They froze, staring anxiously at him.
“Be careful,” he advised in a low voice. “Watch out for flying toast. And if she asks you to pull her finger, don’t. Just—really don’t.”
They nodded and opened the door.
An odor of old dog wafted out.
Constantinopla and Tom glanced at each other nervously, then entered, the door swinging shut behind them.
Queen Victoria sat in an enormous four-poster bed at the center of the room, eating a buttered muffin. She was at once tiny (vertically) huge (horizontally) and terrifying (psychologically). Her round face moved as she chewed, but her small, dark eyes seemed fixed on a point in the mid-distance. Two dogs lay on the floor at the end of her bed, alarge green parrot sat on a lampshade, and the long-departed Prince Albert reclined on pillows at the Queen’s side—which is to say, in the form of a black-framed portrait.
Tom was struck insensible by the majestic, albeit domestic, vision of the Queen. But Constantinopla had been raised among women who considered themselves Victoria’s equal,at least, and stepped forward undaunted. She laid her stack of linen on a nearby chair, then curtsied. “Your Maj—”
The Queen held up a silencing hand. Constantinopla waited as Victoria finished masticating. At last the Queen sighed with satisfaction and looked up.
“Yes?”
“Your Majesty, my name is—”
“Thief!” squawked the parrot. Constantinopla almost leaped out of her skin.
“I swear, I’ve stolen nothing,” she said. “From—from the castle, at any rate. I am a pirate, it is true, but—”
“A pirate!” the Queen declared, not amused. “You warned me this day would come, Albert. The assassins have reached my inner chamber!”
“No, no.” Constantinopla rushed forward two steps, then froze as the Queen grabbed for some toast. She curtsied again urgently. “I assure you, I mean no harm. My name is—”
“I could have been a pirate if I wasn’t Queen,” the Queen warned. She squinted as if calculating the best angle at which to take out Constantinopla’s eye with a square of marmalade-covered sourdough. “One more step and I’ll impale you.”
“Death to thieves!” hollered the parrot, and one of the dogs lifted its head and barked.
Constantinopla’s thoughts began to spin. But she was a pirate maiden, she had been trained for battle, and she could surelywithstand a conversation with the Queen. “Your Majesty, my-name-is-Constantinopla-Brown-and-I-bring-you-urgent-news.” She paused to take a breath, and Queen Victoria bit sharply into the toast. Marmalade oozed.
“Well? What news?” the Queen asked through her mouthful. “Hurry up, I don’t have all day. As soon as we’ve finished here we have to go down to breakfast, don’t we, Albert dear?”
Constantinopla glanced at the portrait and then back at the Queen, dazed. “Captain Morvath has stolen a dozen battlehouses and presents a serious threat to your throne!”
“Egad! Such horror! Who is Captain Morvath?”
“Er, a dreadful pirate, Your Majesty.”
“As opposed to a nice pirate? You are all fiends! Do you know how much tax income I’ve lost because of you? How many ladies I’ve had come crying to me about stolen diamonds or stolen husbands?”
“Er, sorry,” Constantinopla said meekly.
“And who is that?” the Queen demanded, waving toast at Tom. He cringed.
“Moron!” squawked the parrot.
Constantinopla repressed a traitorous corner of her mouth. “Your Majesty, may I present Mr. Eames, my fiancé. He is a pirate gentleman. Your Majesty, Captain Ned Smith sent us as his official emissaries to warn you about Morvath’s evil plan.” She eyed the parrot, praying it did not squawkLiar!
Silence, thank God.
More silence. Somewhat worrying.
Even more silence. Constantinopla held her breath.
At last, the Queen swallowed toast.
