Turmoil on the Thames by Marissa Doyle

Author:Marissa Doyle [Doyle, Marissa]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Marissa Doyle
Published: 2022-02-23T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Four

Annabel scarcely dared breathe as Lord Quinceton waded deeper into the turbulent water, pausing now and then to steady his footing.

“If he slips, ma’am, I’ll be out there in a trice,” Watts assured her.

She forced her grip on Lord Quinceton’s clothing in her arms to relax. “I don’t expect that he will.”

“No, I don’t either.” Watts hesitated, then blurted, “Does he really believe that giving those creatures cakes will stop them?”

“He wouldn’t be doing this if he didn’t.” The water was to his chest, and he was now carrying the platter over his head. She was relieved to see him halt and steady himself before opening his mouth.

“Potamides of the Thames, I bear you greetings!” he shouted.

For a moment, nothing changed: the boys’ shrieks still mixed with the howls and laughter of the nymphs swimming wildly about them while the thrashing snake that was the river continued to roil in its channel.

Suddenly a head—no, two heads, broke the surface a few yards from Lord Quinceton. They regarded him in silence, circling him as if examining a sculpture in an exhibition. He bore their scrutiny calmly. Then one of them rose up in the water—how was she able to do that?—and gave forth a string of strange, liquid-sounding syllables in a voice that somehow managed to be heard over the general cacophony. The other nymphs fell silent, and even the boys’ cries grew quieter.

The nymph who’d silenced the rest with her call circled Lord Quinceton again. “I have seen you before,” she said, halting in front of him. Even from shore Annabel could see that, whilst her face had two eyes, a nose of sorts, and a mouth, it was not human. “Many years ago.”

Lord Quinceton somehow managed to bow while still holding the tray over his head. “My grandfather had the honor of serving as His late Majesty’s envoy to your court. I accompanied him once to a meeting.”

“Good Lord,” Gerrold said, a little too loudly. “Is she their queen?”

“Ssh!” Annabel hissed. Lord Quinceton had managed, at least temporarily, to engage the nymphs and bring a halt to the dangerous turmoil in the river. He did not need distractions.

“Ah, that was your grandfather?” The nymph nodded slowly, then grinned. Her teeth were very white—and very pointed. “I do remember you. You were just an elver then.”

He smiled back. “I compliment your memory, madam. I was indeed very small.”

“And very delicious-looking. We wanted to keep you, as I recall.” Her grin vanished abruptly. “Would you care to tell me why we should not keep these?” She lifted a webbed hand and gestured at the boys in the river. “Why have we not received our customary gifts? Is your grandfather ill?”

“My revered grandfather is many years gone, alas. I don’t know why you haven’t yet received a visit from the King’s present representative, but I intend to find out. In the meanwhile, I hope you will condescend to accept a smaller gift as an earnest of our good will.” He held out the tray.

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