Pirate King by Laurie R. King Read Free Book Online Page A

me in alarm.
    “I’m told all our members are here,” I confirmed.
    “Well, I suppose she doesn’t matter, since she’s the M,” he said, confusingly. “Now, girls, we need a way of telling you apart. It’s such a bother to learn two complete sets of names, I’m going to ask you all to answer to your rôle name. Makes life much simpler all around. You,” he said, aiming his forefinger at the tallest actress, a classic English-rose beauty with crimson Clara Bow lips. “You’ll be Annie. Next is Bonnie. Celeste—Celeste, you didn’t wear spectacles before. Can you see without them?”
    “Oh yes sir!” She whipped them off and gave him a myopic simper. He shook his head, but soldiered on, to Doris, Edith (she of the ill-fitting clothes), Fannie, Ginger, Harriet, Isabel, June, Kate, ending with the shortest (if by no means the youngest), Linda.
    Arranged like that, a dozen girlish stair-steps, one began to see differences: Their hair ranged from June’s pale, wispy curls to Fannie’s rich (suspiciously so) brassy yellow; their eyes ran the gamut, too, from icy translucence to near-violet; their ages went from knock-kneed adolescence to full womanliness. The personalities they had already begun to reveal could now be attached to names: Annie was the one with the air of beatific innocence; Doris the one whose hands were constantly fiddling with her hair; Edith was my gawky and eager assistant; little Linda had the sour face.
    Hale stood back and beamed with satisfaction at his newly named girls, so perfectly spaced in their heights that a straight-edge rested on their crowns would have touched each one (until one noticed that Edith had bent knees and Annie was stretching—no doubt they’d worn different footwear when Hale hired them). “For the duration of this project, you’ll answer to the name of your character, not your own, do you understand?”
    None of the girls seemed very happy about that, but those familiar with the company looked resigned. I had to say, it was going to make my job that much easier.
    The rain began then, and the girls ducked for cover, leaving me to my deck-chair, my tea, my books—and my paregoric.
    Before the day was over, my singular method of travel had ceased to rouse comment. When anyone needed me, they could find me. I made a point of responding to their gossip with eagerness, since that appeared to be the only kind of criminal investigation I would be permitted until we reached Lisbon: I laughed at Bonnie’s description of our Major-General passed out into his blancmange, exclaimed at Harriet’s news of Bibi’s tantrum over the seating chart, and made disapproving noises when Edith described the wrestling match between Clarence and Donald, two of our fictional police constables (most of whom were odd-looking, if not frankly ugly—which did simplify the job of chaperoning the girls, a bit). The constables had also received fictional names, although theirs had been based on a sequence of age rather than height.
    When I was not required to perform the duties of an audience, I sat on the deck and read in peace.
    Read my way through the three too-slim volumes I had managed to bring, in fact, which was most distressing.
    Before the dinner hour, Hale came to dictate a couple of letters and to review what we should need when we arrived in Lisbon. When he had finished, he stood there for a moment before asking, “Can I have some dinner brought up?”
    “No,” I said quickly. “No, I’m just fine.”
    “After dinner, we’ll be using the dining room to screen a couple of Fflytte Films, if you’d be interested?”
    “Attractive as that may sound, I think it is not a good idea.”
    “But you’re not planning to stay here all night, are you?”
    “I’m quite comfortable.”
    “Really? Well, if there’s nothing I can do—”
    “Actually, there is. I didn’t have much time to shop in London, and only brought a few books. If anyone has any reading material, I’d