Perilous Travels (The Southern Continent Series Book 2) by Jeffrey Quyle Page B

“We’ve been together for quite a while, and I’d like to stay with them, to keep an eye on them.”
    He heard snickers from the squad around the arrivals.
    “What exactly would a spindly boy like you do to protect these woman, not that there’s anything to protect them from?” the officer laughed.
    “You would do well to honor the boy’s good intentions.  Believe me, there’s more to him that meets the eye,” Layreen spoke up.
    “He would astonish you!” Shaylee said emphatically.  “I’d trust my life to him in any situation.”
    The officer smirked.  “The three of you may remain together for now,” he conceded.  “Gather your belongings and we’ll escort you to the palace.”
    Grange stepped down into the canoe and momentarily handed the small cache of belongings they had brought up to Shaylee.  Then the trio was escorted by the group along the length of the dock, to where it ended at a paved shoreline.  The collection of guards and guests and lanterns turned and strolled through a small boat yard, then entered a gated garden.  The air was fragrant with the smell of the flowers that bloomed.
    The air also carried the notes of music, songs that Grange recognized from his hurried tutorial in the music of Waters End.
    “There is a dance at the palace,” the officer explained, the notes of music audible to all.
    He said no more, and the escort proceeded to a door in a long, high wall, the wooden wall of the palace itself, Grange assumed.  The door opened and the music grew clearer as they walked down a hall to a vestibule, where they came to a stop.
    “Please have a seat while I send a messenger for the palace staff, who will decide what to do with you,” their escorting officer directed, with a wave at a set of chairs along one wall.
    The three guests took seats, and watched as a messenger was sent out of the room.
    “You didn’t tell me you were a duchess!” Shaylee said to her mother as they sat side-by-side.
    “In the village, I’m not a duchess.  I don’t need to be.  But here in the palace, the title helps people listen to what I have to say,” her mother said placidly.  “Titles make a difference, don’t they captain?” she asked their escorting officer.
    “Yes ma’am, titles make a difference,” he agreed.
    There were four guards plus the officer in the room.  With ample light provided by the candles in scones on the walls of the chamber, the guards from the docks extinguished their lanterns, and stood calmly around the room, until a pair of men entered.
    The two new men were dressed in iridescent shirts, which had low collars opening half way down their chests, and the men wore grass skirts that stretched from their waists to the middle of their calves.  Grange had seen men in Waters End wear grass skirts occasionally, but only for extraordinary events, such as the rash of weddings that his music had helped to facilitate.  The skirts these men wore were much thicker and fuller that the village clothing, and were dyed with streaks of brilliant colors.
    “Our apologies,” the escorting officer told the two men when they arrived.  “We’re sorry to call you from the dance, but this lady claims to be Duchess Layreen Kwa’Graccore, and she says the queen can corroborate her claim.”
    “They’re obviously imposters,” one of the two newcomers said dismissively.  “What about the foreigner?”
    “He says that he was part of the delegation that is visiting the palace, but he was swept off the boat, and washed up on shore,” the officer answered.
    “Another ridiculous claim.  Eject them from the island, at once,” the other man said, and the two functionaries turned to leave the room.  “We have duties to perform,” one of them said as they started to walk away just seconds after arriving.
    “Go ahead, Grange,” Layreen said softly.
    Grange was already trying to formulate the words to use to prevent the men from departing, plus he was annoyed with their