Royally Knocked Up by Pamela DuMond

Chapter 12

“Ack!” I glanced around. “Did we get him?”

“Not Knottingwood,” Captain Sam said. “That was the official start to the parade.”

“You can’t duck every time guns are fired,” Zola said. “You’ll appear weak.”

“You’re from America,” Joan said. “Out of all of us, you’re the one who should be used to guns by now.”

“Our carriage is nearing the start line. Take your seat on the throne, Lucy.” Mr. Philips pushed me toward the plywood chair. “Assume your positions, ladies. In three, two, one.”

Cheers erupted from the crowd as the I Love Fredonia float rounded the bend onto the city’s main drag around the Basilica Catedral. Kids squealed and jumped up and down on the sidelines. Parents hoisted small children onto their shoulders to get a better look at the spectacle. Marching bands marched. Choral groups sang. The ladies threw cheese and candy, as teenagers jostled each other in their never-ending competition to get it first, and get the most.

I waved at the crowd. “This is so exciting! Oh look, a few kids are waving back. That’s sweet. Hey, the Greece Has It All float is only a few places in line behind us.”

“Prometheus!” Esmeralda hollered. She caught Prince Alexander’s attention from the top of the float, and saluted him.

“I don’t have this much fun in my day job as a barrister,” Joan said, tossing cheese and candy to the crowd.

“I’ve participated in a few historical parades,” Zola said. “They’re super cool. The local customs and artistry can be fascinating.”

“Keep your eyes on the prize, ladies,” Mr. Philips said. “We’re not just here for fun and games. Has anyone spotted Knottingwood yet?”

“Has someone forgotten that he is in charge of makeup and wardrobe,” Esmeralda said. “And someone else is in charge of the L.S.A. mission?”

“Your lipstick needs refreshing,” Mr. Philips said.

“I think it’s adorable that the horse in front of us is outfitted to look like a camel,” Joan said. “Fake hump, droopy neck. Very clever. I wonder how they did that?”

“That’s actually a camel,” Mr. Philips said.

“Get out!” Joan said. “The tiny man leading the beast by the rope is dressed exactly like a shepherd from the fields outside Bethlehem.”

“That’s Raul. He wears that outfit when he’s off duty. He likes the feeling of going pantless,” Esmeralda said. “I called in a favor and had him positioned directly in front of our float. He’s extra muscle if we need it.”

“Extra muscle?” Captain Sam asked, lifting his brows. “Where?”

“You go hold down the fort on the back end.” Esmeralda pinched his arm.

“I hope that’s not where his extra muscle is,” he said. He turned and walked past a cardboard cutout of the Alps toward the rear of the float.

“Check out the three Wisemen on stilts,” I exclaimed, and clapped my hands. “Their robes are majestic. How do they move that quickly, balancing on tall, wooden poles? I can’t even walk in heels.”

“I bet the actors strapped on those stilts at the last minute before the parade started,” Joan said. “I definitely didn’t remember them being that tall before. I think that would have registered.”

“The crowd seems lovely,” Zola said, throwing candy. “Polite. Enthusiastic.”

“It doesn’t even feel cold outside anymore,” I said. “Why was I worried I might freeze to death? The air smells magical.”

“It’s the Frankincense and myrrh carts,” Joan said. “Soaps, bath gel, lotion, room diffusers. I purchased the F&M bath set from Pottery Castle last year, but I’d wager the goods in these carts are a higher quality.”

“That too,” I said. “But I’m smelling sausage and basil, I think.”

“Pizza food cart. Ladies!” Esmeralda said. “We’re here on a mission. Capische?”

“Since when do you speak Italian?” Joan asked.

“Since when haven’t I spoken Italian?” Esmeralda said. “I’m fluent in the five most common romance languages. They practically fell off my tongue when I popped out of the womb.”

“That must have surprised your mother,” Mr. Philips said.

“Hey, speaking of something out of the ordinary, there’s a woman on the steps of the cathedral with a blonde chignon wearing black sunglasses. She’s the spitting image of Grace Kelly,” I said. “She’s staring at us through binoculars. Anyone know her?”

“I don’t see a Grace Kelly type with binoculars.” Joan peered into the crowd, her hand over her eyes to cut the glare of the mid-day sun. “What age is your Grace Kelly? Young twenties?”

“Late fifties. She’s gone. She was just there but she must have left. Remind me again why Knottingwood is supposed to be in Messina?”

“My source says he’s coming to town to get information that would bolster his claims to the throne,” Esmeralda said.

A trio of Wisemen, not on stilts, launched into an a capella version of We Three Kings of Orient Are. “I love this song,” Joan said. “Really drives home the whole theme of visiting dignitaries when they were still dignified. Awfully nice of them, traveling all that way and bringing gifts to a baby.”

* * *

An hour and a half had passed since we toasted to our maiden voyage on the Good Ship Fredonia. We wound our way around yet another church on our processional toward Messina’s harbor. Thick, gray clouds filled the sky, the winds picked up, and I shivered. I pulled the blue Pashmina tighter around my shoulders. “What kind of information do you think Knottingwood is looking for?”

“Inside information. I’ll know it when I see it,” Esmeralda said. “Which is why it’s crucial that while you’re waving to the fans and we’re throwing goat cheese samples wrapped in decorative foil in Fredonia’s colors, that we keep our eagle eyes peeled for him, or anybody you might suspect is his connection.”

Joan placed a hand over her eyes and peered out at the crowd. “I don’t see him.”

“Neither do I,” Zola said. “But I hope if I do, he’s wearing that medallion. I’m itching to get a closer look at it.”

“Nine o’clock,” I said. “The tall, skinny woman wearing the black and white uniform and the black headgear. She looks surprisingly like Knottingwood. Similar beak nose. Same lazy eye. I bet it’s him disguised as a woman.”

All eyes turned.

“There are twelve women dressed like that in a huddle,” Joan said. “Which one?”

“They’re Carmelite nuns,” Mr. Philips said.

“He could totally be disguised as a Carmelite nun,” I said.

“Not Knottingwood,” Esmeralda said.

“Does anyone have an energy drink?” I asked. “I think my blood sugar’s off.”

“Take a chocolate.” Zola slipped me a foil-covered candy.

“What’s that smell?” Joan pinched her nose.

“The camel pooped,” Mr. Philips said.

“Dear God what have they been feeding it?” Joan asked.

“Definitely not the frankincense and myrrh decorative soaps,” I said. “Hey, wait a minute. Grace Kelly. She’s standing next to the pizza cart staring at the Greece Has It All float.”

“Where’s the pizza cart?” Lola asked.

“Next to the acrobats doing flips and cartwheels.”

“The ones wearing gold lame?” Esmeralda asked.

“Of course the ones wearing gold lame. The Three Kings festival is all about the gold, frankincense, and myrrh.”

“When did Cristoph get into town?” Zola asked, her hand flying to her chest. “He’s on the Greece Has It All float. In the background, behind the sign and the papier mache thing that looks like the Parthenon. But he’s there.”

“Get out!” I said.

“He flew in late this morning,” Esmeralda said. “He wanted to be here for L.S.A.’s inaugural mission.”

“He probably traveled here to see Lucy, the old ball and chain,” Mr. Philips said.

Zola looked away and sighed.

“That’s not funny, Mr. Philips,” I said, “Cristoph and I are not involved in that way, Zola. It’s just been a big cock-up.”

“It’s okay,” Zola said. “Everything was new. It’s not like…”

“You have my blessing,” I said. “I want you to know that. Go get him. I’m sure he’s already interested. Just make him work for you.”

“You should know he’s a notorious womanizer,” Joan said.

“Who isn’t a notorious womanizer around these parts?” Esmeralda asked.

“I’m not,” Mr. Philips said.

“Can we stop and go to the bathroom?” I asked.

“Me too,” Joan said.

“Ditto,” Zola said.

“Party of four,” Mr. Philips said.

“I told you to go before the parade,” Esmeralda said.

* * *

Three hours had passed. I was cold. I was hungry. I was tired. I leaned back against my throne, and rubbed my wrist with my other hand as the processional wound through back streets leading to the docks and the big cargo ships.

“You’re supposed to be waving, Lucy,” Mr. Philips said.

“I might be getting carpal tunnel. Who’s going to greet us down here? Stevedores? Fishermen?”

Fireworks exploded on the pavement close to us and I flinched. “They want candy!” I said.

“Not gunfire,” Captain Sam said. “I’ll take you to a shooting range when we get back to Sauerhausen.”

“I don’t understand why the Wisemen on stilts are walking so slowly,” I said. They’re lurching about. I think they’re drunk.”

“You’re right,” Joan said. “That’s not method acting. The one in the front keeps leering at me and doing odd things with his tongue. Are Wisemen supposed to leer?”

“It must be difficult walking on stilts for hours,” Mr. Philips said. “Maybe they’re just growing tired.”

“Ow!” I grabbed my forehead and plucked off a piece of cheese. “We’re running out of cheese and candy, and the stevedores and dock people are growing restless. Oh. My. God. It’s him!”

“The pervert Wiseman with the weird tongue threw the cheese at you?” Joan glowered and shook her finger at him. “Asshat!”

“No! Michael Charles Perris of Knottingwood.” I pointed to a cluster of parade goers close to us. “See that group of guys wearing red robes hoisting religious signs and symbols in the air? Next to Gepetto’s Shoe Boutique?”

Esmeralda squinted in their direction. “You mean the guys that look like DaVinci called and wants his code back?”

“Yes! Look, he let his hood down. It’s him, I swear it’s him. His lazy eye, his weak chin. I can practically smell the trickery in the air around him.”

“Quite possibly the camel took another dump,” Mr. Philips said.

“Oh crap, he’s splitting from the group. He’s following Grace Kelly!” I said. “She’s leaving the parade, rounding a street corner over by that pier with the staircase that leads to the water. She’s carrying a briefcase.”

“He just pulled something out of his robe. It’s shiny and glinting,” Zola said.

“Oh my God, he has a weapon of some sort,” Joan said.

“Everyone stay calm and collected,” Esmeralda said. “Captain Sam has this covered. Right?”

“Right.” Captain Sam mumbled into his military walkie-talkie. “Code Asshat is on. Co-ordinates at Alpha Sassy Sucker…”

“What the fuck is Nick doing here?” My hand flew to my chest.

Because there he was. The handsomest prince in the world jumped off the Greece Has it All float—where I had no idea he had been hiding—and chased after Knottingwood through the crowd of drunken Wisemen, religious zealots, candy hogs, baton twirlers, sugared up children, marching bands, soap carts, and pizza wagons.

“Nick!” I hollered.

He swiveled and glanced at me, so good looking in a pea coat and khakis. “Stay put, Lucy. We’re handling this.” He turned and followed Knottingwood.

Well at least I think he said that. Perhaps I didn’t hear him correctly. Perhaps he said, “Hurry up, Lucy, and run to my side immediately.”

I picked up my skirts, hopped off the throne, and made my way to the edge of the float.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Esmeralda asked.

I sat down, held on to the edge of the platform, and eased myself onto the ground. “I’m tired of waiting. I’m shutting down Michael Charles Perris of Knottingwood. And I’m shutting him down now.”