First down the long white aisle came the flower girls, ten of them, dressed in green organza tossing handfuls of petals into the air. I got a faceful of their perfume and sneezed. That expression caused me to bare my teeth involuntarily, causing an equally involuntary back step by the six people standing nearest to me in the great hall of Possiltum Palace. I never expect Klahds to really appreciate Pervect teeth like mine.
I tugged at the tight collar of the formal tunic I’d let Massha talk me into wearing. If she hadn’t become such a valued associate of mine and Skeeve’s, I would tactfully have arranged to be elsewhere on this, her special day of days. But if you are smart, you will never say ‘no’ to a woman about to get married, unless you’re planning on finishing the sentence with “of course I don’t mind you dressing me up like an organ grinder’s monkey.” Which, naturally, leads your former apprentice and present partner to ask what an organ grinder is. When I explained, he said it sounds like a devious torture device—which, now that I come to think of it, isn’t all that far from being accurate, if you consider your inner ear an organ.
The horde of little girls was succeeded by a host of little boys dressed up like pages. Every one of them looked like I felt. I know Massha has a somewhat garish color sense, but I’d have done a little better for these kids than coral and pink striped satin breeches and caps, and bright aqua tunics. All around me I could see optic nerves shorting out, and the bridal attendants hadn’t started down the aisle yet.
