Read Online On the Isle of Sound and Wonder by Alyson Grauer - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Alyson Grauer
Tags: Shakespeare Tempest reimagined, fantasy steampunk adventure, tropical island fantasy adventure, alternate history Shakespeare steampunk, alternate history fantasy adventure, steampunk magical realism, steampunk Shakespeare retelling
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what had happened to him.
After clearing away the trays from the king’s supper, Stephen had found that the door to the wine closet was not only unlocked, but partly open. This room had strictly been forbidden to all servants except Stephen himself, and he pushed the door wider to peer suspiciously inside.
“How the—?” Stephen frowned severely down at Truffo Arlecin, who was on the flop cradling three or four bottles to his chest as though they were a litter of puppies. “Truffo, lad, you know you aren’t allowed in here. How the devil did you even open the door?”
Truffo looked mournfully up at him and sighed. “I nicked your key when you told me to sing them a song.”
“Why?” Stephen tried not to look impressed by the pickpocketing. “I told you I’d fetch you a nightcap myself.”
“Because!” Truffo’s pink cheeks flushed darker as he rubbed one eye with the heel of his hand, trying to hold all of the wine bottles in the crook of one arm as he did so. “It went horribly. The entertainment last night went horribly. The night before went terribly. The wedding was a joke, especially compared to the damned dancing girls and fire-eaters Prince Kahlil hired for the floor show.” Tears were welling in his eyes. “I’m not even a good fool. I embarrass myself. All I wanted was to stay home and be boring, Stephen. I didn’t ask to be brought along.”
“No, you didn’t ask for it,” agreed Stephen sternly, “but the king requested your presence. That’s the kind of recognition that can make a career, you know. Come on, put the bottles back and let’s get you to bed.”
“I am not a child,” sniffed Truffo, disdainfully. “I am a grown man, and I want to drink this wine.” He wrestled with one of the corks.
“Good luck opening that without this,” said Stephen, brandishing the corkscrew he kept on his person during mealtimes. Truffo’s expression melted so quickly that Stephen almost laughed at him. “Now, lad. Put back the bottles, and away with you.” He reached his free hand out to take a bottle from Truffo’s arms.
“Please,” whimpered the dejected fool. “Just one bottle, Stephen! Just one. Just one bottle, eh? For the end of a miserable trip?”
Gods pity him, thought Stephen, shaking his head as he took the other bottles and put them back into the crates where they belonged. “Truffo,” he chided. “This is the king’s wine.”
“And he’s got plenty to spare,” Truffo spat. “Please?”
“You’re a terrible nuisance, you know.” Stephen shot him a look. Truffo folded his arms tightly and scowled. “Really. This sad clown routine is a little maudlin sometimes, Truffo.”
“It’s not a routine,” moaned the fool, immediately unfolding his arms and raking his fingers through his hair angrily. He made a sound of frustration, like a teenager on the verge of a tantrum.
“All right, all right, quiet down.” Stephen reclaimed one of the bottles from the crate and reached for his corkscrew. “I’ll let you have a little as long as you promise to calm down and go to bed afterward.”
“I promise,” hissed Truffo, as he fixed his shining eyes on the bottle.
But he hadn’t gone to bed after that, Stephen now realized. Truffo had drunk a considerable bit of the wine before insisting that Stephen drink some, too. Stephen was normally a man to drink but a few sips of the stuff before putting it aside; he was far from the lush that Truffo apparently was. He wasn’t sure what had caught him off-guard that night and convinced him to keep drinking—whether it was the taste of the wine itself, or the pleading of the young fool.
That first bottle had soon become two, then three, and Stephen’s normally calm, restrained nature had given way to the bumbling, brash-tongued man he’d been once in his youth—a persona released by the sweet and burning wine. Toward the end of the fourth bottle, the ship had begun to experience some turbulence, which turned into a
After clearing away the trays from the king’s supper, Stephen had found that the door to the wine closet was not only unlocked, but partly open. This room had strictly been forbidden to all servants except Stephen himself, and he pushed the door wider to peer suspiciously inside.
“How the—?” Stephen frowned severely down at Truffo Arlecin, who was on the flop cradling three or four bottles to his chest as though they were a litter of puppies. “Truffo, lad, you know you aren’t allowed in here. How the devil did you even open the door?”
Truffo looked mournfully up at him and sighed. “I nicked your key when you told me to sing them a song.”
“Why?” Stephen tried not to look impressed by the pickpocketing. “I told you I’d fetch you a nightcap myself.”
“Because!” Truffo’s pink cheeks flushed darker as he rubbed one eye with the heel of his hand, trying to hold all of the wine bottles in the crook of one arm as he did so. “It went horribly. The entertainment last night went horribly. The night before went terribly. The wedding was a joke, especially compared to the damned dancing girls and fire-eaters Prince Kahlil hired for the floor show.” Tears were welling in his eyes. “I’m not even a good fool. I embarrass myself. All I wanted was to stay home and be boring, Stephen. I didn’t ask to be brought along.”
“No, you didn’t ask for it,” agreed Stephen sternly, “but the king requested your presence. That’s the kind of recognition that can make a career, you know. Come on, put the bottles back and let’s get you to bed.”
“I am not a child,” sniffed Truffo, disdainfully. “I am a grown man, and I want to drink this wine.” He wrestled with one of the corks.
“Good luck opening that without this,” said Stephen, brandishing the corkscrew he kept on his person during mealtimes. Truffo’s expression melted so quickly that Stephen almost laughed at him. “Now, lad. Put back the bottles, and away with you.” He reached his free hand out to take a bottle from Truffo’s arms.
“Please,” whimpered the dejected fool. “Just one bottle, Stephen! Just one. Just one bottle, eh? For the end of a miserable trip?”
Gods pity him, thought Stephen, shaking his head as he took the other bottles and put them back into the crates where they belonged. “Truffo,” he chided. “This is the king’s wine.”
“And he’s got plenty to spare,” Truffo spat. “Please?”
“You’re a terrible nuisance, you know.” Stephen shot him a look. Truffo folded his arms tightly and scowled. “Really. This sad clown routine is a little maudlin sometimes, Truffo.”
“It’s not a routine,” moaned the fool, immediately unfolding his arms and raking his fingers through his hair angrily. He made a sound of frustration, like a teenager on the verge of a tantrum.
“All right, all right, quiet down.” Stephen reclaimed one of the bottles from the crate and reached for his corkscrew. “I’ll let you have a little as long as you promise to calm down and go to bed afterward.”
“I promise,” hissed Truffo, as he fixed his shining eyes on the bottle.
But he hadn’t gone to bed after that, Stephen now realized. Truffo had drunk a considerable bit of the wine before insisting that Stephen drink some, too. Stephen was normally a man to drink but a few sips of the stuff before putting it aside; he was far from the lush that Truffo apparently was. He wasn’t sure what had caught him off-guard that night and convinced him to keep drinking—whether it was the taste of the wine itself, or the pleading of the young fool.
That first bottle had soon become two, then three, and Stephen’s normally calm, restrained nature had given way to the bumbling, brash-tongued man he’d been once in his youth—a persona released by the sweet and burning wine. Toward the end of the fourth bottle, the ship had begun to experience some turbulence, which turned into a
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