Long Live the Queen

by Gerry Swallow

  “Speaking of which,” said Gene, “we should probably keep moving here.”

  “Yes,” agreed Elspeth. “From what I understand, King William is quite beside himself these days.”

  “At night his sobs can be heard throughout the village,” said Jack. “He’s an absolute mess.”

  “Well, how would you feel if someone were to kidnap me and carry me off into the Thick?” Jill asked her husband.

  “At first I would feel horrible,” said Jack. “Then, after a while, I would feel hungry.”

  Jack’s ample midsection absorbed a sharp backhand from his wife.

  “What? I’m just saying that you’re such a wonderful cook that I would sooner go hungry than eat something prepared by anyone else.”

  Jill rolled her eyes before turning them back to Elspeth. “Go,” she said. “You don’t want to be around to see how this turns out.”

  How Elspeth wished her other parents had such a playful way with each other!

  “Will you have time to come by for supper one night before you return?” asked Jill.

  “I hope so,” Elspeth replied. “I guess it all depends on how quickly we can get Queen Farrah back safe and sound. But of course I’ll do my best.”

  “Good,” said Jack. “Because we’ve got some important news to share with you.”

  Again Jill’s hand collided with Jack’s protruding gut. “Jack, honestly.”

  “What?” Jack protested.

  “You never tell someone you have news to tell them. It causes people to worry, and Elspeth has enough on her mind.”

  “Should I be worried?” asked Elspeth.

  “Of course not,” said Jill with a smile that could reassure Elspeth in even the most dire of circumstances.

  “Good. Then I’ll see you when I get back.”

  “When you get back from where?” said Jack. “It was my understanding that you were being brought in only as an advisor on this. Surely King William wouldn’t ask you to go to the Thick.”

  “Of course he wouldn’t,” said Elspeth. “Don’t worry so much. I’m not going anywhere near the Thick,” she promised before giving them each another quick hug.

  Walking across the open drawbridge and into the castle courtyard, the first thing Elspeth noticed, planted directly in the center, surrounded by the various shops, was the statue. In fact, at twelve feet in height, it was quite impossible to miss. When she’d last visited it was only in the planning stages, but now there it was, her very own image, cast in bronze. The figure stood proud and tall, dressed in full military regalia and thrusting a stick high into the air. And not just any stick. The mouths of the two figures, both the girl’s and the stick’s, were fashioned as if shouting, “Charge!”

  “Well?” said Gene. “What do you think? Pretty good likeness, if you ask me.”

  Elspeth sized it up for a moment. Not bad, she supposed. But something was off. “My eyes are a little too beady,” she said.

  “I was talking about me,” said Gene. “I think they really captured my true essence, don’t you?”

  “Oh, absolutely,” said Elspeth.

  “When I found out they were putting a statue of me in the courtyard I insisted that you be included in it,” said Gene. “Hope you don’t mind.”

  “Oh, not at all,” said Elspeth. “I’m honored to be a small part of your great contribution to society.”

  Though Elspeth may have made light of it, secretly she was feeling quite pleased with herself. She stood in the statue’s considerable shadow for a few moments before she sensed an additional presence nearby.

  “You’re right,” came the voice from behind her. “The eyes are way too beady.” Elspeth turned to find the Cheese, a large wheel of orange cheddar, aged by design and scarred by battle. Once self-centered and aloof, he had recently become a well-respected officer of the law.

  “Rodney!” said Elspeth, wrapping her arms around the Cheese’s width—waxy and lumpy from an encounter with the castle’s portcullis, the spiked gate meant to serve as a last defense beyond the drawbridge. “Well, if it isn’t the Cheese of Police. How are you?”

  “Delicious,” said the Cheese. “In fact, I’ve never felt better. You see, the Cheese has been working out. Thirty minutes a day on the treadmill.”

  Elspeth took a moment to imagine a large wheel of cheese rolling on a treadmill and managed to stifle a laugh. “Well, you certainly do look trimmer,” she had to agree. “And younger.”

  “Oh no,” said the Cheese with mock horror. “Never say that to a fine aged cheddar.”

  “Sorry,” said Elspeth. “What I meant is, you don’t look the least bit younger. In fact you look downright ancient.”

  “I bet you say that to all the cheeses,” said the Cheese, turning a slightly darker shade of orange.

  “Actually, as strange as it might sound, you’re the only cheese I know, Rodney,” said Elspeth. “Or should I say Officer Cheese?”

  “You should say Detective Cheese,” said the Cheese.

  “You made detective?” gushed Elspeth. “Congratulations.”

  “Thanks. In fact, the Cheese is on his way to investigate a missing persons case right now. Nobody’s seen Peter Peter Pumpkin Eater’s wife since Tuesday night.”

  “Oh,” said Elspeth. “Have you tried looking in the pumpkin shell?”

  “The pumpkin shell?”

  “Yeah. Just an idea. Might be worth a shot.”

  “Sounds crazy, but I’ll check it out,” said the Cheese. “Welcome back to the land of the living.”

  “Thanks,” said Elspeth. “It’s great to be back.”

  The Cheese rolled away just as Georgie rushed up, tousled, disheveled, and otherwise looking like a salmon that had just swum upstream. “There you are,” he said. “I was afraid the mob had carried you off.”

  “Gene was just showing me his new statue,” said Elspeth.

  “Not a bad likeness,” Gene said proudly.

  “That’s a statue of Elspeth and you know it,” snapped Georgie. “You are a prop and nothing more.”

  “Well, well,” said Gene. “Sounds like someone’s a little jealous. Don’t worry. Maybe one day you’ll lead an armed rebellion against an evil tyrant and they’ll put your picture on a stamp.”

  “Yes,” said Georgie. “Until they find out I made the mistake of saving your pathetic life. Then I’ll likely be run out of town.”

  “When they do,” said Gene, “can I have your stuff?”

  Sticks and stones may break my bones,

  But Gene will ever charm me.

  Chapter

  5

  Georgie led Elspeth and Gene across the courtyard and through the entrance to the Great Hall, which was empty and echoey. This stood in striking contrast to the first time Elspeth had entered that very same room to find it set up for what she had assumed was a magnificent feast in her honor. The feast had indeed been splendid, but, as Elspeth soon discovered, it was meant in no way to honor her but to celebrate her capture and, if Krool had gotten his way, her eventual execution.

  That the room was empty now was not surprising. A large hall designed for banquets and other celebrations was of little use at a time like this, when the entire kingdom was in a state of grief.

  In just a short time upon the throne, Farrah had become a true queen of the people, simply by taking their concerns seriously. It was because of her tireless efforts that both health care and education were now rights of all citizens of New Winkieland, rather than privileges afforded only to the rich.

  She had Krool’s private golf course turned into a public park, and she was successful in reinstituting the forty-hour workweek so families would have more time to enjoy it. She refused to be surrounded by bodyguards, protective walls, or anything else that would make her less accessible to her loyal subjects. She granted an audience to anyone who requested it, and the people adored their queen for all she’d done for them. All this made Farrah’s safe return all the more important and put even greater pre
ssure on the one to whom they all looked to make this happen.

  As Elspeth approached the heavy wooden door at the far end of the hall, she felt suddenly anxious. On the other side of that door was the throne room where Winkie, along with his team of advisors, waited for Elspeth to advise them on what they should do. Each of Winkie’s aides secretly hoped her presence would serve as a calming influence on the king, his anxiety having grown more infectious in recent days.

  Following strict royal protocol, Elspeth would stand outside the door while Georgie entered the throne room to announce her arrival. He cleared his throat and the room fell instantly silent. Dumpty adjusted his tie, and Bo-Peep brushed a strand of straw-colored hair away from her face. The three visually impaired mice stood shoulder to shoulder and snapped to attention.

  “Your Royal Highness,” Georgie bellowed. “I present Lady Elspeth the Conqueror, Duchess of the Deadlands, Countess of Charing Cross, Baroness of . . .”

  “Oh, for crying out loud, just let her in, would you?” Winkie snapped.

  “Just following protocol, sir,” said Georgie defensively, before whispering to Elspeth that she should now enter the room.

  Before doing so, she leaned Gene against the wall. “I think it’s best if you wait here for now,” she whispered.

  “Good idea,” said Gene. “I wouldn’t want to steal your thunder. After all, I do tend to light up a room.”

  Elspeth smiled at Gene and shook her head, then walked into the room as she felt a person with a statue erected in her honor should: with dignity and aplomb. Though she had been warned of Winkie’s deteriorating mental and physical state, she was not fully prepared for just how awful he actually looked. He’d definitely lost weight and maybe even a bit of height, which is particularly problematic for someone so small to begin with.

  “Elspeth!” he shouted a little too loudly as he made his way toward her, his eyes glazed and far too mobile in their sockets. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

  Elspeth took a knee, due not so much to the king’s status but to his stature. After all, it’s really the only way to greet a man no taller than a houseplant.

  “King William,” she said, trying very hard not to show the full level of concern she felt for him at that moment. “I’m so sorry to hear the horrible news.”

  “Yes,” Winkie sobbed. “It’s downright dreadful, isn’t it? Look at me. I haven’t slept in days. All night long I just lie in bed imagining how awful it must be for her. How frightened and alone she must feel. Oh, whatever shall we do?”

  Winkie’s chest heaved, and his sobs grew deeper and louder until, without warning, Elspeth reached out and slapped him sharply across the face. The sobs immediately ceased, replaced by gasps throughout the room.

  “You . . . you hit me,” said Winkie, rubbing his reddened cheek.

  “Sorry,” said Elspeth. “It’s just that we’ve got a pretty big challenge ahead of us, and I can’t have you acting like a blubbering idiot.”

  “Yes,” said Winkie, drying his eyes. “I suppose you’re right. I’ve really got to pull myself together here.”

  “Don’t worry,” said Elspeth. “We’ll get her back. One way or another.” And though her words seemed to calm Winkie somewhat, she did wonder what that one way or another might be. But that’s why the king’s advisors had gathered in council—to try and figure out the answer to this awful mess.

  In addition to Bo-Peep, the king’s chief military advisor and leader of the Quick Stick Brigade, the consortium included: Earl Grey, James Brown, and Barry White, who tended to the king’s day-to-day business and personal affairs; Fergus, his Minister of Education; and Dumpty, his Minister of Intelligence, dressed in his best tuxedo in honor of Elspeth’s arrival.

  Bo-Peep was the first to approach Elspeth. “Hello,” the woman said in a soft, fluid voice that belied the warrior deep within her. She smiled, but her face looked no less serious as a result. Elspeth wondered if there was a time when she was not quite so earnest. “As always, it’s so good to see you.”

  “It’s good to be back,” said Elspeth. Casting formalities aside, she stood and hugged her friend. When the two parted, there was Dumpty, waiting his turn.

  “Good day there, young lady,” he said in that smooth-as-glass British accent that Elspeth could sit and listen to all day.

  “I’ve missed you so much,” she said. “I’ve missed the sound of your voice. Go on, say it for me. Just once. Please?”

  “Oh, very well,” the half man, half egg replied. As much as it embarrassed him, it had become a ritual now. He cleared his throat briefly. “The name is Dumpty. Humpty Dumpty.”

  Elspeth showed her appreciation with a broad smile and a solo round of applause. “I love it,” she said. “Life in the Deadlands is nothing like it is here. In fact, it’s no fun at all.”

  “Life here isn’t much fun lately either, I’m afraid,” said Bo-Peep.

  “Yes,” said Elspeth, suddenly aware that perhaps she had taken too playful a tone with Dumpty considering the situation.

  “Let’s get down to business, shall we?” said Winkie. “Tell us, Elspeth. We’re dying to hear your plan.”

  “My plan?”

  “Yes. For bringing Queen Farrah back to me. After all, that’s why I sent for you. I mean, if anyone can solve the problem it’s you and your kick-butt attitude.”

  For the first time Elspeth could see the downside of being a legend in one’s own time. People begin to see you as a larger-than-life bronze statue rather than as a person bound by the same laws of nature and physical limitations as everyone else.

  “So, what is it then?” asked Winkie. “Tell us. How shall we handle this?”

  The look in Winkie’s eyes was so full of desperation that Elspeth couldn’t bear to tell him that she had absolutely no idea how to approach the situation. So instead, she decided to stall and, if necessary, to lie. “My plan,” she said, “is very simple. What we should do is, we should just . . . I mean, it’s quite obvious that all we have to do is—”

  Just when Elspeth felt as though Winkie might fall over from leaning forward in anticipation, the door to the room swung open and in walked a castle guard, red-faced and short of breath.

  “Pardon me, Your Highness,” the doughy man panted.

  “What is the meaning of this intrusion?” demanded Winkie. He approached the guard with chest out and hands attached firmly to his hips.

  “I bring word from the dungeon, Your Majesty.”

  “You interrupted a meeting pertaining to the safe return of the queen in order to bring me word from the dungeon? Let me guess. The prisoners are complaining about the food again.”

  “No, My Lord. I mean, yes. But there’s more. It’s Krool.”

  “Krool is complaining about the food?”

  “No, sir. He claims to have a remedy for the kidnapping situation.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” said Winkie. “How could one confined to a prison cell possibly be of any value to us?”

  “I don’t know, sir. He said he will discuss it only with Lady Elspeth.”

  Bah, bah, black heart

  Have you any shame?

  No sir, no sir, I’ll explain.

  It’s fun to be monstrous,

  It’s fun to cause pain,

  It’s fun for what little joy

  It gives to my brain.

  Chapter

  6

  The last time Elspeth visited the dungeon was when Krool himself had sent her there to await execution for the crimes of treason and sedition. Now she was returning for the first time since being rescued by the three visually impaired mice, and she found the walk down the dank and narrow stone stairway to be unnerving to say the least.

  She shuddered when she stopped to think about how close she had come to losing her head as well as her hand, for she had also been convicted of stealing a tart.

  The farther down they went, the more claustrophobic and panicked she felt at the idea of seeing the face that had haunted
her dreams since she’d last laid eyes upon it.

  The guard’s ring of keys jangled like chains as he searched for the one that would open the last of many doors separating the castle’s prison population from polite society.

  The door swung open with a ghostly groan, and the guard stepped aside to allow Elspeth entry into the underlit cellblock, a long narrow corridor with stone cubicles on either side, enclosed with black iron bars.

  “I’ll be right out here should you need me,” said the guard. “Last cell on the left. Whatever you do, keep your distance from the bars. You never know to what degree a desperate man might go.”

  “Don’t worry,” said Elspeth. “I know exactly what he’s capable of.”

  Whereas once the dungeon had been filled to capacity with those who dared speak out against Krool, most of the two dozen cells sat empty since his reign of terror had ended. These days the castle prison was home to but four convicts in all. One was the Crooked Man, found guilty of treason and espionage for his role in Krool’s takeover. He now stood, more crooked than ever, in his gray flannel prison uniform, his crooked fingers clutching the iron bars, his face locked in a crooked sneer.

  “You,” he snarled as Elspeth walked slowly by. “You’ll be sorry. One day I’ll be out of here. And when that time comes, you’d better watch your back.”

  “Oh, blow it out your crooked ear,” she said and kept moving.

  In the next cell was Tom, Tom the piper’s son, serving a nine-month sentence for his incorrigible pig stealing. His lawyer had argued that he should instead be sentenced to rehab for his severe bacon addiction. The ploy had proved unsuccessful, and now the young pork enthusiast took no notice of Elspeth as he sat with his back against one wall while repeatedly throwing a small rubber ball against another.

  In a third cell was a small, brown monkey with a long, ratty tail. As Elspeth would later learn, the monkey had been jailed for violating a restraining order taken out against him by the weasel. Apparently, chasing someone around a cobbler’s bench until they pop is looked upon as harassment. Elspeth walked past his cell, and the monkey flashed an overly toothy grin and raised his eyebrows twice in succession.