The Man Behind the Mask. Christine Rimmer
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rooms.”
I was not thrilled to hear that; I had the feeling she was going to drop me off there. After what I’d been through that night I didn’t relish the thought of being alone—at least not while it was still dark outside.
However, my friend was not my baby-sitter. “Good idea.” I tried valiantly to appear more enthusiastic than I felt.
“I’m afraid we can’t go back the way we came. Hauk’s men have taken over the secret passageways.” She was frowning at my yellow chenille robe, at all the hugely smiling SpongeBobs peeking out from under it. “Do you want to change before we hit the main hallways?”
“Into what? Something of yours?” Brit was about three inches taller than I was—and thinner, too. How much thinner? Hah. Like I’d tell you that. “And really,” I added, pouring on the perky, “you don’t have to go with me. I can find my own way back.”
She waved a hand. “I’m not leaving you to stumble around the hallways by yourself.”
“Stumble? Who says I would stumble?”
She sighed. “It’s a figure of speech.”
“Choose another one.”
“Oh, stop. You know what I mean. And as far as something for you to wear, I’ll just—”
I was shaking my head. “Look. It’s so late, it’s early. I doubt we’ll run into anyone. And who’s gonna care what I’m wearing, anyway?”
Well, I was half-right. Nobody seemed to care that I was not properly dressed. But we did run into people. A number of them.
When we left the suite, I expected to see the men the soldiers had dragged out, sitting propped against the wall on the floor, their hands behind them, still tied with lamp cord. I was picturing sullen, threatening glances and muttered Gullandrian obscenities.
But the prisoners were nowhere in sight. There were, however, soldiers all up and down the hallway. We saw a bunch more every time we turned a corner.
And some of the guests were stirring, poking sleep-rumpled heads through slits in doorways, squinting against the light from the ornate wall sconces, asking, “What’s going on? Has something happened?”
Brit gave them regal smiles and a few reassuring words and we moved on by. We saw more soldiers, and several housemaids and an old prince who, for some unknown reason, was up and about, all gotten up in a tweed suit, complete with vest curving over his considerable paunch and a weighty veil of gold chains looping extravagantly from his watch pocket.
“Your Highness.” He bowed in the Gullandrian way. “Schemes of the Trickster, what goes? All this commotion has ruined my sleep.”
Brit told him there was nothing to worry about. “Please, Prince Sigurd. Back to your rooms. All is safe now, I promise you.”
Muttering under his breath, the old prince did as she instructed.
Around the next turn, another prince was waiting, this one young and slim, with pale hair combed back from a high forehead. He was also fully dressed, but not in tweeds. Armani, maybe? Or Dolce and Gabbana? He frowned when he saw us coming, then quickly bowed.
“Prince Onund,” Brit said when we reached him. “What are you doing up?”
“Your Highness, I heard all the noise. What’s afoot?”
“Nothing to worry about,” she coolly lied. “As of now, we have everything completely under control.”
“Ah,” he said, as if she’d actually told him something. “Then I’ll return to my chamber.”
“Good idea.” Brit pulled me on down the hall.
A minute or two later, we reached our destination. She led me inside, helped me out of my robe as if I couldn’t manage it myself and tenderly tucked me into bed.
“I’ll stay right here,” she whispered, standing over me. “Don’t worry. I won’t leave you.”
I did like the sound of that. I wanted her to stay right there beside me until daylight, at least.
But I just couldn’t do that to her. She kept biting her lower lip and fidgeting—and as much as she talked about staying, she wasn’t showing any signs of making herself comfortable. It was painfully obvious that she longed to get back where the action was. Also, it did occur to me that I was going to have to get past being treated like the shell-shocked victim of some terrible tragedy.
I looked up from my nest of pillows into her distracted face and I groaned. “Oh, puh-lease. I know you have things to do. Get outta here.”
To her credit, she actually put up a little resistance. “No, Dulce. I’m going nowhere. You’ve had a brutal scare, one that wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t—”
I sat up, which made her back off a few inches. “It’s not your fault. You know it. I know it. And I’m fine. Honestly. We both know damn well I’m in zero danger, now that I’m back in my own room where no one is going to mistake me for you. You don’t need to be here holding my hand and you don’t want to be here holding my hand.”
“I never said that.”
“Like you had to say it. We both know how you are. You want to be with Eric and Hauk Wyborn and whoever else they’ve called in by now. You want to be on the case, rousting the bad guys.”
She looked at me sideways. “Well. If you’re certain…”
“What? You’re still here?”
She smiled. Fondly. “Thank you.”
“Go.”
She started backing toward the door. “One more thing…”
“What now?”
“I know this all has to be really confusing to you, but I have to ask you not to talk about what happened tonight, not to mention it to anyone. At least not until we’ve been able to decide what to do about it.”
Did I have questions? Oh yes, I did. It was plain as her eagerness to go that she knew a lot more than I did and she was not telling me any of it. But I didn’t really have the heart to keep her with me another minute—let alone to try to get her to talk to me right then. “My lips are sealed. Good night.”
“If you need me—”
“I won’t. Get lost.”
She vanished into the shadows of the short hallway that led to my door—and I instantly wanted to call her back. I heard the door open and shut behind her and I longed to leap from the bed and chase her down the main hallway until I caught her. I would tell her it was all a big mistake to have let her go. I really needed her with me, after all.
Okay, I’ll admit it. I was still pretty shook up, which made it one of those times when my vivid imagination and I did not need to be left alone.
My travel alarm, which I’d set on the ebony-inlaid night stand, said it was 4:35. In California, at 4:35, it would have been maybe two hours till daylight. But not in Gullandria. Winter nights are long there—which meant that dawn wouldn’t be coming until almost nine.
Hours and hours to sit in my room in the dark.…
Yes, a little sleep would have been nice. But who was I kidding? Sleep was so not an option at that point.
I threw back the covers, ran down the short hall through which Brit had left me, and engaged the privacy lock on the door. Then I flew around the room turning on all the lamps. There were only four, not counting the lamp by the bed. I wished there were a hundred.
I didn’t have a multiroom suite the way Brit did, but I did rate a private bath. I went in there and turned on the light and left the door open so I could see the brightness bouncing off the snow-white gold-trimmed tiles.
Better, I thought. Now