“
Sure, that
’
s—
”
Henry begins, but the man raises a hand, silencing him.
“
In addition, any discussion of the Galadonian political situation, international trade, human rights, the environment, the health of the king, or the prince
’
s recent trip to Graceland is also expressly forbidden.
”
“
Gotcha,
”
Henry answers.
“
Ixnay
on the
Elvisay
.
”
The man stares at Henry for a moment, then looks to Shug as if he is considering calling the whole thing off. But it is too late. Someone across the hall has
waved
for them to approach. The man lifts his chin at Henry and says,
“
He is ready for you.
”
Henry looks at Shug.
“
Aren
’
t you coming?
”
Shug shakes his head.
“
The prince prides himself on his command of English. My presence would be an insult.
”
~ * ~
When Henry is halfway across the room, the new chaperone stops him. From the flat bench-press station near the wall of windows at the end of the room comes a high-pitched, extended grunt as the weights—what look to be three forty-five-pound plates on each side of the bar—rise and fall in short,
pistonlike
bursts. A final exaggerated squeal is the signal for the royal spotters to grab the ends of the bar and safely place it in the forks of the rack. When the bar is secured, the spotters stand back and the lifter sits upright, then jumps up onto the bench, where, squealing again, he begins to execute a series of moves that are a combination of bastardized bodybuilder poses, World Wrestling Federation bravado, and a six-year-
old
’
s
interpretation of kung fu. The music playing on the sound system, Henry realizes, is
“
Get Your Head in the Game
”
from Disney
’
s
High School Musical.
It is during this routine that Henry notices that even though the lifter, presumably the prince, is standing on the bench, he is the same height as his seemingly average-sized spotters.
“
Holy crap,
”
he says.
“
His Highness is a Smallness.
”
The chaperone looks at Henry.
“
Any discussion of height is also—
”
Henry cuts him off.
“
Understood. Is bodybuilding something of a national obsession here?
”
“
No. This is the only such facility in the kingdom. The prince discovered the benefits of weight training and nutrition during a visit to the San Francisco Bay area several years ago.
”
For his final pose the prince rolls his black Lycra shorts down to his knees, then bends and thrusts his hard, thickly veined bubble butt toward the rest of the room, Henry included, shaking it to the final chords of the Disney tune. After the prince pulls his shorts back on, one of his assistants gives him a high five and another helps him into a shiny lavender Adidas sweat jacket before whispering into his ear and nodding toward Henry.
When the prince sights Henry, he hops off the bench and bounds toward him.
“
Remember,
”
the chaperone says under his breath,
“
no touching.
”
But the prince is quickening his pace and spreading his short, incongruously muscled arms as wide as they will go.
“
Mister Henry Tuhoe! What
’
s up Yo-Town!
”
he says, and embraces Henry, who looks over the prince
’
s shoulder at the chaperone.
Is it more dangerous to return the royal embrace or to ignore it? What
’
s up with the princely enthusiasm? And on what planet is this place called Yo-Town? He gets no help from the chaperone, just a sinister sort of smile. Finally Henry raises his arms less than a foot away from his outer thighs and gently wraps them around the prince
’
s back.
“
Welcome to my kingdom. It is an honor.
”
“
The honor is mine, Your Highness. Thank you for having me.
“
Go, Huskies.
”
“
Pardon?
”
“
Go, Huskies. You are a fellow Northeastern man, yes?
”
Henry blinks. Aren
’
t princes supposed to go to Harvard or Yale?
“
You know Northeastern?
”
“
Go, Huskies! Class of
’
01, Yo-Town!
”
“
Really? I was
‘
00.
”
“
I know. This is partially why I granted you an audience. You were a geology major, no?
”
“
Actually, I majored in English, with a geology minor.
”
The prince stops smiling, and for a moment it looks as if he might cry, or have Henry or whoever gave him the slightly inaccurate biographical information put to death. As if on cue the Disney music stops, but Henry can still hear music. It is coming faintly from the iPod headphones dangling around the prince
’
s neck.
“
The Hold Steady?
”
The prince tilts his head, again not sure if this is a slight or some insider
’
s lingo that he doesn
’
t know about. Either one would be bad for everyone involved. But Henry points at the postage-stamp-sized music player.
“
The Hold Steady.
‘
Sequestered in Memphis.
’
I like their sound.
”
The prince looks at his headphones and then at Henry. He smiles.
“
The Hold Steady. Absolutely, bro!
”
He slaps Henry on the small of his back.
“
Come,
”
he says.
“
Let me show you around. It is such a pleasure to have an American here to appreciate what I am trying to do with our archaic little society in Galado. Ancient ways. Ancient places. Spirituality. Too much, you know, can have such a corrosive effect on the culture.
”
Henry decides it
’
s best not to comment on this. The prince waves off the members of his staff and leads Henry into a room off the thousand-year-old iron-pumping room. It
’
s a smaller, more formal space, with one wall of windows looking out on an expanse of royal gardens.
Against the near wall is a one-thousand-gallon fish tank, at the bottom of which floats one eighteen-inch-long, wrinkled, and grotesque fish. Henry has to bend closer to make sure that the fish, a gray, black-spotted, seemingly eyeless being with a long pocked and whiskered nose, is alive.
“
Ah-hah,
”
the prince offers, bending alongside Henry to observe the barely moving creature.
“
This is Gaily, a rare specimen indeed. Gaily is the last known living evidence of the bottle-nosed Galadonian riverfish. Gaily has become something of a pet project of mine,
and a symbol of my government
’
s commitment to preserving the indigenous species of Galado. It is blind.
”
“
Excuse me?
”
“
It uses sonar to catch other fish. But now, after twenty million years, it is threatened. Every day teams of scientists from the Ministry of Wildlife scour our streams and rivers, in hopes of finding one blessed partner for lovely Gaily to perpetuate the species.
”
“
Is Gaily male or female?
”
In response to the question, the prince stands up and cocks his head.
“
I
’
m just saying it would be a shame if it was a male and after all that work the only fish they found was another male.
”
The prince doesn
’
t answer.
“
Come,
”
he says, waving Henry away from the last living bottle-nosed Galadonian riverfish,
“
There is much to see.
”
He strolls to a long, knee-high table in the middle of the room, upon which are two scale models of two versions of the same urban landscape. In the center of the table is a laminated sign that reads
The Shangri-La Zone.
Before the model on the right is a smaller sign that reads
Present,
and before the model on the left, which is considerably larger and features a number of large office towers, banks, hotels, brand-name luxury boutiques, and a huge cineplex, is a sign that reads
Very Near Future.
“
What do you think?
”
Henry bends and then decides to kneel to consider the models more closely. After giving the past a casual glance, he decides it
’
s better etiquette to linger on the future.
“
That
’
s quite a cineplex.
”
“
Twenty-eight theaters, with a grand auditorium for world premieres and, of course, the film festival. Just like Cannes.
”
In front of the mock cinemas are tiny limousines and tiny paparazzi, and at the entrance high above the street is a two-inch likeness of the prince standing atop a grand, red-carpeted semicircle of stairs. Henry says,
“
I like the movies too.
”
The prince comes alongside him and, looking at the model, asks,
“
Have you seen the film
Wal
k
the Line
?
”
“
I have. I love Johnny Cash.
”
“
Of all the types of film, I enjoy nothing more than a well-done
biopic.
Biopics
make me cry, because if created with love, they make me consider the only cliche that still has the power to make me laugh and care and thrill and fear, and that is the finite arc of a life that, inevitably, ends.
”
Henry turns away from the models and looks at the prince. He didn
’
t expect this kind of insight from the man who only minutes ago had addressed him as Yo-Town.
“
You know,
”
he quietly answers,
“
I
’
ve often had that same thought. Whether it
’
s about Cash or Ray Charles or Marie Antoinette, even though the stories are often completely predictable and the endings universally known, if they
’
re told well enough, they leave me in the most profound, contemplative I guess, funk.
”
The prince puts his arm over Henry
’
s shoulder.
“
The inevitability of mortality, yes?
”
Henry rises and the prince
’
s arm falls away.
A servant knocks at the door. He is holding a silver tray with two drinks. The prince nods. As the man approaches, the prince says to Henry,
“
Protein
smoothies
.
”
Henry accepts his glass and sniffs the drink.
“
Do you lift?
”
“
I belonged to a gym in Manhattan but didn
’
t—
”
“
Fantastic. We can train together!
”