“I’m sorry about that, Bunny. I guess she just assumed …”
“That’s the woman you’re supposed to marry?” Bunny said as if I hadn’t spoken.
“Well, it’s what she wants, but I’m still thinking it over.”
“And if somebody kills her, you’d feel you had to take over running the kingdom?”
“Uh . . . well, yes.”
There was something in Bunny’s voice I didn’t like. I also found myself remembering that while she had never met royalty before, her uncle was none other than Don Bruce, the Mob’s Fairy Godfather, and that she was used to an entirely different brand of power politics.
“I see.” Bunny said thoughtfully, then she broke into her usual smile. “Well, I guess we’d better go and see Grimble and find out what kind of a mess we’re really in.”
“Okay. Sure,” I said, glad that the crisis had passed … if only for the moment.
“Just one question, Skeeve.”
“Yes, Bunny?”
“How do you feel about ‘the heir thing’ as her majesty so graciously put it?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “I guess I don’t mind.”
“You don’t?”
“Not really. I just don’t understand what having a haircut has to do with being a royal consort.”
Chapter Three:
“A good juggler can always find work.”
-L. PACCIOLI *
J. R. GRIMBLE, CHANCELLOR of the Exchequer for the kingdom of Possiltum, had changed little since I first met him. A little more paunch around the waist, perhaps, though his slender body could stand the extra weight and then some, and his hairline had definitely progressed from the “receding” to the “receded” category, but aside from that the years had left him virtually unmarked. Upon reflection, I decided it was his eyes that were so distinctive as to render his other features inconsequential. They were small and dark, and glittered with the fervent light of a greedy rodent … or of someone who spent far too many hours pouring over the tiny scribbled figures which noted the movement of other peoples’ money.