‘Saints preserve us!’ muttered someone among the bystanders. ‘He bargains with the King.’
Again His Majesty gave the boy a long, steady look, puzzled. But it ended in another half-smile.
‘Very good,’ he said. ‘What are your two conditions?’
‘One is: I must have money. It’s for my father, Your Majesty. He has lost all he has and is about to sell his home to pay his debts.’
‘Oh,’ said the King. ‘So you want to sell me the shell, eh? And what is the other?’
‘The other is that I must have Your Majesty’s promise that you will not ask me where I got the shell.’
‘Indeed! You’re a good business man even if you are small,’ said the King. ‘Very well, then, you have my promise. I’ll pay your father’s debts with two hundred crowns besides. And where the shell came from I will not ask. Now will you give it me?’
‘I thank Your Majesty,’ said Giles with a deep sigh, and he held up the shell.
The King took it in his hand—then instantly dropped it. Giles caught it and gave it back to him.
‘Do not be afraid of the heat, Sir,’ he said. ‘You see so many people are nearly always talking about Your Majesty, that for you it would be warm almost all the time. The more people there are talking, the hotter it grows. But it never gets so hot that it burns the skin.’