And as for the kingdom, right then she had to deal with more pressing princess duties. She settled herself primly into a tiny, very ornate golden chair with delicate curled legs that ended in the sweetest little tentacles.
Flotsam took a polished brass urn from a shelf and carefully tapped out leaves that resembled ashes more than tea. Jetsam decanted water from a crystal jug into a tiny copper kettle and set it on the burner. How he lit it would have been unclear to any human watching the scene.
One never knew when a tea like this would be needed…
“You may let in the first,” Ursula announced grandly—only remembering to whisper at the end.
“Lucio Aron, of the St. George Fishermen’s Cooperative,” Flotsam said snidely. Ursula tried to not roll her eyes. She was a princess. She did not have time for fools such as this.
A small man with clothes noticeably shabbier than the metalworkers’ came in, bowing as he went. He clutched his cap and seemed generally uncomfortable.
“Thank you for seeing me, Your Highness.” One hand went from his cap to his mustache, a plain, albeit thick, salt-and-pepper affair. His brown eyes were almost fully shaded by woolly eyebrows. “I wish my daughter could have come. She loves all the…royal things, you know. Princess things. Gowns, teacups, golden spoons. She’s even mooning over several of the Drefui boys—sons of the duke, you know. I told her, ‘You’ll always be my princess, but don’t set your sights above your station.’”
“What is it you want?” Ursula whispered, barely able to contain her irritability.
“Beg pardon?” he asked, leaning forward.
“What,” she whispered as loudly as she dared. “Do. You. Want.”
“Oh.” He blinked, surprised at what he saw as an odd change in the conversation. He took his cap off and twisted it in his hands, dark skin cracking into white lines around his knuckles and wrists and palms and scars. “It’s just…we need a new fishing trawler, Your Highness. I mean, I would like us to get it, of course, but one of the other companies would be better than nothing. We’ve been short one since the Chanderra sank.”
“We’re in the middle of a number of military campaigns,” Ursula whispered haughtily. “I can’t be throwing money around willy-nilly.”
Lucio leaned forward, nodding as if he understood.
Everyone was silent.
He obviously hadn’t heard a word she said.
“She said she’s not going to buy you a new ship because the funds are being spent on war,” Jetsam hissed impatiently.
Lucio blinked first at him in confusion, then at Vanessa.
“No, no, you misunderstand, Your Highness. We have the funds. It’s just that the shipyard is busy working on your warships full time. We were wondering if maybe…you could take a break…or…maybe establish another shipyard…Yes! Another shipyard. That would be good. For everyone.”
Ursula’s eyebrows shot toward the ceiling.
“You want me to what?” she whispered. “Waste time with another building project for—what? So you can fish?”
“Yes, Your Highness. So we can fish. That is what we do.”
He was obviously terrified…but it was also obvious that he had a cause and a belief he was committed to, and he wouldn’t back down.
Ursula hated people like that.
“I think. As a princess. I know. What is best. For my people,” she whispered, slowly and clearly.
“But…”
“Your audience is over,” Flotsam added swiftly.
Ursula whispered something that none of the three men could understand. All leaned forward in confusion.
“Your daughter,” she said, letting a little of her real voice come through.
The fisherman looked understandably startled.
“Yes?”
“What is her name?” she said.
“Julia,” he said, first seeming confused, then saying her name again with pride. “Julia. A beautiful, but sometimes na?ve, girl.”
Good.
Ursula loved people like that.
Flotsam took the fisherman by the elbow and steered him out.
The sea witch wondered for a moment how, with all their fables, stories, and morality plays, humans still fell into the same old traps. It was kind of amazing. With their pathetically short lives they repeated the same mistakes of previous generations, almost as if they were all one endless being. Why tell a stranger the real name of someone you love? Why brag to a person in power about the beauty or skills of your son or daughter? Why offer up any information, or any need, when it could be used against you?