Read The Undesired Princess for Free Online Page A

far from ingratiating, thought Hobart, staring after him as he finished the cigarette. Maybe Logaia was a gift horse whose mouth deserved scrutiny. Not that it would make any difference to Rollin Hobart’s determination. This half-world was interesting enough; a fine place to spend a vacation, if Hobart had been in the mood for vacations. And if his firm had not been snowed under with work, and if Hoimon had come with a sensible, contractual business proposal—a job as public works overseer, for instance—and if . . . But if anybody thought they could kidnap him and high pressure him into the silly fairy-tale king’s-daughter-and-half-the-kingdom business—well, they didn’t know their Rollin.
    He was still masticating his plans when a gong boomed through the palace. Almost immediately Charion stuck his head in without knocking. “Dinner, Your Dignity,” said the chancellor, who had changed from his black skin-suit to a loose blue robe which struck Hobart as a sissy garment for a grown man.
    ###
    The banquet hall was as big as a railroad terminal. People made way for them in most courtly fashion. As they approached the royal end of the table—or rather, the interminable meandering line of tables placed end to end and end to side—they passed a trough-shaped thing on one of the tables. It was too big for any reasonable platter, and had too low a freeboard for a coffin. Hobart asked what it was.
    “That,” said Charion with a wry smile, “is the dining trough of Valturus, the gunsmith. He has the table manners of a pig.”
    Prince Alaxius appeared before Hobart, with another exquisite in tow. “Look, Rhadas,” exclaimed Alaxius, “didn’t I tell you?”
    Rhadas shook his head wonderingly. He reached out and fingered Hobart’s dark-green necktie, whereat Hobart stiffened with ruffled dignity. Rhadas said: “ ’Tis true that in days of yore, certain philosophers proclaimed that in theory at least it was possible to have colors other than those we have. But since they could not produce examples of the same, their claims were held to be but the loose-tongued license of the learned.”
    “See?” said Alaxius. “Oh, before I forget, this is my brother-in-law to be, so they tell me, the mighty Prince Rollin. Actually it was the social lion who finished off the androsphinx. This is my friend Rhadas, Rollin; mustn’t mind him; he’s an aesthete, too.”
    Hobart found a place-card reading:

    which he supposed to be “Prince Rollin Something”—he was apparently going to be saddled with that spurious surname from now on—spelled in Logaian characters. Come to think of it, the Logaian alphabet seemed to be made of letters from the Latin, Greek, and Cyrillic alphabets. And had he been speaking English all the while? Or had he just thought he was? If he had, how come English was the language of Logaia? . . .
    “Greetings, my love,” said the princess’ clear voice. She was going to sit beside him, naturally, he thought with some pleasure and more panic.
    While he fumbled for a reply, a trumpet tooted, and the king and queen came through the door behind the royal chairs. Everybody bowed toward them; they sat; everybody sat.
    One thing about the Logaians, reflected Hobart, was that when they ate they ate, with a minimum of chatter. The food startled him: instead of the ultra-fancy super-sauced Byzantine concoctions he had braced himself for, he was given generous helpings of roast beef, baked potato, and peas, with a large sector of apple pie for dessert.
    Another curious thing was the behavior of Valturus the gunsmith. This fat, smiling individual, a few places away, waited until several helpings had been put in his trough. Then he climbed into the trough and wallowed.
    Hobart murmured to Argimanda: “I see Charion didn’t exaggerate when he said Valturus had pig’s manners.”
    “Not that time,” smiled the princess. “But beware of believing Charion when he answers any question of importance. Now that I