late. Papa and Mama are expecting you at home this moment!’ Then you, quite casually, lead him off.”
“Lead him where?” Gwen asked in confusion.
“Why, home, of course,” the tulip said matter-of-factly. “I presume you have room enough for us all. I do prefer private quarters, but if I have to, I’ll share, though not with the catalyst. You can’t imagine how he snores!”
“You mean — Take you all … to