course it couldn’t happen in real life,” she said.
“It could happen,” he said haltingly.
She looked at him, understanding that what the girls had told her was true. The rain beat down, making the wagon seem more protected and intimate. She wished she could—what? Embrace him? She had never done that with a man, in the romantic sense. “But of course you’re not a prince. Not that it matters, Mym. I—have been growing very fond of you, even—”
“I-I-I-I—” He was unable to get the words out at all.
She put her hand on his. “It doesn’t matter, Mym. You don’t need to speak to me in words.” But she knew it did matter, to him.
Then she had a bright notion. “I have heard that sometimes—Mym, can you sing?”
“S-s-s-sing?” he asked blankly.
“It invokes a different portion of the brain, as I understandit. So some stutterers can sing clearly, even though they can’t talk. Come, try it; sing with me.” And she launched into one of her Irish songs: “O Danny boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling, / From glen to glen, and down the mountain side.”
Doubtfully, he joined her: “And from the trees, the leaves, the leaves are falling, / ’Tis you, ’tis you must go and I must bide.”
They both paused, astonished. He had not only managed to sing it without stuttering, he had sung it clearly and well.
“You could make it as a singer!” she exclaimed.
“I-I-I-I could!” he agreed, awed.
“No—sing it,” she urged him. “You don’t need a song; just hold the note, any note.”
“I can!” he sang in a level note.
“Now you can say anything you want to!” she exclaimed. “Oh, Mym, I’m so pleased!” And she flung her arms about his neck and kissed him.
For a moment he responded. Then he withdrew. “I must not,” he sang.
“Not?” Orb tried not to feel rejected.
Freed of his incapacity in this miraculous way, Mym became far more expressive. “I am not what I seem,” he sang. “I
am
a prince.” He went on to explain how his name was Pride of the Kingdom, and he was the second son of the Rajah of Gujarat. He had been confined to the palace because his father did not want his speech impediment to embarrass the family. He had been trained in every royal art, particularly that of combat, just in case anything should happen to his brother. Ashamed, Mym had fled the palace and hidden from his family, aided by a magic charm he possessed. Until he had attended the show and heard Orb sing. Then—
He shrugged. It was obvious that he had been captivated by her from the outset; now he had confessed it. Her heart went out to him. Then she remembered the other mystery. “Those thuggees—”
Then he confessed to that, too. As a prince, he hated such vermin, and when they had threatened her, he had drawn upon his devastating combat skills and slaughtered them all. “I blindfolded you,” he sang, “so that you would not see their bodies.”
Orb turned away, crushed. Her worst concern had been confirmed. Mym was a killer, perhaps close to a berserker. How could she associate with him?
When she looked again, he was gone. He had known how this news hurt her. She saw now that the mermaid had suspected and protected her from this revelation. Orb was at heart an innocent girl.
She threw herself on her bunk and sobbed.
But as the night passed, and the next day, and the rain abated and allowed them to proceed to their next station, her horror ameliorated. The mermaid was helpful, reminding her of her probable fate had Mym not acted as he had against the thuggees. “No man who goes beserk at the thought of a threat to the woman he loves can be called evil,” she said. The others in the class agreed, even the harpy. “I’d love to have a man mangle bodies for me!” she screeched.
So it was that Orb’s horror metamorphosed to an opposite emotion of similar intensity, and she realized that she loved Mym. She nerved herself and went to him to apologize.
“Forgiven!” he sang
“It could happen,” he said haltingly.
She looked at him, understanding that what the girls had told her was true. The rain beat down, making the wagon seem more protected and intimate. She wished she could—what? Embrace him? She had never done that with a man, in the romantic sense. “But of course you’re not a prince. Not that it matters, Mym. I—have been growing very fond of you, even—”
“I-I-I-I—” He was unable to get the words out at all.
She put her hand on his. “It doesn’t matter, Mym. You don’t need to speak to me in words.” But she knew it did matter, to him.
Then she had a bright notion. “I have heard that sometimes—Mym, can you sing?”
“S-s-s-sing?” he asked blankly.
“It invokes a different portion of the brain, as I understandit. So some stutterers can sing clearly, even though they can’t talk. Come, try it; sing with me.” And she launched into one of her Irish songs: “O Danny boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling, / From glen to glen, and down the mountain side.”
Doubtfully, he joined her: “And from the trees, the leaves, the leaves are falling, / ’Tis you, ’tis you must go and I must bide.”
They both paused, astonished. He had not only managed to sing it without stuttering, he had sung it clearly and well.
“You could make it as a singer!” she exclaimed.
“I-I-I-I could!” he agreed, awed.
“No—sing it,” she urged him. “You don’t need a song; just hold the note, any note.”
“I can!” he sang in a level note.
“Now you can say anything you want to!” she exclaimed. “Oh, Mym, I’m so pleased!” And she flung her arms about his neck and kissed him.
For a moment he responded. Then he withdrew. “I must not,” he sang.
“Not?” Orb tried not to feel rejected.
Freed of his incapacity in this miraculous way, Mym became far more expressive. “I am not what I seem,” he sang. “I
am
a prince.” He went on to explain how his name was Pride of the Kingdom, and he was the second son of the Rajah of Gujarat. He had been confined to the palace because his father did not want his speech impediment to embarrass the family. He had been trained in every royal art, particularly that of combat, just in case anything should happen to his brother. Ashamed, Mym had fled the palace and hidden from his family, aided by a magic charm he possessed. Until he had attended the show and heard Orb sing. Then—
He shrugged. It was obvious that he had been captivated by her from the outset; now he had confessed it. Her heart went out to him. Then she remembered the other mystery. “Those thuggees—”
Then he confessed to that, too. As a prince, he hated such vermin, and when they had threatened her, he had drawn upon his devastating combat skills and slaughtered them all. “I blindfolded you,” he sang, “so that you would not see their bodies.”
Orb turned away, crushed. Her worst concern had been confirmed. Mym was a killer, perhaps close to a berserker. How could she associate with him?
When she looked again, he was gone. He had known how this news hurt her. She saw now that the mermaid had suspected and protected her from this revelation. Orb was at heart an innocent girl.
She threw herself on her bunk and sobbed.
But as the night passed, and the next day, and the rain abated and allowed them to proceed to their next station, her horror ameliorated. The mermaid was helpful, reminding her of her probable fate had Mym not acted as he had against the thuggees. “No man who goes beserk at the thought of a threat to the woman he loves can be called evil,” she said. The others in the class agreed, even the harpy. “I’d love to have a man mangle bodies for me!” she screeched.
So it was that Orb’s horror metamorphosed to an opposite emotion of similar intensity, and she realized that she loved Mym. She nerved herself and went to him to apologize.
“Forgiven!” he sang
Similar Books
