Chapter 1. First Handshake
I met Frank just minutes before the first attempt upon my life.
It was a beautiful June day in 1972. I was sitting at my favorite table in the palace library, reading. As usual, I had the library to myself. My servants were supposed to be with me, but they knew I never tattled and took full advantage.
The hush was shattered when a boy walked in, whistling. He caught sight of me and approached, revealing that he could whistle and smirk at the same time. When he reached my table, he fell silent and stood smiling at me. It was a good smile, much better than the smirk. It invited me to smile back, which I didn’t, of course.
He was a handsome boy of about fourteen, a year older than myself. He was tall for his age, with a haircut from the California side of the gateway. This being the palace, he wore a good suit, a fashionable brown one, also from the California side. He had loosened his tie and undone the top button of his shirt, which would earn him a scolding from any adults who noticed.
I liked him at once, which annoyed me. I don’t get along with my fellow children. His likability made me self-conscious in spite of my beautiful blue dress, for I was pale and thin where he was tan and fit. I envied his dark blond hair and light green eyes. Mine are dark brown and dark brown, respectively.
I gave him a cold stare. “This is a library, you know.”
He looked around in pretended astonishment, so I added, “You can tell by the books? At least, I hope you can.”
“I’ll take your word for it. Hey, maybe you can help me. I’m looking for a sweet little girl named Flavia.”
I placed a bookmark and closed my book. “Are you being aggravating on purpose?”
“Of course I am. How about you?”
I was taken aback. “Why?”
“Look, do you know where Flavia is or not?”
“I am Princess Flavia.”
“Then your portraits don’t do you justice, Your Highness. I like the freckles especially. A freckle is a beacon of honesty in a mendacious world. Allow me to introduce myself. Frank Barron, at your service.” He stuck out his hand.
He had that command of language which only a person who reads a great many books develops, but without the stiff delivery of someone like me, for whom books were their only friends. I was a bit regretful when I said, “Princesses don’t shake hands.”
“You have it backward, you know. Privilege. You can shake anyone’s hand. They aren’t supposed to make the offer. Privilege gives you choices—or it should.”
Most people smiled only with their mouths, at least when they smiled at me. Frank’s eyes twinkled. This was a game, and he was inviting me to play, but it didn’t look like any fun from where I was sitting.
Or did it? “You just admitted your faux pas in offering your hand,” I said, feeling a bit triumphant.
“And then there’s the third category. Princesses, everyone else, and me.” He stuck out his hand again. “Frank Barron.”
I shook my head.
He said, “I dare you to shake my hand.”
“No.”
“I double-dare you.”
I hesitated. “Why?”
“I’ll tell you in a minute.”
“I’ve never shaken anyone’s hand.”
“It’s easy. I’ll teach you.”
Despite my misgivings, I allowed this. As a girl, I could shake hands while seated, which was a mercy.
My misgivings were unfounded. Unlike his banter, Frank’s instruction was straightforward, and his handclasp communicated that he was a real person—and he knew perfectly well that I was one, too.
“One last time. Allow me to introduce myself.” He stuck out his hand. “Frank Barron. Call me Frank.”
I took his hand and said, “Princess Flavia Beaumont. Pleased to meet you, Frank. Call me … Flavia?”
“Perfect.”
“Wait, why are we on a first-name basis?”
“We’re friends.”
“We are not!”
“And you just invited me to call you Flavia.”
“You tricked me!”
“I wonder. But my first answer was true.”
“We are not friends, Mr. Frank Barron.”
His levity vanished and he became serious, even grim. “Humor me. It’s important.”
I shivered at his sudden intensity. “Who sent you?” Young as I was, and damaged goods besides, I could still be a target for plots.
“No one knows I’m here but you.”
“What do you want?”
We stared at each other. Retreating to his lighter tone, he said, “I’ll start with my second-best reason. I’m surrounded by people with dull brains and no sparkle. I’ll die of boredom unless I find someone smart and amusing.”
“I’m not noted for my sense of humor.”
“Sparkle is always entertaining. You’ve got lots.”
“You expect a princess to become your court jester?”
“And vice versa. Fair’s fair. After all, my town is too small to have a village idiot, so we all take turns.”
I giggled, then clapped a hand over my mouth. “That didn’t mean anything.”
“Of course not. Your turn.”
“My turn for what?”
“To tell a joke or amusing anecdote.”
Did I even know any? “Frank, are you always this annoying?”
He leaned forward and confided, “Actually, I’m on my best behavior.”
“You’re usually worse?”
“You’ll get used to it.” His smile faded. Once more he became grim. He hesitated.
He had called it his second-best reason. “Why are you really here, Frank?”
“I found this note next to my bed when I woke up.”
He handed it to me. It read,
Dear Frank,
I don’t know it yet, but I desperately need you to befriend me today. Meet me in the library at 2 P.M. sharp and show me this note.
Love,
Flavia
P.S. Frank, I won’t remember any of this, so I’m counting on you to believe in and act upon that part of your dream which starts with the explosion in the courtyard.
It was on a sheet of my personal notepaper. The note was in my handwriting and signed with my signature. I stared at it, stunned.
Frank said, “How good a forgery is it?”
I shook my head. “I think it’s genuine. What did it mean about a dream?”
“I had a dream last night. I was here, talking to you, when there was a detonation outside.”
Just then, there was an explosion in the courtyard.
What will become of Our Young Heroes? Find out by reading the entire book.
