by Nic Saint
And judging from Gran’s excited cries, it was none other than the Queen!
Chapter 23
It was a great honor and a wonderful opportunity to meet the one and only Queen, of course, but what I was looking most forward to was meeting those famous corgis, and I sincerely hoped she’d brought them along.
“So you better be on your best behavior,” said Harriet, suddenly deciding she was the one in charge. “No backtalk and no foul language from any of you—is that understood?”
“I don’t think the Queen speaks our language,” Dooley pointed out.
“Obviously I’m not talking about the Queen,” said Harriet. “I’m talking about her precious corgis. Be polite and show them the respect they deserve.”
“Oh, for crying out loud,” said Brutus. “They’re just dogs!”
“They’re royal dogs. And they just happen to be the most famous dogs in the world. People even make movies about them, so they’re not ‘just dogs.’ They’re brothers and sisters and we need to be on our best behavior. Show them we’re not the country bumpkins they probably take us for. That we’re worthy of being in their royal presence. Basking in their glow. Moving in their sophisticated circles.”
Brutus clearly wasn’t in agreement, but there was no time to complain, for the door swung open and there she was: the Queen, resplendent in fluorescent pink. Pink dress, pink coat and pink hat. She clutched her famous purse, the one she uses to signal her staff when she needs to be rescued from garrulous and annoying company, her face split in a wide, full-toothed smile.
“She has such nice teeth,” Dooley marveled. “Will you look at those snappers? They’re absolutely perfect.”
“Not her own, probably,” I said. “Humans tend to lose their teeth, and then have them replaced with new ones made of plastic.”
“Plastic teeth? How weird,” said Dooley.
“It’s true, though. Grandma has fake teeth.”
“Oh, that’s right,” said Dooley. “I’ve seen her take them out.”
We watched in fascination as Gran actually curtsied before the Queen, and showed her own, almost identical, choppers to the beloved monarch.
“Such an honor,” Gran gushed. “I’ve been meaning to ask you, Your Highness, if you could spare a few moments of your precious time, could you perhaps give me a couple of pointers on how to be a queen?”
The Queen gave her a curious look. “Whatever do you mean, Mrs. Vesta?”
“Well, the thing is—I’m going to be queen myself, you see. Over in America. And since you’ve held the job for so long now, I’m sure you’re perfectly positioned to help a newbie get started on her queenly tenure.”
The Queen’s left eyebrow quivered slightly, expressing surprise. “You’re going to be Queen of America?”
“Yes, I am. I’ve got it all worked out. See, the presidential system we got now isn’t cutting it anymore. Too fickle for a great nation like ours. What we need is a queen, who will rise above the political fray and all those bickering politicians. And there’s no one better suited for the role than me. Besides which, it was my idea, so I got first dibs. And then of course I’m giving the throne to Odelia—I’m skipping a generation, you see, mainly because my son-in-law is a jackass and he’d only ruin things if he became king.”
“Very wise,” said the Queen, then leaned in and said, under her breath, “I’ve been thinking along those same lines myself, quite frankly.”
“Great minds think alike!” said Gran, eliciting a chuckle from the monarch.
The Queen approached Tessa with outstretched arms. “Oh, my dear, dear Tessa. What an ordeal you have suffered through. Are you all right?”
“I’m fine, Ma’am,” said Tessa.
The Queen tsk-tsked. “How many times have I told you not to call me that? It’s Gam-Gam!”
“Yes… Gam-Gam,” said Tessa, struggling to get the words across her larynx.
“So you were attacked, is that it?” The Queen asked, giving Tessa a keen look.
“Oh, no, nothing like that,” Tessa assured the older woman. “Just kids playing a prank.”
“Oh, dear. Kids these days. They will go too far.” She lightly touched Tessa’s cheek. “You’re hurt, I see.”
“Nothing serious,” Tessa was quick to say. “Just a graze.”
“From the firecrackers?”
“No, I must have hit something when I dropped to the floor.”
“Very distressing,” the Queen said. “Very distressing indeed.” She then cut a curious glance to Odelia and Chase. “I do hope you’re making progress on your inquiries,” she said vaguely.
“Inquiries?” inquired Odelia.
“A little birdie told me you’re here on Angela’s instigation to look into certain… allegations.” She sighed. “I do hope you will move your investigation along quite speedily. At my age one wants nothing more than to see one’s family happy and safe from harm.”
“One knows,” said Harriet, sounding surprised. “One actually knows!”
“One what?” asked Dooley.
“The Queen! She knows!”
“Knows what?” asked Brutus.
“She knows that Odelia is here to investigate the assassination attempts!”
“Impossible,” I said. “Angela told no one.”
“She must have a spy somewhere,” said Harriet. “I heard the Queen has her spies everywhere.”
“I’m sure she’s just talking in general terms about Tessa’s safety. Tessa is, after all, the mother of the Queen’s great-grandchild.”
“No, I’m sure she knows,” Harriet insisted. “Oh, one is good.”
“Two is better, though, right?” said Dooley.
“Oh, Dooley,” sighed Harriet. “Please go away.”
“Where are the corgis?” asked Dooley now.
I’d been asking myself the same question. The corgis seemed to be nowhere to be found.
“Let’s look outside,” Harriet suggested. “This is our one and only chance to meet the famous corgis and I’m not going to miss it!”
We all hopped from the couch and made our way out the door. A black Range Rover was parked right outside, the door open. Inside, three corgis sat waiting patiently for their human’s return.
So Harriet, being Harriet, wasted no time and introduced herself.
“Hello there, Your Royal Highnesses,” she said, doing a little curtsy. “My name is Harriet, and I’m so very, very pleased to finally meet you!”
The corgis, who looked very similar, were unimpressed.
“You’re a cat,” said the first corgi.
“Excellent powers of observation,” said Harriet without a trace of irony. “I am, indeed, a cat, and I’m also your biggest fan.”
“Cats usually aren’t the biggest fans of dogs,” the corgi pointed out. She was speaking a little huffily, I thought, but Harriet wasn’t deterred.
“Oh, but you’re not just any dogs. You’re the Queen’s corgis!”
The corgi darted a look at me and Brutus and Dooley.
“Hi,” I said when I felt the corgi’s curious glance rake my visage. “My name is Max, and I’m Odelia’s cat. Odelia is a friend of the Duchess and Duke of Essex and we’re all guests at their cottage.”
“You’re friends of Tessa’s?” asked the corgi, quirking an imperious eyebrow.
“That’s right. And we’re also friends of Fluffy. Tessa and Dante’s dog?”
The corgi gave me a supercilious smile. “Of course you would be friends with that runt.”
I had the distinct impression these weren’t the nicest, sweetest dogs. Fame must have gone to their heads. The same thought occurred to Brutus, for he muttered, “What a stuck-up little—”
“I beg your pardon?” The corgi said, raising her voice. She might be stuck-up but she had excellent hearing.
“I was just saying how Odelia is working on a mockup of Newtmore Cottage,” said Brutus. “Odelia wants to build a cottage just like this one.”
“
Is this Odelia person an architect?”
“No, she’s—”
“A contractor?”
“No, she’s actually—”
“An interior designer? A builder?”
“Um…”
“Then why would she spend her time creating mockups?”
“Oh, do be nice to the cats,” said the second corgi.
I now saw that the corgis had their names in gold-plated tags dangling from their collars. The nasty corgi answered to the name Sweetie, the second one was called Fräulein and the third one Molly.
“Tessa’s friends are our friends,” said Fräulein now.
Molly chimed in, “Any friend of the Duchess of Essex is a friend of ours. Hop in, cats, and tell us what the word on the street is.”
In spite of the fact that I disliked the corgis, I didn’t want to miss a chance of sitting in the royal vehicle—in the exact same spot the Queen sat! So I hopped in, and so did Harriet, Brutus and Dooley. I have to admit the leather seats were amazing. Soft to the tush and yet firm. Also, the car smelled to lavender.
“They’re not street cats, Molly,” said Sweetie. “Didn’t you pay attention? Their human is a mockup artist.” Her voice dripped with disdain.
“I thought all cats were street cats,” said Molly.
“Not all cats, surely. Some cats are domesticated. Though they tend to be adopted by commoners, of course. No royal wants to be seen dead with a cat.”
“Just the idea. Imagine a royal with a cat. How perfectly horrid!”
Both cats laughed, until Fräulein said, “Please be nice to the cats. I’m sure they have stories to tell, so let’s hear them out. How are you finding your stay at Newtmore Cottage, cat?” she asked, enunciating every word as if talking to a toddler.
“So far our stay has been perfectly satisfactory,” I said, adopting the same tone.
The corgi smiled at her cohorts. “See? These are clearly intelligent creatures with a certain capacity for conversation.”
“Hey, look here,” said Brutus, starting to get a little hot under his collar, “I’m not going to be insulted by a bunch of stuck-up, nasty—”
“I knew you said stuck-up and not mockup!” said Sweetie.
“We’re not stupid,” said Brutus. “We can tell when we’re being insulted. And you’ve been insulting us from the moment you laid eyes on us.”
“Please, feel free to leave anytime,” said Sweetie, tilting her chin. “In fact, now that I come to think of it…” She sniffed the air. “My sensitive nose has suddenly detected a rather unpleasant smell pervading this fine automobile.”
“Are you suggesting we stink?” Brutus growled.
“I’m suggesting you get out of the car, cat.” Then she leaned in, giving Brutus a dirty look. “Or, to say it in your street lingo, get lost!”
And we would have gotten lost, if not the door had suddenly been slammed shut, the car put in gear and we were surprised to find we were on the move.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
But the corgis looked too stunned to respond.
Fräulein was staring at the driver, then stammered, “That’s not Bart!”
As if he understood, the man turned and smiled a yellow-toothed grin at us. “Brace yourselves, pooches—this is a kidnapping!” And to prove he wasn’t kidding, he stomped down on the accelerator and the car lurched forward.
We were being abducted—along with the Queen’s corgis!
Chapter 24
“Um, what’s happening?” asked Sweetie.
“I think you guys are being kidnapped,” said Harriet.
“Not just them,” I said. “We’re being kidnapped right alongside them!”
Oh, boy. This wasn’t good. I’d never been kidnapped before, but I had a sinking feeling I wasn’t going to like it.
“Kidnapped?” said Sweetie as if the concept was alien to her. “What do you mean, kidnapped?”
“It’s when they take you against your will and then they ask money to let you go,” Dooley explained patiently. He glanced to me. “It was on the Discovery Channel. There was this rich girl who was kidnapped, and then she started to really like her kidnapper. I think she even wanted to marry him.”
I studied the driver, who was chewing gum with his mouth open and tapping the wheel with a dirty fingernail. No way was I marrying this guy.
“But... we can’t be kidnapped!” said Sweetie. “That just doesn’t happen to us. We’re the Queen’s corgis! The Queen’s corgis simply don’t get kidnapped!”
“Well, you are now,” said Brutus, who seemed to derive a certain satisfaction from the fact.
“This is all your fault, cat,” Sweetie told him viciously. “We meet you and five minutes later we are being kidnapped. Coincidence? I think not!”
“We had nothing to do with this!” said Brutus.
“Yes, we’re victims just as much as you guys,” said Harriet.
“So how are we going to handle this?” I asked. I frowned at the door. “Does this thing open? Where’s the handle?”
“It’s fully automated,” said Fräulein. “There is no handle.”
Our jabbering must have alerted the driver, for he looked over his shoulder. “Hey, you’re cats,” he said.
“Well spotted, sir,” I said. “Well spotted.”
The guy wasn’t happy about this development, though, for he grabbed his phone and began tapping it furiously.
“Hey—no texting and driving!” Sweetie called out.
“I think we have bigger issues than road safety right now,” said Fräulein. “If these cats are right, we’ve just been dognapped. Which means they’ll want to ask money for us and they’ll lock us up until the Queen agrees to pay up.”
“Oh, but of course she’ll agree,” said Sweetie. “We’re her precious corgis! She’d never let anything bad happen to us. Would she?”
“Of course not,” said Molly.
“I’m not so sure,” said Fräulein. “Last time I checked the Queen is winding down her corgi-producing extravaganza. I’ll bet she is switching breeds.”
“Switching breeds!” cried Sweetie. “She wouldn’t!”
“She would. In a changing world it’s important for a public figure like the Queen to stay relevant. Keeping things fresh. Maybe she’d like to adopt a Chihuahua for a change? Or a Maltipoo? Or even a micro teacup Poodle. Those teacup dogs are all the rage right now. I hear Katy Perry has one.”
“Who cares what Katy Perry has!” said her colleague. “The Queen would never trade us in for a bunch of... dumb animals!”
“We’re animals, too,” Molly reminded her.
“We’re not animals! We’re corgis!”
“Listen, I got a problem,” the driver spoke into his phone. “No, yeah, I got the dogs, but there’s four cats in with them, innit? Yeah, cats. So what am I supposed to do with four cats? That wasn’t part of the deal. Throw them out?”
“I don’t like where this is going,” said Dooley, and I agreed. Being thrown out of a moving vehicle sounded like a perfectly painful proposition.
The driver glanced back at us. “You mean, just dump em. Great. Yeah, whatever, bruv.” He disconnected and drove on in silence for a while, then looked back at us, and said, probably more to himself than to us, “They’re telling me to dump you guys. But I don’t think I’m going to do that. I like animals, you see. I mean, it doesn’t look like I do but I do. Which is why I’m going to take you along and maybe keep you for myself. Or I could sell you. Nice-looking cats such as yourselves, I’m pretty sure you’ll fetch a pretty penny.” He turned to look at the road again, much to my relief. “Yeah, that’s what I’ll do. I’ll sell them. And maybe keep just one. I’ll keep the fat red one. Fat red cats bring luck. Everybody knows that.”
I glanced at the others, suddenly panicky. “Is he talking about me?”
“Do you see any other red fat cats?” Brutus asked with a nasty undertone.
I looked around. A white Persian, a butch black ca
t, a gray cat and three corgis. “No, I don’t,” I said weakly.
“So?” said Brutus.
“But I’m not fat! I’m big-boned. And I’m not red, I’m blorange!”
“Tell that to the guy,” Brutus suggested. “I’m sure he’ll want to know.”
“What’s blorange?” asked Fräulein curiously.
“It doesn’t exist,” said Brutus, still on his nasty streak.
“It does! It’s pastel red with orange shades of peach and rose gold. Very popular with the influencers.”
“I’ll bet it is,” said Sweetie, and it didn’t sound like a compliment.
“Who cares?!” Harriet cried. “Let’s focus, shall we? We’re being kidnapped, and they’re going to trade you in for a lot of money, and they’re going to get rid of the rest of us.”
“Except for Max,” said Brutus. “They’re going to keep him for luck.” Somehow his words seemed to suggest I was in cahoots with the kidnapper!
“I don’t want to be kept for luck!” I said.
“No, but you will—while he’s going to sell the rest of us on Craigslist.”
“Do they have Craigslist in England?” asked Harriet.
“Whatever! Our cushy lives are over, you guys! We’ll probably end up living with some toothless degenerate inbred pervert in the Cotswolds!”
“Breathe,” I said. “We have to breathe and think this through.” I tried to slow my breathing. In and out. In and out. It wasn’t working!
“And to think I dreamed all my life about meeting the Queen’s corgis,” lamented Harriet.
“You have?” asked Sweetie, sounding surprised.
Harriet nodded sadly. “And look where it got me. In the hands of a maniac!”
Chapter 25
“Oh, goodness me,” said the Queen, clutching a hand to her heart. “Oh, dear goodness me. My corgis! My precious corgis!”
She was on the verge of collapsing to the floor, and the people who formed her entourage quickly stepped to the fore and deposited her on the couch, where she was taking little gulps of breath and was trying to steady herself.