Getting into a tuxedo and getting out to the yacht proved to be the easy part of the job. The royal yacht was set to start out from the wharf behind the palace, so Dag arrived early and drifted into the palace gardens, hoping to spy out a way to get aboard without being seen. At first he felt horribly conspicuous, but then when a liveried footman offered him a glass of wine he realized that he fit right in with the other guests. The man at the shop had said the tux was the latest rage, and Dag was glad to see that he was right. The jacket was white, with a black stripe on the lapels; but the pants were black, and there were a black cummerbund and bowtie to match. The wing collar felt a little restricting, but not too bad. He scanned the crowd, hoping to catch sight of the 'woman in the red dress.' No sign of her yet. Maybe she was on the ship already.

An elderly lady, overdressed, stout, and out of breath, was puffing down the path toward the gangplank.

Dag put on his most helpful smile. "May I assist you, Señora?"

She looked up in surprise, thinking he had materialized out of the bushes. Dag hadn't realized he had come up so quietly.

"My apologies." He held out his arm, and after looking him critically up and down the stout lady accepted it.

"My husband is still talking with the king," she puffed, as they made their way slowly down the path to the water. "He and Guillame will always find much too much to talk about, and he forgets all about me." She put out her lower lip in an absurd pout. Dag bit back a smile and endeavored to appear properly sympathetic.

"He won't be alarmed at your absence?"

She sniffed. "Not he."

Dag swallowed a delighted laugh. He had a free pass onto the yacht.

Security didn't look at him twice. He finally got the stout old lady safely stowed aboard and talking with her acquaintances; then he edged discreetly away before she could ask his name. He took up a stand near a large potted palm and surveyed his position. The whole ship was lit up like a carnival at night, and there were elegantly dressed people swarming everywhere on the top decks. Ritzy, all right. Through a doorway he could see a dining room that was positively sparkling with crystal and silver, where white-uniformed staff were setting up a veritable feast. Here and there on the fringes of the throng he saw men who he guessed were security – their suits were a shade plainer than the general level of dress, and they weren't talking as much. He realized that there was music coming from somewhere, and finally spotted a string orchestra hidden behind a row of potted ornamental shrubs. Abruptly they struck up a grand fanfare, and everyone quieted down and turned toward the gangplank.

The Royal Family, apparently. There seemed to be a lot of them, though. Dag saw a stocky old man with a thick white beard and a large stomach who had to be the king of Pallas Athena – although there were so many medals on his suit that Dag wondered how much the whole rig weighed. He had a graceful, dark-haired, middle-aged woman on his arm who Dag figured was Princess Jennifer. After them came the governor, a tall graying man, with a young woman on his arm. The young woman was smiling, and she seemed very popular. His daughter or some society queen, he supposed. After them came a dour looking man with a slight stoop and only a few medals on his suit, and a boy who seemed hardly more than a teenager who looked around in a bored fashion. The crowd shifted a little, making room for them and the rest of the party, and Dag straightened to make sure he had seen right. The girl on the governor's arm was wearing a red dress.

He sidled closer. She had to be the one. Abruptly his eye caught another flash of red. Who was that? Oh brother. Not another one.

Dag reversed direction and followed the other woman in the other red dress. This one was older, and she was talking with a distinguished looking man who he presumed was her husband. He saw an expensive diamond flash on her left hand, confirming what he thought.

Sergio had said she wasn't married.

Dag didn't want to run off with anybody's wife on accident. He looked at her again, just to make sure. Her dress wasn't really red, he decided. There were big red flowers on it, in a pattern, with lots of jewels, but the background was black. Wrong one. He turned away to find the young woman in the red dress again. Her dress was definitely red, and the skirt looked like it had a mile's worth of ruffles on it. She was even wearing red jewelry and long red gloves. Hey, what was going on?

The orchestra was playing something else – a waltz, he thought. People were pairing off, and those who didn't want to dance were moving to the sides of the deck or going downstairs. The young woman in the red dress was dancing with the governor, and they seemed to be leading the dance. Dag didn't want to attempt dancing. Too much talking involved, at least with this slow kind of dancing. He wandered closer to the rail, sticking his hands in his pockets. He was going to have to try to catch the woman alone – he gulped at a terrible thought.

Was he going to have to ask her to dance just to get an opening? He made a face at her back, which was luckily turned, and leaned against the rail. Great.

After what seemed like hours, the old king went into the dining room, and a lot of the people followed him. Dag looked quickly around. The young woman in the red dress was saying something to a tall blondish young man in a dark blue suit and a yellow tie, and he didn't look exactly happy. The young woman laughed, and the young man turned away and went into the dining room. Dag held his breath. The woman in the red dress was walking slowly along the mostly empty deck, looking contentedly around her at the blue sea that was turning orange and pink under the sunset. She leaned her elbows against the rail near the bow, and Dag hesitated. Should he just walk over and start talking to her?

He stopped.

What on earth was he going to talk about?

He knew he should have never let Sergio talk him into this.

More people drifted inside. From the vantage point of one of those potted trees that were bolted down all over the deck, Dag watched the woman in the red dress. He whistled under his breath for a minute, annoyed with himself for not knowing what to do, then stopped as inspiration struck. He turned his back on the woman in the red dress and looked dreamily out over the golden sea.

The woman in the red dress sighed happily. The Caribbean was lovely. She should probably be inside, but the breeze out here was cool and comfortable, and she was tired of petty small talk. Someone was singing, a soft crooning song in Spanish.

She cocked her head, listening. He had a good voice. There was a quality to it that she liked - soothing yet strong, laughing yet tender, warm yet teasing, and she turned around, trying to see who it was. She was alone on the deck. Perhaps it was one of the sailors, down below. A little disappointed, she began to walk slowly back towards the dining room, hoping to hear the end of the song. Something white moved slightly on the edge of her field of vision, and she started.

A young man in a black and white tuxedo was leaning against the rail between some ornamental trees with his back to her, his hands in his pockets. He was rocking slightly with the tune of the song he was singing, completely oblivious of her presence. The soft notes died away.

"That was lovely," the woman in the red dress said, after a moment.

The young man turned. He had brownish blond hair, and it was falling in his eyes. He pushed it back with his hand. "Oh." He gulped. "Thank you."

The woman in the red dress smiled. He was only a little taller than she was, and looked only a few years older. "I don't remember being introduced."

The young man smiled, tilting his head back. He had a naughty little smile that made her want to smile back. "I'm nobody important."

The woman in the red dress looked sideways at him, raising her eyebrows. "I see." She smiled. "What song was that?"

He looked away, towards the island behind him. "It's called 'Eres Mi Amor.' It's an old Spanish song."

"I thought so, but my Spanish is unfortunately not very good. My French is better," she laughed.

Dag pulled a face of mock horror. "And my French does not exist."

"Do you live here?" She was looking mildly interested, although her voice never seemed to get any louder –always soft and gracious and polite, just with different inflections.

"All my life, yes."

The woman in the red dress leaned against the rail beside him, looking across at the island. "I've wondered how they live, there," she murmured. "Do they talk about as many boring things as we do?"

"We?"

"Oh, everyone here. I get so tired of it sometimes – all the polite nothings that nobody really means. We're putting in at San Dominique, briefly, during our circuit of the island tonight, but it's not like we'll really meet the ordinary people. I wish I could." She laughed softly, a little embarrassed. "I don't know why I'm telling you this."

"Because I'm not a stuffed shirt weighted down with medals."

She laughed softly, a genuine laugh this time. Dag smiled to himself. This was working better than he could have ever hoped. He arched his eyebrows and looked at her slyly.

"We-ell, if we're putting in at San Dominique…" he paused, watching the interest grow on her face. "We could always slip ashore and go for dinner at some little Mom and Pop place and eat finger food instead of getting waited on hand and foot in there."

Her eyes sparkled, then dimmed. "But…"

Dag elaborated quickly, before she lost enthusiasm. "We could take a motorboat and catch up with this tub in a half hour or so – it wouldn't be hard, and people probably wouldn't even notice we were gone."

The woman in the red dress chewed on her lip, thinking. The corners of her mouth kept twitching, like she was trying not to smile. She turned back and faced him.

"Yes!" Her eyes were sparkling again. "Let's do it. How should we get off the ship?"

Dag thought about it. This would be the tricky part. "Won't they put down a gangplank at San Dominique? Like at the back, where nobody will be paying attention?"

She thought about it for a minute. "Yes, I think they will. I know we're picking up some things there, some local fruit for dessert or something like that, I think. Could we get off then without being seen?"

Dag smiled again. "Oh, we will. Don't worry."

The woman in the red dress smiled back. "I should probably go in. The king has been raving about the seafood for the last week and a half, so I need to be qualified to give him an opinion."

Dag suddenly realized that she expected him to go back to the dining room with her. "I'd better find out how we're going to get off this thing," he said quickly. The look he gave her was naughty, and she laughed, a soft gracious laugh.

"I'll look for you, once we get to San Dominique," she called over her shoulder.

King Guillame Georges VI was thoroughly enjoying the dinner. Ah, it was so good to have fresh citrus fruit again, and – and – king crab. The enormous crab legs were done to perfection, succulent and tender and pink, and that horseradish sauce that the natives concocted, with pineapple on the side…. The king sighed rapturously.

"Your Majesty, Princess Jennifer," a discreet voice murmured in his ear.

King Guillame wiped his moustache with a napkin. "Ah yes, thank you Max." He glanced up at the tall blond young man in the dark blue suit and yellow tie, his chief of security. "Everything under control?"

"Yes, Your Majesty."

The princess had entered the dining room, and everyone rose.

"Please, sit down," she said graciously, before moving to the head table. "I'm sorry to have kept you waiting."

She sat beside the king, who winked slyly at her. "Try some of this crab, my dear," he urged her. "We'll be at San Dominique soon, and we don't want to disappoint all those people who want to see you."

She smiled archly at him, arranging her napkin in her lap. "Of course not."

Dag was in a bit of a pickle. He had been able to sneak down to the kitchens fairly easily, simply by looking like he belonged there, but he could see no way of getting through to where the service gangplank would be lowered without being seen. A bell rang from above, and he ducked out of sight behind an open door. The kitchen staff filed past him, going up to the dining room. Dag looked into the kitchen again, once they were safely gone.

There was a wide passage that led from the kitchen to the side of the ship, and all along it there were big walk-in coolers for food storage, but no good places to hide.

Dag frowned. Suddenly he smiled. On the left side of the passage, right before the heavy doors that would open out onto the gangplank, there was a smaller locked door. He fished a pick out of his pocket and quickly opened the lock. Arranging it so at first glance it would not be noticeable that he had tampered with it, he eased the steel door open and slipped inside, and just in time. He could hear the kitchen staff coming back.

It was nearly pitch dark in the little room. Dag stood perfectly still for a few moments, trying to let his eyes adjust to the darkness. Some sort of machinery was giving off a faint hum not far ahead of him, and gradually he could make out the shape. It appeared to be some sort of coolant system, probably for the big lockers in the passage. On his right, a narrow iron circular stairway went up and disappeared through a hole where a faint light was coming through.

Dag climbed the stairs and cautiously stuck his head through the hole at the top. Another closet of sorts, this one with assorted wrenches and extra cable and pieces of hardware. There was a beam of light coming in from under the door. Dag bent over and inspected the doorknob. No sign of a keyhole on this side. Great, he was locked in.

He tried the knob anyway, and nearly fell out into the hallway when it opened under his hand. Apparently not.

Warily, he stuck his head out. No one in the hallway. This looked like cabins, for the sailors perhaps, or the kitchen staff. It stretched the whole width of the ship, and at the center he could see a landing where the stairs went up to the dining room. He didn't want to go that way. To his right, at what would be the side of the ship, there were closed double doors. Much better. He walked quickly along, hoping no one would see him.

"May I help you, sir?"

Dag groaned inwardly and turned around. A girl from the kitchens, balancing a huge bowl of salad in one hand and a tray of water glasses in the other, was looking at him rather curiously.

He grinned sheepishly. "I got lost," he admitted.

She smiled. "Just take those doors at the end of the hall there," she pointed with her head. "They go out to the C deck balcony along the side of the ship, and then there are stairs up to the top."
"Gracias, señorita."

Somehow she bobbed him a little curtsy without dropping anything and went on up the servants' stairs. Dag got out onto the starboard balcony and leaned his back against the closed doors, enjoying the breeze. It had been hot down there – and a little too close for comfort. These tuxedos made pretty good disguises.