“And some more treats,” said Kiko, handing Charlotte a brown paper bag. Where was Regan’s treat? Regan approached her mother, hoping Charlotte would share.
“This one isimqaret,a date cake,” said Kiko. “Next door iskannoli,you know this one?” They nodded. “We have then a Maltese honey ring, and lastly, almond torta.”
“I couldn’t,” said Charlotte.
“You could,” said Kiko. “Charlotte Perkins, you must.”
“Well, if you say so,” said Charlotte, selecting the almond torte. Regan, realizing no one was going to offer, reached in and chose akannoli,biting into the sweet cookie.
“Come,” said Kiko. He led them to a bench next to a wide stone stairway. “Down these stairs, you enter secret tunnels used in World War Two,” said Kiko. “But, I’m sorry, the tunnels are closed on Monday.”
“Damn,” muttered Regan licking powdered sugar from her lips. They walked along the water, and Kiko gestured to an enormous cannon, asking, “Have you ever seen a bigger cannon?”
“No,” said Cord. “I have never seen a bigger cannon.”
“Me neither,” said Charlotte gamely.
“Because this is theworld’s largest cannon!” cried Kiko, throwing open his hands.
“Is it really?” said Charlotte. Kiko crossed strong arms over his chest and nodded. “That is something else,” said Charlotte, opening her bag of treats and selecting another.
“The British constructed Rinella Battery between 1878 and 1886,” said Kiko.
“Oh?” said Charlotte.
“It was built to house one gun weighing one hundred tons,” said Kiko. “Also, a rifled muzzle-loading gun. There was once another battery to the west of the Grand Harbour, but this no longer exists.”
“Isn’t it hot?” said Charlotte. “I am very warm indeed.” She unbuttoned her neon-yellow cardigan and took it off, rebuttoned it and positioned it around her shoulders, carefully arranging the arms across her chest. “It’s very warm,” she said again.
“Mom, do you want to sit down?” said Regan.
“Only two hundred-ton guns survive,” said Kiko. “By arming GibraltarandMalta, the British hoped to protect their route to India through the Mediterranean.”
“I’m going to faint,” said Charlotte matter-of-factly. “To be honest, these Maltese snacks are not agreeing with me.”
“But wait!” cried Kiko. “In a few moments, there will be historical reenactors dressed as nineteenth-century British soldiers to provide a military show combining the live-firing of historic artillery and cavalry!”
Turning her back to Kiko, Charlotte limped to a bench and sat down. Regan bit her lip, for once resisting her knee-jerk reaction to be the helpmeet.
“Another option is to skip the military reenactment,” said Kiko. He ran a hand through his black hair, touched his goatee.
“A nice cool restaurant?” ventured Charlotte, eyes closed.
Kiko smiled. “I am the best chef in Malta.”
“Are you?” said Cord. Flirtatiously! He said it flirtatiously!
“I will take you to my home. It is near a small village, and I make wine. We will cook and relax under my shadygharghartree.”
“That sounds very nice,” said Charlotte weakly.
“I will go fetch my car quickly,” said Kiko. “Please enjoy an air-conditioned touristic shop.” Kiko led them inside a store called Woohoo Malta. “I’ll be back in a moment,” he said. Charlotte perked up a bit, scrutinizing dish towels with local recipes printed on them.
Regan spied a nail clipper with the Maltese flag printed on top. “I’m getting it,” she said.
“A Maltese toenail clipper?” said Cord.
“It’s forme,” said Regan.
